Page 12 of Master Debater

In a lot of ways, everything I’d accomplished over the past several years had been undone. Pessimistic, maybe, but it felt too true. Accounting would never be my passion, and while I had a good grasp on balancing the books, it hadn’t challenged me. The farther I’d gotten away from my ex, the more pieces of my former self I found, but they needed to be dusted off and fitted together so I could build the new and improved me. “Well, then all I’ll say is, don’t let anyone convince you that your goals aren’t worthy of pursuing.”

“Deal. You’re pursing yours now, though.” Nate had this way of stating instead of asking, so sure of himself. “I’m assuming that’s why you moved here anyway.”

“It is. I’m hoping to right a few wrongs. Better late than never, I guess. But sometimes it feels like being late has prevented what could’ve been my fate. Then again, if it was a fate that was supposed to be mine, it would’ve worked out, right? Except, that also seems unfair to people who gave up so much to make their fates happened.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Ugh, I don’t know. I’m rambling.”

“Well, it’s cute as hell, so I say ramble away.”

My inner teenage girl was screaming, he called me cute! Which officially made it time to go. My tongue didn’t quite get the memo, though. “Is being charming something you have to work at, or does it just come naturally?”

“I’d like to claim it’s one hundred percent natural, and it is…” He dipped his head, and his breath heated my neck as he continued, “But it comes even more naturally around you.”

“You’re shameless.” Time to hit the brakes before I got too fast rolling down this hill. “Anyway, I should?—”

“I want to show you something,” Nate said at the same time.

“Oh, I was just going to say I should get going.”

“Give me ten more minutes, and then I’ll walk you home, I promise.” One eyebrow arched, and I appreciated that, in this moment, he was clearly giving me an out if I still wanted it.

I didn’t, but I should.

“It’s just, as a fellow music lover, I thought you’d appreciate my instrument.” Immediately he winced, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “Not an innuendo, I swear. I’m just hearing the way it came out and—” He rubbed his fingertips across his forehead. “I’m usually much smoother than this.”

After that comment I’d made about him getting me down on my knees, it was nice to feel like we were on a more level playing field—his was still uphill, but the climb wasn’t quite as steep. “My rambling skills must be rubbing off on you.”

“Only problem is, it’s less cute when I do it.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” Oops. A bit of flirting slipped out, undermining what I’d just said. After a beat, I decided to embrace the idea of only living once. “Okay. Let’s see this instrument you speak of.”

His face lit up, giving him an irresistible boyish edge, and how much more attraction could my body handle before it waved a white flag? As we started up the stairs, he passed off the hand of mine he was holding behind his back, from one hand to another, criminally smooth. Then he glanced over his shoulder. “Writing or performing?”

“A little of both. My audition to get into the program at Berklee involved singing an original song, and the composition was the main thing they were judging me on.”

“But you can sing?”

In the name of humility, and since I was so used to doubting my skills in general, I hesitated. But I could sing. It was one of those things I knew, as strongly as I could proclaim the sky was blue—although technically, it only reflected blue, so that entire saying needed to be retooled. “Yes. I can sing. I’m not as well-practiced as I used to be and performing always gave me a killer case of anxiety, but shortly before I graduated Berklee, it felt almost as natural as breathing.”

Most of my performance anxiety came from worries over equipment malfunction or if people were judging how I looked. More than once—hell, more than a dozen times—I’d been told by professors and judges that my size would be my biggest hurdle to making it big. Almost as if they were attempting to use the word “big” as many times as possible.

I no longer held any delusions I’d record albums of my own, but I’d be happy to teach students, write songs, and maybe even sing at small venues here and there. It’d be nice to remind myself what it felt like to open my mouth, hit a powerful note, and watch jaws drop.

Nate and I reached the top floor, and all I could do was gape at the Steinway and Songs grand piano. Ebony with gilded pedals and wheels, my admiration and surprise left me speechless for a handful of seconds.

“Of all the instruments I would’ve guessed,” I said, “this never would’ve been one of them.”

“Believe me, I begged my mom to let me play something cooler, like the guitar or the drums. She made me a deal…” Nate sat on the bench, again pulling me along with him. Then he placed his foot on the pedals and his long fingers on the ivory-colored keys. “If I stuck with the piano for a year and played in this fancy showcase that was all the rage at the time, I could switch to whatever I wanted.

“But by then, I was hooked.” Nate spread his fingers and played one chord, then another, and bumped his shoulder into mine. “Pretty sure that was part of my mom’s master plan.”

The notes drifted softly through the air, growing in intensity as he fully sat up, as though he didn’t have a particular melody in mind but couldn’t help tinker and explore. “A lot of times in law school, when I’d hit a wall in my studies, this is how I’d break it down, song by song, statute by statute.”

“That’s funny, because whenever I hit a wall with my music classes, I studied law.”

“Really?” he asked, shooting me a look, but a giggle slipped out and blew my cover.

“Nope, not at all. But I would take one of my favorite songs and belt it out, no thought to dissecting or analyzing, just to feel it flow. That’s the magic of music. It connects people, and yet a song can mean so many different things to an individual. It can heal or empathize; it can send you hurtling through time, to the moments in the past when you were happy or heartbroken or falling in or out of love.” A contented sigh came out as his stitched together melody danced along my nerve-endings. “Like I said, magic.”

“I guess that makes us both musicians and magicians.”

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