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“She is strong,” I confirm. “I think you’d get along well with her.”
“I hope to meet her someday,” Willa says, turning to me and smiling. She silently looks at me as if she’s looking for an answer to an unspoken question.
“What?”
“It’s strange how comfortable I am with you when I don’t know much about you.”
“I’m an open book if you ask the right questions, Ms. Cole.”
“And if I ask the wrong one?”
“I might punish you.”
“See? That right there could come across so creepy. Somehow you make it endearing,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “You’re dangerous, Damian.”
“Not the first time I’ve heard that.”
“Do you have siblings?”
“Only child,” I say. “My father got his heir on the first try so he saw no reason to add more crying babies to the mix.”
Willa frowns at that.
“He doesn’t like children?”
“He doesn’t like anything but money and the things it buys him,” I say with a shrug. “No need to be sad about it. I’ve always understood him and my place in the family.” Her nose wrinkles in the cutest way. I like that she cares, but I meant what I said. My parents aren’t worth the emotion. They are who they are, and I’ve accepted it. I press a kiss to the tip of her nose as if it’s the most natural thing for me to do.
It isn’t. Like so much of my reaction to Willa, it’s all abnormal for me. Like her, I’m oddly at ease in her company. Some piece of me thinks I should overanalyze that, to ask the same question she asked of Alexander this morning. Why now?
“Next question,” I prompt her.
“Did you always live in New Orleans before here?”
“I did, though we traveled extensively. Most of my summers were spent in some random European city.”
“Favorite non-American city?”
“Edinburgh, hands down.”
“Good answer,” she says with a side eye. “Mine too. Favorite flavor of potato chip?”
“What a random question,” I say, sending her a wide smile. “I only like them if they’re spicy.”
“You are not a hot Cheeto man?” Her eyes widen in shock.
“Gross, no. Those are disgustingly messy, and I don’t even want to know what they use to get that color. But give me a spicy nacho Dorito when I’m tipsy, and I’ll be happy.”
This line of questioning goes on for another hour. Finally, she’s satiated with quirky facts about me, I think, and the asks become heavier.
“When was the last time you had sex?”
“The answer might surprise you,” I say, shifting to rest my back on the armrest of my couch and propping my legs up in between us. It gives me a better view of her. The late afternoon sun shining through the window behind her lights her up like a halo. I’m not a religious person, but if ever I met an angel, it might be Willa Cole with her easygoing and caring nature.
“It might not though,” she says, matching my position on the other side of the couch and tangling our legs together. “We won’t know unless you answer it.”
“Are you giving me the option of not answering?”
“Yes, I won’t make you tell me anything. But I don’t fuck people without certain understandings. So, it may affect our play dates.”
