Page 40 of Master Debater

“…going to galleries and attending art exhibitions. As it happens, I’m such a fan that I have a one-eared kitty named Van Gogh,” Willa said to my mom. Obviously, I’d missed the start of the conversation, but I squeezed Willa’s hand, thanking her and conveying I was there for her as well. “I’ve always loved him—the artist, not the cat. Although, that holds true for the cat too. He was so surly. Now I do mean the cat.” She laughed, the noise so cheery and infectious I watched her with an awestruck grin. “But it does echo how I felt when I discovered the artist back in high school.

“I feel like the Starry Night gets all the glory, and while I totally understand why, my favorite has always been Starry Night Over the Rhone. It’s like the calm before the storm in Van Gogh’s life, right before he lopped off his ear and ended up at an asylum. It makes me think of the calm measures in a song, when the world is picturesque and reflective, and lovers are out for a walk. The quiet of a pianissimo causes the crescendo and forte to stand out that much more. Not because that section is loud, but because you hear and experience the contrast.”

Willa’s dreamy expression faded as she returned from wherever she’d gone to the present. She reached up and fiddled with her earring, a nervous, adorable tick of hers. “Sorry. My Music Theory Professor is showing.”

So was her passion, her beauty, and intellect. She was so much more than sexy or beautiful. She could keep up with me in every way, and my heart swelled until it could hardly fit in my chest.

I wasn’t the only one experiencing an abundance of affection for Willa either. It radiated through Mom’s features as she threw a hand over her heart. “Don’t apologize. I completely agree. I’ve always loved Starry Night Over the Rhone more.”

“In fact, she has it hanging over the fireplace in the study,” I added.

Mom was someone I’d never put on the witness stand, as every emotion she felt showed plainly on her face, and a pinch of alarm arose at the way her eyes misted over. “Rashida was so right about you. You’re as brilliant and beautiful as she claimed, and I just knew you and Nate would hit it off. Do I get matchmaking credit?”

“Oh,” Willa said. “Nate and I aren’t… We’re getting to know each another and I suppose this is technically a date, but it’s still early in our, um?—”

“Yes, Mom. I bequeath you all the credit.” At this point, it was too late to avoid attachments. Not only on my mother’s end, at that. But to lighten my reply, I lifted a hand to the side of my mouth and faux whispered to Willa, “Just go with it. Trust me, it’s just easier to give in, or she’ll spend the rest of the night defining our relationship for us.”

Willa’s jaw dropped, and I wondered if I’d crossed a line, answering on both our behalf without consulting her first. “Wait. You give in sometimes? Like, you’re actually capable? Because earlier this evening, you told me I’d never win a debate.”

“He did what now?” Mom shot me a stern look that said she’d raised me better, although she knew as well as anyone it didn’t take. She’d once referred to me as the most obstinate child on the entire planet. “Nathan Evan Fox. You let Willa win once in a while.”

Willa jabbed her elbow into my side. “Yeah, Nathan. It’s only fair.”

Oh, she wanted to go there? I dipped my head, my mouth inches from Willa’s ear, triumphing in the shiver she failed to repress. “Is this really how you want to win? By playing dirty?”

Right as I was smugly celebrating my victory, Willa snaked her arm between my suit jacket and shirt, pivoting into a side hug as she whispered, “As I recall, you like it when I’m dirty.”

Eyes locked onto hers, I did my best to convey I’d make her pay for her outburst later. “If you’ll excuse us, Mom. I promised to show Willa around the gallery. There’s a piece I’m very eager to show her.”

Chapter 22

Willa

Nate’s thumb grazed my back, trailing over the spot where my skin and the fabric met, and I lost my train of thought, all the connected boxcars veering toward how handsome he was, and how aptly he paid attention whenever I spoke. It felt as though he’d tuned into my frequency, and my entire being connected right back, the signal loud and clear.

Where was I again?

A handful of minutes ago, I’d been doing my best to distract him from any freaking out he might’ve done over his mother’s words. Then we’d exchanged some flirty lines, and the next thing I knew, he was hauling me across the room. My heels barely grazed the ground as I clung to him, happy to let him dictate what art pieces we checked out next.

Oh yeah. The painting. The technique the artist had used.

And the strongest emotion of all, love.

Not between Nathan and me but the couple in the piece before us. The instant the word popped into my head, though, my brain depressed the gas pedal, full speed. As if it were endeavoring to leave both my common sense and my hysteria over how hard I was falling in the dust.

I couldn’t go there. It was too soon after the dissolution of my marriage.

Right?

Didn’t I need lots of solo “me time” to heal, and all that other crap people went on and on about?

Yet the idea of losing this burning, all-encompassing feeling or letting go of Nate sent a wave of fear crashing over me.

“Did you forget what you were saying?” Nate asked, and I peered up at him. Longing wrapped iron fingers around my heart, as hard and unyielding as the man at my side.

“Uh-huh.”

Was that affection dancing in the depths of his eyes or was I projecting? “Need a reminder?”

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