Page 41 of Canvas of Lies
She sent back a selfie, but she was fully dressed and making a peace sign with her fingers. I studied it for a moment, appreciating the reluctant smile on her lips. It was cute and silly and the realization that this was what I’d been missing in my life pierced me like a knife between the ribs.
I didn’t have it in me to joke at the moment, so I replied with a simple,You are so beautiful, I can barely stand it.
It was a few minutes before the bouncing dots indicated she was typing.So are we, like, dating now?
Tentative was not generally a word I associated with Kat—she lived her life with gusto, with boundless enthusiasm. I figured she was teasing me and was tempted to reply in a similar tone, but I wanted too badly to be on the same page about the answer.
You are every dream I ever had come true, so yes.
Her response came through almost immediately.Sappy, but same.
When a new picture of Kat with a lollipop in her mouth appeared on my screen, I decided that dating Katherine Willoughby was exactly what I needed. I studied the image, noting the familiar sparkle of humor in her eyes, the slight tinge of pink in her cheeks, those sweet, full lips that always tasted faintly of some kind of fruity lip gloss, the thick honey curls that tumbled halfway down her back.
I wanted her more fiercely than I’d ever wanted anything, even the damn painting. It was a physical ache centered in my chest, a sense of longing that flowed through me as surely as the blood in my veins. This was a dangerous, tangled web I was plunging myself into, but I could no sooner walk away from Kat than I could the painting.
With a sigh, I rubbed at my temples, then picked up the phone again to text her.If we’re officially dating, can I take you to dinner tonight?
Her reply was swift and satisfying.As long as you’ll come home with me after.
It’s a date. Pick you up at six.
WhenIpulledupin front of Kat’s apartment a few minutes ahead of schedule, she was seated on the front steps wearing a short, ruffly white dress with her leather jacket and boots. This look was like one of my teenage fantasies come to life. Her hair was twisted up with little silver clips, a few curling locks falling artfully free. A dark gray cat wove back and forth in front of her bare legs, purring so loudly I heard it from three yards away.
“Is it wrong to be jealous of a cat?” I asked, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jeans.
I’d traded my usual tee and sneakers for a nice shirt and leather dress shoes; the appreciative feminine gaze that traveled over me from head to toe made me glad to have put forth the effort.
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I paid to have Tempest’s balls chopped off last month,” she replied, rising to her feet and brushing cat hair from her skirt.
I gave an exaggerated grimace as I held out a hand, curling my fingers around hers when she took it.
“You look extraordinarily beautiful,” I said quietly.
She paused on the bottom step. “You clean up pretty nice, too. It’s a good thing you weren’t dressed like this when you came to the Keeper earlier, or Erin would’ve thrown herself at you then and there.”
“Oh, really?” I mused, then leaned in to kiss her.
Whatever she had on her lips, it tasted different today, more like vanilla. Only Kat could be so addicted to routine in some ways and so unpredictable in others.
“You should tell your assistant I’m into this hot blonde, really hoping she’ll let me stick around awhile.”
With a mischievous grin, Kat said, “I guess we’ll have to see how an actual date goes first, won’t we?”
I slid an arm around her waist, lifted her from the step, and twirled her around before setting her to her feet on the sidewalk. “Challenge accepted. Excellent date starts now.”
“Where are we going for dinner?”
“The Mermaid,” I answered, laughing when she squealed in delight.
It was a nice, family-owned restaurant in the middle of Spruce Hill’s main drag, but Aidan Willoughby wouldn’t be caught dead in a place without Michelin stars to its name. Back in my teens, Kat and I had been there together a few times with mutual friends, including the current owners, Jake and Sam. The twins took it over from their father several years ago.
For me, a trip to The Mermaid meant a tasty meal in cool surroundings, maybe a chat with Jake if he was tending bar or working on his ledgers at an unoccupied table. For Kat, it was something else entirely: another jab at her father’s snobbery, another experience he’d denied her, another memory made in spite of his neglect.
Being the one to give that to her made me feel like less of a failure despite my plan for the painting crumbling to dust.
“I’m still working on getting into my dear, departed phone,” Kat said as I paid the bill. “I have a college friend I could ask for Evelyn’s number, but I feel like the fewer people involved, the better.”
I nodded. “If you can’t get your contacts from the old phone, I can do some digging.”
