I laughed, only because I had no idea what to say. In some ways it was about him, or about men like him—men who stirred up emotions I couldn't name inside the depths of my soul, men who were so attractive they broke my heart with one glance, men who seemed to carry something inside them I wanted but could never quite reach.
It was heady to think that a man I’d met just a moment before already understood something so integral about me.
We stood a long moment side by side, and I had dueling wild thoughts. One: I never wanted this moment to end, never wanted to leave this stranger's side for fear of losing the wild uncertainty swirling inside me that was far more exciting than anything I'd felt before. Two: I wanted to grab his hand and run to some dark corner and ask him to kiss me. Instead, I stood still, afraid to breathe for fear he'd say goodnight and walk away.
"Your card says you're in real estate. Are you looking for art for one of your projects?" I asked, turning to gaze at the side of his face. His cheekbones were high, and his nose was long and straight.
"Yes and no," he said, that half smile returning to his lips. "Sometimes I do. But tonight I came here not realizing exactly what I was looking for."
Well that was mysterious. "You're from San Diego?" I looked at his card again.
"Yes," he said.
"Quite a drive if you weren't sure you were in the market."
"Worth it, I think.”
My mother stepped near then, and put her arm around me. Xavier’s smile grew. “This is your mother?” he said, seeming to know the answer.
“So nice to meet you,” she said, and there was something in her voice that made me think she was playing some kind of game.
I turned to my mother, a question undoubtedly written on my face. Had Mom set this up? Did she know this guy? There was something strange going on, but when Xavier asked me to tell him about another piece and my mother wandered away with a knowing smile, I was swept up in Xavier’s attention and decided to just enjoy the moment.
We stood in front of a third painting. I’d been telling him—for no reason I could discern—about how much I’d learned about myself in art school, about how letting myself create and explore had helped me figure out who I really was. I even tossed off a ridiculous quote I’d always loved—“Ralph Waldo Emerson said something that I love, that every artist—”
“Starts off as an amateur,” he finished, grinning.
A little thrill ran through me because it seemed like Xavier got me so completely.
He smiled at me and leaned in a bit. “I’m really glad I made the trip up,” he said. “I just have this feeling like I found what I’ve been looking for.”
Was he talking about the painting? Maybe he was talking about something altogether different—I was so off balance. "Oh, that's great," I said, trying to ignore the way my entire body buzzed when I turned to meet his intent focus again. "Shall I connect you with Lana again to set it up?"
The tiniest shake of his head was followed by an almost wicked smile that made my knees wobble. "I hoped maybe I could work with you directly. Maybe we could meet tomorrow to discuss it?"
I couldn't direct sell a piece I'd brought to the gallery. “I can chat with you about it, but all these pieces have to sell through the gallery.”
"Understood," he said, the smile widening. "I’d still love it if we could talk some more. I don’t want to keep you tonight when you’re the star of the show.” I followed his gaze to where Lana stood with several other people, waiting to speak to me. “Third Street Promenade Peet's Coffee? Ten?" he asked.
"That sounds good," I managed, beginning to wonder if I was coming down with some esoteric disease as my entire body heated and chilled, reacting in an instant to every blink of Xavier's long lashes, every movement of those lips.
He leaned in then, taking my hand in his lightly and brushing my cheek with his lips. "I look forward to it."
A moment later he was gone, and I found myself nearly panting as I stood in front of a painting that suddenly seemed more erotic than longing.
Chapter 6
Selling It
Cat
Mom and I went back to the hotel for a late dinner after the show, and sat together at a sidewalk table looking out at the street as cars and people passed by.
"It was an amazing show," Mom was gushing. "I'm so impressed with the number of people, and the gallery owner was very nice, didn't you think? How many sales did she say she'd made as we were leaving?"
"Nine," I said, still unable to believe that number myself.
"I don't understand why you told her to tell the buyer for the blue one that it had already been sold," Mom said, raising her eyebrows over the rim of her drink.
I lifted a shoulder, brushing the question away. "Just decided to keep that one."
Mom made a little noise of assent. "It is beautiful. I can't blame you."
It wasn't that the painting was beautiful, it was that I had some sense that it was infused with whatever had transpired between Xavier and me tonight, and I wanted to be able to stand in front of that vibrant blue piece and see if I could feel it again, even for a second. My body was still shivering and quaking when I thought of him, and I knew I wouldn't sleep much as I anticipated meeting him tomorrow.
"So," I began, realizing I needed to tell Mom that I was going to ditch her for a while the next day. "I did make a coffee date for tomorrow with a potential buyer."
A little smile flickered over her lips and she tilted her head to one side. "Really?"
It was all the encouragement I needed to tell her everything about Xavier. I talked excitedly, spewing the random confusing emotions I'd felt in his presence, the strange connection I'd imagined feeling to him. And then I remembered the weird way she’d acted when I was introducing them—as if she already knew him. “Mom, do you know something about this guy?”
Her eyes widened and she looked like she was about to try to deny it, but then she sighed and took my hand. “He’s your match, honey.”
I shook my head. “Do you mean in the worldly sense? Or is this a Max thing?” Suspicion twirled inside me.
“Max found him, and since you said you didn’t want to be matched again, he came to me.”
“Mom!” I wanted to be angry. I’d been set up, and I should have been mad. But Xavier did seem right. He was different than the other two matches.
“So you set it up?” I asked.
“Are you mad at us?” she asked, ducking her head. “I just want you to be happy, Kitty.”
I let go of her hand and leaned back in my chair, staring out at the street, the people, the world. “I’m not mad,” I said. I thought again about the way I’d felt standing next to Xavier—like he already knew me. “I’m happy, actually.”
Mom nodded, something twinkling in her eyes. "I'm happy too. I can shop on the Promenade and you can just text me when you're done."
That was a good plan. "I don't know how I'm supposed to feel about seeing him," I admitted. “In a way, he tricked me. He acted like he wanted to buy a painting."
“Maybe he does.”
“But he came because of you,” I pointed out. “And then he wasn’t honest.”
“Maybe he was nervous,” Mom said. “You can ask him tomorrow. I think it will be whatever it was meant to be," Mom said mysteriously with a knowing smile. "Just go and be open."
I raised an eyebrow at my mother, who looked much calmer than I felt.
* * *
* * *
The next morning, Mom and I headed down to the Third Street Promenade, Santa Monica's outdoor walking mall. Street performers played in the center, and tourists wandered the sidewalks as people sat at the outdoor cafe tables and sipped coffee. I hugged my mother goodbye as we approached Peet's, and promised to text her to let her know what was happening.
And then I went into Peet's, looked around, and when I saw no sign of Xavier, approached the counter to order my latte.
A moment later, I was waiting for my drink orde
r when he came through the door. Today he wore a pair of dark jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, with the sleeves pushed up strong corded forearms. He removed his aviator shades when he stepped inside and his gaze swung around until it found me, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners as a smile took over his lips.
My insides shook as he approached and I hoped it didn’t show.
"Cat," he said at the same moment the barista called out my name. He picked up my drink and handed it to me, kissing my cheek as he did so.
It took me a moment to recover my ability to speak, and when I did, I only managed a garbled, "Hey, hi. Oh."
Xavier grinned at me, another panty-melting smile that sent my insides shimmying around. "Let me just get a coffee. Do you want to sit inside or out?"
His voice was deep and warm, and wrapped me like a silky embrace. "Out," I managed. "I'll wait for you."
He ordered his drink while I doctored my latte, and soon we were sitting at an intimate table outside, up against the side of the building. He tucked a shopping bag under his chair. The morning sun shone through the leafy trees and dappled the sidewalk around us, and I got the same sensation I'd had the night before—that this was some kind of fantasy, something I'd imagined.
"You told me last night you grew up in San Diego," Xavier said. "And you've been painting your whole life, but for eight years seriously."
I squinted at him, wondering what would come next.
"Tell me everything else."
A laugh burst from between my lips, a nervous release of energy inspired by the all-encompassing question and by sheer proximity to the most compelling man I thought I'd ever met. His sincerity, the intent way he focused on me when I spoke, the casual, comfortable set of his body as we talked—there was something so different about this man. Part of me wondered how other women were managing to just walk by, why they weren't as clearly affected by whatever magnetism Xavier possessed as I was. "So you aren't asking for much, just everything?"
A half smile pulled at the sculpted mouth and a dimple I hadn't noticed the night before appeared on one side. Xavier hadn't replaced his sunglasses, and I could see his eyes dancing as they trained on my own. "Yes. Everything."
“Maybe we need to talk about last night first,” I said. “My mom set me up.”
He ducked his head for a second and then met my eyes again. “I know, I’m sorry I wasn’t more forthright about the Mr. Match thing. Your mother suggested I not say anything. Did she sign you up for it?”
“Kind of,” I said, not wanting to divulge the extent of my involvement with Mr. Match. I tried to prod around my feelings—was I angry? At Mom? At Max? At Xavier? I found that I wasn’t, and if I was truthful with myself, I wouldn’t have given him a chance if I’d known. I’d already decided Max’s formula didn’t work. I would have found some reason not to even meet the guy. And as I stared at him now, I realized what a mistake that would have been.
“Oh,” he said, reaching for something in a bag he’d set beneath his chair. “I walked by the window of Barnes and Noble on my way here and saw this.”
He handed me a book with the words “Art is the Highest Form of Hope” on the cover. “It’s a book of quotes about art and by artists. You mentioned Ralph Waldo Emerson last night, and it just seemed to jump out at me as I was on my way to meet you here.” He smiled, his confidence radiating across the table.
I thumbed through the book, loving the words on every page, the intention behind his gift. “This…this is perfect,” I said. “Thank you.” I wasn’t sure what to say now—I’d been tricked, but was it worth it to get irate and walk away from a man who had just given me one of the most thoughtful gifts I’d ever received after knowing me less than twenty-four hours?
“So,” he said tentatively. “Now will you tell me everything?”
"How about if you start?" I challenged. I didn't know anything about this guy, not really. And yet something inside me was saying it might not matter. Maybe I'd have years to find out. Maybe the rest of my life.
Maybe there was something in this drink...
He chuckled. "Fair enough." And then, in the most mesmerizing voice I'd ever heard, Xavier told me everything. How he'd been raised in Los Angeles by immigrant parents, how they'd struggled to find work, how his mother had managed to land a position as a live-in maid for a family in Bel Air, so they'd all lived in a guest house behind the main house and Xavier had gone to the same school as every other kid in the neighborhood—always the poor kid hiding among the rich, he said.
"That must have been hard," I said, completely wrapped up in his story.
"It was in some ways, but I wasn't the only kid in that situation. Lots of those families had help that lived on their property as part of their pay, so I went to school with the kids of gardeners, nannies, and drivers."
"Did the wealthy kids treat you different? Were they mean?" I knew plenty about mean girls. We’d struggled a bit financially after Dad died, and kids noticed subtle differences more than people gave them credit for.
He shook his head. "Not all of them. There's a jerk in every crowd, right? But I could hold my own."
I bet he could. I bit my bottom lip just thinking about it.
Xavier painted a picture of a determined kid who grew into a focused and intelligent young man. He went to UCLA and learned about finance, going to work in asset management and then moving to real estate.
"Are your parents still here?" I asked.
He smiled. "They moved to Orange County," he said. "I was able to help them retire, and they're enjoying their grandchildren. My sister has four kids," he continued, and I couldn’t help wondering if he wanted four kids too.
“Do you want kids?” I asked, realizing it was maybe not appropriate first date fodder, but this was already something quite different than a usual first date.
“Definitely,” he said, with a smile.
As the morning wore on, I realized I didn't care that I’d been tricked into being here. I was more interested in this guy than I thought I'd probably been in anything in my life, including chocolate and that was saying a lot. If I looked up interesting on Wikipedia, I was pretty sure I'd find a photograph of Xavier Dorne next to the word.
“So is this awkward?” he asked after a moment of silence in which we both watched the world around us. “Finding out this was a set up?”
"No, it's not awkward," I said. "It doesn't have to be, at least. But the thing is, it doesn't matter if Mr. Match matched us." I wanted to tell him about Max, about my mother. I wanted to explain it all away, tell him what had happened, but I couldn’t do it without revealing Max, and I’d made a promise about that.
He shook his head slightly as his brow wrinkled in confusion, and I took a deep breath.
"I like you. I mean...I'd really like to get to know you better, and I think it's more important that we think we're a match than that Mr. Match thinks so."
The corners of Xavier's mouth turned up slightly. "You like me?"
"Don't get smug." My skin warmed and my pulse kicked up a notch. Had I just admitted too much?
He laughed out loud, all the tension disappearing as he reached a hand across the table, palm up. “I like you too, Cat. I feel like I’ve been looking for you for a long time.”
I dropped my own hand onto his, a thrill racing through me. "I'm glad you found me," I said.
"Me too."
We spent the rest of the morning walking the Promenade hand in hand, laughing and talking about everything from my childhood to what a tool Mr. Match probably was. It was kind of fun to hear Xavier speculate about my brother, though I did wonder a bit if I should come clean. I knew at some point I’d have to tell him Mr. Match was my brother.
But there'd be time for that. Or I hoped there would, at least.
Chapter 7
Scoring in Santa Monica
CAT
Mom had lunch with us before driving back down to Encinitas. We’d driven separately because I needed to stay an extra day to fini
sh the show.
At lunch I showed her the book Xavier had given me and she spent a long time paging through it, smiling. Xavier was polite and friendly, and he insisted on paying when the check came. He pretty much followed the win-the-mother-over script right down to the letter.
As we saw Mom off at the parking garage, she squeezed my hand tightly. "I approve," she whispered in my ear. "He's amazing."
A giddy excitement blossomed inside me. He was. "Don't tell Max yet...it's too new. I don't want him to get a big head."
"Too late for that, but I won't confirm or deny success," she promised.
"Also," I hissed, looking around to make sure Xavier wasn't near enough to hear. "I can't believe you set me up like that."
She gave me a level look and shook her head. "I'm not going to apologize for that." Then she hugged me and got into her car.
Xavier and I spent the afternoon in a bar on the Santa Monica Pier, with the intention of going to dinner together.
"Is it too early to ask you out for another date?” he asked, leaning in close as we sat side by side staring out a huge plate glass window at the ocean, the surf.
My heart was skipping madly around in my chest and I felt slightly out of control in the very best way possible. "Definitely not.”
The sun was setting as we stepped out of the bar, still holding hands. The nature of the touch had changed though. Where we'd been playful and light this afternoon, now his fingers pulsed against my palm, his thumb tracing circles over the top of my hand. We walked together, our shoulders close, as an electric need thrummed between us.
Something was building like a wave just over the horizon, and I could feel its approach as the tension grew.
Scoring a Soulmate, a Mr. Match Novella Page 4
