6. Willa
Nate shed his suit jacket and tie and told me to make myself at home while he went to grab a bottle of wine, and I took that to mean go ahead and peruse his penthouse. If I hadn’t experienced walking from my front door to his, I’d hardly believe we were in the same building. The original wood floors were about the only item they had in common. The kitchen cabinets, shelves, and crown molding were white, which contrasted nicely with the black countertops.
The furnishings were another stark difference, the couch, coffee table, and recliner from this decade instead of the eights or nineties. Windows took up the entire north side of his penthouse, allowing an unfettered view of skyscrapers, several other brownstone buildings, and the Charles River.
Instead of everything being crammed onto one floor, everything was open and wide.
“It’s gorgeous,” I said as he approached with the wine and two long-stemmed glasses.
“It’s been in the family for generations.”
“Handy.” A weird but true thing to say, but Nate simply smiled, popped the cork, and poured.
“I didn’t pay attention to the type of wine you’d bought, only that it was a red, so I figured a nice port ought to pair nicely with the cookies. This one’s from the Vinha dos Ecos vineyards, and has notes of plum, blackberry, chocolate, and raisin.”
I swept my ponytail over my shoulder, flaunting my one point of pride. My hair grew thick and long, held curl for days, and lightened the more time I spent in the sun. Bonus, the higher the ponytail, the longer line my body made from top to bottom. I sat up straighter, hoping it worked in my favor, even on the couch. “I think the bottle was from, like, the New Jersey Turnpike Winery. It’s known for its notes of smog, dirty change, and being cheap.”
Even Nate’s muted snicker filtered into my heart and turned it to mush. “Truth is, I’m more of a scotch and whiskey guy. My mom’s very into wine, as well as an easy mark for schemers, something I’ve lectured her about to no avail.” He lifted the other glass and sat next to me on the couch. “Since my dad was always busy and I didn’t want her traveling alone, I’ve endured a lot of vineyard tours through the years.”
I lifted the wine, sipped, and allowed an “mmm” noise to slip out. “Props to Angela. This is amazing.”
He tilted his head, those grooves between his eyebrows back, although softer than before. “I forgot that you know my mom. I was about to launch into conspiracy theory mode when you called her by her name.”
“I’ve yet to meet her in person, but whenever I talk to her over the phone, it feels like we’ve known each other for years.” Worried that’d scare Nate off, which was a thing I shouldn’t be worried about, I rushed to steer the conversation in another direction. “What kept your dad busy? Is he a lawyer like you?”
“Was, yes. He passed away three years ago.”
Willa Trainor. Master of making awkward conversation. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”
Nate waved it off. “It’s okay. Anyway, it mostly is now.” There was something unsaid, but since he hadn’t pushed me, I didn’t push him. “We miss him, of course. My mom likes to keep busy and has a more active social life than I do. She’s part of three different clubs, plus occasionally decides to play landlord?—”
“Here, here,” I said, lifting my glass, and Nate tapped his to mine.
“I’ll drink to that.” He licked his upper lip, and I barely refrained from offering to do a second sweep.
To keep myself from following through, I broke out the cookies.
The urge to ask more questions bubbled up; however, I didn’t want to veer into any territory that would seem too intimate. Not only would discovering more about Nate likely lead to wanting to unearth more, it’d then be difficult to prevent any divulging of anything involving divorce. Right now, the only part of my life I was allowing myself to dive that fully into was my career. No letting anything else get in the way of my dreams.
I also couldn’t let myself forget that, like his viper of a car, Nate’s sort of provocative luxury and speed would only end with me getting bit. I’d had more than enough pain in that department for a lifetime, thank-you-very-much.
As soon as my glass was empty, Nate refilled it. I told myself I’d refrain from drinking more than a sip. But one became two, and then I sank into the comfort of the cushions and savored the fanciest, most delicious wine I’d ever had, and likely ever would.
Nate draped his arm over the back of the couch, the line of his collar bone visible with the top few buttons of his shirt undone. His fingers drifted to the ends of my hair, and the warmth from the alcohol hit me all at once. Yep, just the wine. That was my story, and I was sticking to it.
Turning inward caused my knee to knock into his outer thigh, and I grasped at straws for something to keep my mind off how freaking masculine and magnetic my next door neighbor was. Seriously, I yearned to drag my tongue along his collarbone, and what was with my sudden obsession to lick him?
So you can see if he tastes as good as he looks, duh.
“By the way, the same goes for you.”
A roughish smile curved the mouth I couldn’t stop obsessing over. “Not sure what you mean. Seems more like a detour I’ve suddenly found myself on with you than a ‘by the way.’”
The swimmy thoughts were due to a combination of wine and Nate, and I sorted through them to find my point. “I mean that if you ever need to talk…” What the hells bells was I doing? “Not that I’m some pillar of good advice. I can definitely tell you what not to do, though.”
“Oh?” Tingles shivered across my scalp as he tugged one of my curls. “What shouldn’t I do, Willa.”
Oops, I sure put my foot in it—or my mouth in it. His mouth, his mouth, his mouth. It seemed to be getting nearer mine too. “That part was more of a joke. With everything you’ve accomplished in your career, telling you not to give up on your dreams would be silly, as you clearly haven’t.”
“I still have plenty to accomplish.”
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.”
We both cracked up at his joke, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed so much. A good sense of humor was such a turn-on too. Then click went my brain, flipping the channel back to the gutter diving one. Desire careened through me as I watched his fingers fan out along the black and white keys, his dexterity giving me naughtier and naughtier ideas, that accidental innuendo about his instrument all too real.
As a dentist, you’d think my ex would’ve had better dexterity. Perhaps he’d used it up during the day. All I knew was when it came to the bedroom, his strokes could hardly be called such. It’d been a good year since I’d gotten there without help from a vibrator, and that had ignited a weird jealousy over my toy I didn’t understand.
Now, not even that worked, so evidently, I needed to have at least the weak-ass foreplay Eric provided beforehand. To be fair, he used to be better at giving compliments and the emotional connecting, which was why I’d shrugged off our less-than-stellar sex life. By the end, it was usually something closer to, “I’m horny. Let’s do it.”
But for someone like me, who once lived and breathed music, it acted as a different sort of foreplay. The notes vibrated through me, awakening my soul and causing a high I only ever experienced when I was fully entrenched in my passion.
A passion Nate obviously shared, and if I were ready to jump into the dating waters again, the guy would check a lot of boxes.
There was no use denying, I’d like him to check my box, but much like the Austen quote “Angry people are not always wise,” the same went for horny people.
Nate played a few arpeggiated chords, the octaves higher and higher and then back down in a glissando. “Time to make some beautiful music together. What does Willa Trainor want to sing tonight?”