Page 10 of Master Debater

Together, we walked around front, and I quickly unlocked the door to my place. Then I gestured for him to put the groceries in the same place he’d set my broken dishes the night we met.

Van Gogh ran out of the back room, eyed Nate, and then retreated, his cowardice overtaking his desire to beg for more food. “It’s okay, kitty. It’s just our neighbor.”

“‘Just,’” Nate said with a snort, and I glanced over my shoulder at him.

“Sorry. Did you want an official title?”

“Careful what you offer, because I’ll take you up on it.”

A giggle spilled free, one that sounded far too much like I enjoyed his flirting. Which, okay, I did, if that was what this was. I suspected it was more about his charming personality than me.

“Can you snag one of those cans of cat food?” I asked Nate, who obliged, and I managed to coax out Van Gogh with the sound of the opening top. My kitty didn’t bother glancing up as I introduced the two of them, too busy with his food.

You eat as much as you want, I silently conveyed as I ran my hand over his cat fur.

I hated that Eric’s words were still in my head, messing with the progress I’d made over the last few days. He called to sort out business matters, suddenly flipping the script on what we’d already agreed to. When I haughtily told him I was mostly moved in and walking to the store for groceries, he snorted and said, “Let me guess. You’re on some new eating plan too. Wonder how long that’ll last.”

Since he coached high school baseball for Sugar Creek in the springtime, I’d told myself for too long that the only way he knew to motivate was to break people down. He’d yell and insult, and the teenage boys would push themselves harder and become more determined to prove him wrong. Clearly the method didn’t work on me, and with some distance, I realized how toxic his words were to my self-esteem.

It didn’t help that the super skinny temp we hired to fill in for me while I was helping my mom heal from her hip surgery became my replacement in the bedroom too.

“You don’t get to control the level of worth I feel anymore,” I muttered, teeth clenched.

“What was that?” Nate asked, and I’d been so lost in my thoughts I nearly jumped.

“Just talking to myself.”

“But why, when I’m right here and willing to listen. You still haven’t come clean about why your day was so rough. I get the feeling it’s more than worry over your new job.”

Man, this guy was too good at reading body language, something he undoubtedly picked up for his line of work. I straightened, my thighs burning after being crouched next to Van Gogh for so long, and hugged my arms around my middle. As nice as his offer was, I was unwilling to go there. It’d expose my vulnerabilities, and more, I didn’t want to call focus to my body; didn’t want his pity; or for him to even know I was in the middle of a divorce that was drifting into ugly territory.

Not yet anyway, even if that meant keeping him at bay.

Way to be delusional, Willa. He’s simply being neighborly, not trying to sail into your port.

Nate strode closer and curled his large hands around my shoulders. “No pressure. But I’m here if you decide you want to talk about it.” Time slowed to a crawl, his hulking presence leaving me no choice but to take in his stature. His broad shoulders. The prevalent Adam’s apple, the dark whiskers that emphasized his strong jawline, and then up, up, up to meet the steady gaze of his espresso-colored eyes.

“No? Then we’ll move on to the next subject. Since I’m the one who made you spill your wine before forcing you to throw away the bottle?—”

“Technically, you threw it away.”

His demeanor changed, his lips pursing and two grooves forming between his thick eyebrows. He lifted one of his hands to the side of my throat, his thumb pressing against the pulse point in my neck that began pumping faster and faster. “People don’t usually cross-examine me. That’s my job.”

I attempted to swallow. And failed. If he were a stranger on the street, I’d be afraid to even consider crossing him. Perhaps it was the slight lift at the right corner of his mouth, or the challenging gleam in his eye that said he was rather enjoying this game where I tried to resist him. Nathan Fox only scared me in one way, and it had to do more with me, and how quickly I could fall if I let him in.

“Come over, and I’ll open a bottle of wine.”

“That wasn’t a question,” I said, proud the words didn’t come out with the same shakiness of my breath.

“You’re right. It wasn’t.” His callused fingertips ran down my throat, to my collarbone, and my breath lodged in my throat. Then he lowered his arm, laced his fingers through mine, and tugged me toward the door. On our way out, he sidestepped to grab the wine-stained box of cookies.

I kept waiting for my body to respond the way I told it to. For common sense to kick in and my heels to dig in.

But as we went from one door to the other, the words on the tip of my tongue died as quickly as my momentary resolve.

Chapter 6

Willa

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