Chapter 25
Cal’s breath was a plume of frosty white in the outside air and, by contrast, entering the office felt sauna-like. He blew on his clenched fists to warm them, then took out his phone.
“I’m in the back,” Carrie called. “I’ll be right with you.”
“It’s just me,” he yelled back.
“Okay, forget it then. I’m sitting on my butt, having an extended lunch break.”
Cal laughed dutifully but was distracted. Despite telling Vic he was still happy to do the repairs and maintenance they’d discussed, he hadn’t called her. Now it was too close to Christmas. Or was it?
“Hey, Cal here. I know you’re probably busy,” he started to type, then deleted the whole message.
“I’m sorry I haven’t texted or come over to get started. I’ve been super busy—” Delete, delete. They’d already established that he would get a hold of her during slow times or whatever, so she’d just assume he was busy.
“Hi.” He added a smiley emoji. “I have time tomorrow to replace the weather stripping around that side door. I can come by around 12:30? Does that work for you?” The emoji was ridiculous, maybe.
But it was more ridiculous to type out fifty text messages about such a simple thing and keep deleting them. He hit Send.
A reply pinged back immediately. His stupid heart did a weird little anticipatory jump.
“That would be great!”
Another ping.
“I’ll take my lunch then, so I can let you in and get set up.”
Another ping.
“And run interference with Audra for the first bit anyway. ”
Cal sent a laughing emoji and a thumbs up. Then, “Sounds good. SYT.”
Wow, he thought. Look at me using abbreviations and everything.
“What are you grinning about?”
Shoot. Carrie. Busted.
“Nothing,” he said and slid his phone into his pocket.
“Uh huh,” she said, but didn’t press. Instead, she handed him several sheets of paper.
“What’s this?
“Quotes on the snow equipment you were thinking about.”
“The problem with snow equipment is that you invest all that cash and what if there’s no snow?”
“True—and honestly, you’re busy enough. Unless you wanted to hire a couple of seasonal employees.”
“Well, if we did, we could probably keep them on all year. We always get calls for lawn and yard stuff that we turn down.”
“True.”
“Well, it’s food for thought anyway. I can’t believe we haven’t been hit harder with the white stuff already.”
“You should buy the equipment,” Carrie stated decisively.
“Oh, why’s that?”
“Murphy’s Law. I want a green winter, and like you said, if you invest a bunch of money into snow removal equipment, I bet another flake won’t fall.”
“Gee, thanks for wishing such good things for the business.”
They continued nattering on for a bit, but Cal was a million miles away—or several city blocks, anyway.
And he admitted the facts. He was still crushing on Vic.
Pretty hard, in fact. But you know what?
It was fine to have a crush. It was nice even.
And way less terrifying than liking someone he had a chance with.
*
Vic drove to work, much to Audra’s complaining, so that she’d be able to whip back to the house on her lunch break like she’d told Cal she would. It was also convenient because this way she could bring the box of things she was hoping Madeline would let her consign.
She’d asked ahead of time if Madeline wanted her to make an official appointment like other hopeful consigners.
“No, no, just bring it with you on one of your shifts and we’ll go over the items when we have a quiet moment.”
So here she was, plunking her box down behind the payment counter and feeling nervous about it.
Not so much about whether Madeline would want to try to sell the items on consignment.
They weren’t really the shop’s style, so she might not, but Vic knew she could always sell them online.
No, it was more the questions that Madeline might ask that she feared.
As if sensing Vic’s thoughts, Madeline popped out of the staffroom and crossed over to Vic. “Oh, good! Let me see,” she said when she noticed the box.
“Now?”
Madeline looked around the shop and laughed lightly. “Doesn’t get slower than empty—and I suspect it won’t last. Make hay while the sun shines and all that.”
“Good point.” Vic hefted the box to the ottoman normally claimed by Boots and opened the top. Madeline gasped when she saw the three perfectly pristine branded boxes within the box.
“What?” Vic asked, alarmed.
“Nothing, sorry.” Madeline shook her head. “I guess I was just expecting . . . I don’t know what exactly. Housewares or ornaments from your mom or something, not—”
“LV, Chanel, and Gucci?”
“Exactly.”
“They each have their dust bags, and I have authenticity cards for each one—though two more recent bags have microchips, not cards.”
“Right,” Madeline mused. “I’ve heard about that.”
“And each has its matching serial number, along with a care booklet. And, as you can see, they all have their original packaging. Inside each box, you’ll find the original tissue paper and foam and felt inserts too.”
Madeline’s brow furrowed. Vic was instantly self-conscious. “I only have a receipt for my crossbody because I bought it myself. These were gifts. But I didn’t steal them. I swear.”
Madeline’s smile was sad, and she shook her head. “I just don’t think we’re the right market.”
Vic bit her lip. She knew it was true. “I knew it was a long shot.”
“I’m sorry,” Madeline said, and she really did look it.
Vic’s shoulders twitched in a miniscule shrug. “It’s honestly fine. I’ll sell them through The RealReal or Rebag or something.”
“I know they take a bigger cut, but you’ll also be able to ask more.”
Vic nodded. “I’ve sold shoes through The RealReal before.”
“Do you mind me asking why you’re getting rid of them?”
“They don’t fit me anymore.”
Madeline raised an eyebrow. “They’re handbags. Pretty much the only apparel that are truly one size fits all.”
“I’m surprised by that comment, Madeline,” Vic said, surprising herself with her own audacity. “You, of all people, should know there are all different ways of things fitting a person or not.”
“Touch.” Madeline grinned, then looked skeptical, or maybe even a little sad. “You’re really not going to rock your high heels anymore?”
Vic laughed. “No fear there. I love my LVs, and I’ve worn them so much that, while still in great condition, they’re clearly used. Same thing with my Gucci Brera crossbody bag. It’s too deliciously smooshy. I can’t part with it.”
“Phew!” Madeline said. “I was going to worry that aliens had taken over your body or something.”
“Honestly, though . . . I wore sneakers the other day, and I was like, dang it, Gwen is onto something.”
“Was it Brent who gave you such generous gifts?”
Vic opened her mouth, but to her horror, instead of the casual “Yeah” she meant to say, she burst into silent tears, salt rivers streaming down her cheeks, flooding her mouth, stealing her words—
Horror and regret swamped Madeline’s features. “Oh, Vic, shit. I’m so sorry. It was too much. I’m—”
“No, no,” Vic managed. “Your question was normal. You’re fine.” She hiccupped, more tears flowing. “I’m just a—” She stopped before the swear word slipped out. “A basket case.”
“No.” Madeline’s voice was firm, almost angry. “No, you’re not, and you need to stop talking badly about yourself so often.”
A wave of hysteria washed over Vic. It was terribly funny, given the vitriol of her usual inner monologues to be scolded for such a light bit of self-derision.
A giggle formed in her throat, even though tears were still leaking.
She worried that she might burst out laughing—and that if she started, she might not be able to stop.
Madeline took her hand and squeezed it gently. “Whatever it is, you’re going to be okay. You’re doing better every day.”
There was absolutely no way Madeline could know any such thing, but her calm voice and incredible, softly generous acceptance of Vic’s complete effing insanity (even if Madeline was too kind to call it such a thing) had a miraculous effect.
Vic did start to calm down. She could literally feel her racing heartbeat begin to slow.
“Despite all evidence to the contrary and this undeniably awkward, uncomfortable moment, I really am doing better. I am.”
Saying it out loud made Vic realize it was true.
Yeah, so only about a billion miles more to go.
“That’s true for all of us, I think,” Madeline said lightly, and Vic realized Devil had spoken out loud too.
And of course, the store decided now was the perfect time to get busy. The bells jingled and a small crowd entered. “You’re still leaving at lunch today?” Madeline asked, glancing toward the door.
Vic nodded. “Is that okay though? If it’s too busy, I’ll happily—”
“No, no. I was going to say, why don’t you take the afternoon? Do something fun. Besides, you worked for hours on your day off.”
Do something fun. Vic imagined herself trailing after Cal, pretending to help. She smiled. It did seem fun.
“Good, then,” Madeline said as if Vic’s face was answer enough, and Vic supposed it was.
She wanted to thank Madeline but didn’t have the words to articulate all she was thankful for yet, so she settled with, “I will tell you my whole sordid story, one day.”
“Well, so long as it’s really sordid.” Madeline winked.
“Oh, don’t worry . . . I’ve got you covered,” Vic fought for the same lightness Madeline conjured, but inside she felt a wobble of fear.
It’s all well and good to think you’re becoming friendy-friends and to toss little ‘Oooo, I have a dark backstory’ hints like your life is some limited series on Netflix, but wait until you tell them, wait until they know the real, pathetic you—