Mr. Match: The Boxed Set Page 4

  Chapter 5

  Math and Love Don’t Mix

  Cat

  "I've got a show in Los Angeles anyway," I told Max the next week after he swore up and down that he'd reanalyzed the algorithm based on the new information I'd given him from my date with Girard. "I don't have time to waste with guys with sanitation issues and klutzy streaks that might result in my actual death or dismemberment."

  "We did have some bad luck there," Max agreed. "But when you get back, I'll have your real match, I promise."

  "Max, have you ever stopped to think that maybe math and love don't mix? Maybe you should apply your impressive smarts to something else. Like world peace. Or homelessness. Aren't there math-related solutions for those things?"

  He shook his head. "I'm this close, I can feel it."

  "If this thing is so good, why don't you try it on yourself?" I asked him. Max had dated off and on, but the last serious girlfriend I remembered hearing about had been when he was in college, and I'd never even met her.

  Storm clouds passed through my brother's eyes, and I swear, I could feel the tension ramp up as he stared back at me. "I'm not ready to meet my match," he said simply, but it was clear there was something more to it. I’d pressed him before, but gotten nowhere. I let it go.

  "Fine, but I'm done playing guinea pig. I've got to finish up a few pieces for the show and get everything else ready to go."

  "I'm on the road for the next two weeks anyway," Max said. "But you'll get an email when I find your next match. Your final match. The right one."

  I shook my head. I was not willing to die for the sake of Max’s experiment. "Don't match me again, Max. I'm fine. If I end up on my own, it'll be okay. There are other ways to have babies if I really want one." And I did. That was the one thing I'd ever been clear about. But I meant it, I didn't need a man to make that dream a reality.

  "And I'll support you if it comes to that. But give this one more chance. Please, Kitty."

  I hated it when he called me Kitty. That’s what Dad used to call me.

  I sighed, feeling like I was letting my brother down. "Max. No. I think I'm just going to trust the universe, okay?"

  He stared at me with those big brown eyes for a long moment and then pulled me into a hug. "Okay, sis. I'm sorry I failed you."

  "You didn't fail," I said into his shoulder. Max had never failed me. "You're a great brother, and it's not your job to fix my love life."

  "Okay," he said, his voice almost a whisper.

  * * *

  The next week was insanity as I prepared for the largest solo show I'd ever done at a very well known gallery in Santa Monica. It wasn't often that I traveled to shows out of town—I usually just sent the work, but a designer who liked my work had shown a piece to the gallery owner, who'd called to invite me up. She thought there was a great market for work like mine in west Los Angeles, and I was willing to go spend a couple days to find out.

  The show was set to open on a Thursday night with a reception, and I'd invited my mother to come along. Max was on the road with the team, or he would have come as well. I was staying in a nearby hotel and had gotten a big room with two queen beds, so we made a girls' night out of it. We went to get a late afternoon cocktail on the pier, and then went back to the room to dress and get gussied up together.

  "Have I told you how proud I am of you, Cat?" Mom watched me put on my earrings, smiling into the mirror behind me.

  "Yes," I said. It was hard for me to accept praise. When I was young, I was used to seeing Max be the one everyone celebrated. I was more comfortable standing to the side—art had always been my quiet way of expressing myself, the fact that it was now the thing pulling me into a spotlight was a little bit ironic and slightly uncomfortable. But I had to make a living and I knew I wouldn't do well in an office job.

  "I am," she beamed. "You and your brother have both surpassed the wildest hopes your father and I had for you."

  "Really? Daddy had hopes for me? We were so little when he died."

  A misty nostalgia crossed her face, and after a moment she said, "Of course he did. Your dad and I used to sit and imagine what you and your brother might become."

  "What did you think Max would be?" I asked.

  She laughed. "President." She sipped the water she'd set on the table next to the bed. "But honestly, I think what he really has achieved is so much better. So much more him."

  "And what did you think I would be?" I felt a little twinge of worry at what she might say.

  "It was harder to know which way you were heading. You were interested in so many things," Mom said. "But your dad said he thought you were a genius too, just a quieter one. We thought you might be an author or a scientist."

  "Or an artist," I suggested.

  "We should have thought of that. Your dad would be so proud." Her eyes shone with tears when she said that, and I wasn't sure if I should switch the subject, but thinking about Dad always made me want my mom to find that kind of love again.

  "Mom? Did you ever think about getting married again?"

  Mom smiled at me, the tears still standing unshed in her eyes. "I've thought about it, Cat. But I haven't met anyone who felt right to me, who felt the way your dad did."

  "Do you think there's just one person for each of us out there?"

  "Oh no," she said, and it warmed a place in my heart to hear that despite losing the love of her life she believed there might be another out there for her. "I think there are a few great possible loves for each of us. And for some of us, we might get to know more than one. I loved your dad with everything I was, but that doesn't mean there isn't someone else out there who'd be just as good a fit for me. As Max always says, it's just an equation. When both sides are balanced, it works."

  "I'm not sure Max knows what he's talking about, Mom. He's set me up with a couple of guys who were definitely not a fit." Not. At. All.

  Mom smiled and lifted a shoulder, laughing lightly as we gathered our purses and headed out the door to my show.

  * * *

  The gallery was amazing—open and light and airy. And while it was incredible to see my art hanging on the walls, it was far more startling to see more than a hundred and fifty people milling about the space, drinking wine and really looking at my work.

  "I'm so pleased you were willing to come up," said Lana, the gallery owner. "And some of the new work is beautiful," she said. “Especially the blue piece.” I'd done that one only in the last couple weeks. Honestly, I'd started it around the same time Max had stirred up all the feelings I had about finding a soulmate, feelings I'd hidden for a while now.

  "Thank you," I said. "I'm really happy to be here. To be honest, I'm kind of shocked to see so many people."

  “You shouldn’t be. Your work brought them in,” she said. “There’s also a man here who asked about you earlier, wanted me to bring you over when you arrived.”

  I looked around as she led me through the crowded space, Mom at my side sipping her champagne.

  "There he is," she said, and nodded toward a set of broad shoulders in a dark suit and a head of full thick blond hair. He stood with his back to us, staring at the blue painting I'd so recently created. "His name is Xavier Dorne," she said, handing me his card.

  "I'll go say hello," I said.

  "You go ahead," Mom said, turning to collect a little plate of cheese and crackers. "I'm going to mingle."

  I approached the man in the suit, stepping up behind him and saying, "Excuse me."

  He turned a set of deep chocolate eyes on me and when they met mine, a smile crept over his full lips that nearly sent me to the floor. Something odd happened to me in that one look, something I don't think I'll ever be able to adequately put into words. I was zapped, as surely as Girard had been in his bathtub. And I stumbled a bit finding my next words. "I'm Cat Winchell," I said. "Lana said you were looking for me."

  "I am," he said. "I'm Xavier. I'm very impressed with your work."

  His voice was rich and
strangely foreign, carrying a trace of some accent I couldn't identify, and those deep dark eyes seemed to hold worlds all their own that might sweep me away if I let them. He was tall, and wore his suit like a glove that revealed contours of muscle beneath it that seemed too perfect to be real.

  "Thank you," I said, feeling as if I was already getting lost in those deep dark eyes. His card said he was a real estate developer, so I tried to cage my reactions to him around the possibility that he was looking to buy something for his work.

  "How long have you been painting, Cat?" Xavier asked, a tiny smile turning up one side of his mouth.

  A shiver went through me unbidden, and I stepped nearer to him, both of us turning to look at the saturated blues and turquoises in front of us, a painting that embodied so much want and desire it should have been embarrassing. Instead, something about standing in front of this particular painting with this man felt right. "My whole life," I said. "Seriously for the last eight years."

  "You have a real gift," he said. "If this was in my house, I don't think I'd be able to walk past it without stopping. It makes me feel..." he paused and turned to catch my eye, an almost embarrassed look in the beautiful eyes. "It makes me feel exposed for some reason. Like it's about me."

  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.”<
br />
  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 order 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."