Breathe for Me (6 page)

Desire—for me.

The air whooshes from my lungs. The stirrings of my own longing match his, slamming to the surface of my skin in a heated fervor. My pulse speeds up.

“No more apologies, Isabel,” he says, then loosens his grip on my imprisoned hand, his thumb sliding down the center of the covered palm.

I shiver at the sensation, exhaling a shaky breath. “I… Okay.” I can barely think, barely move. I am captured, locked in a state of perfect being. Frozen in one perfect moment.

“Read this,” he says, pressing a folded paper into my hand.

And then, he's gone.

I remain in my spot for a moment, holding on to this feeling. Tucking it safely away in my mind, where I can experience it over and over again for as long as possible. I force myself to take several slow breaths to focus my mind, slip the note into my pocket for when I can read it in privacy. Then I head to my next class, carrying secret thoughts of Dominic with me.

In the solitude of my patio that evening, I finally dare to open the note Dominic gave me. The rest of the day at school, it sat heavy in my pocket, beckoning me. But I wanted to read it at home, where I could focus and absorb his words without the distraction of people around me.

I cross my bare legs and drape them over the small ottoman, unfolding the paper. Anticipation freezes the breath in my lungs. I read:

At the bottom of the page is a phone number.

I reread the poem and the phone number several times, memorizing and absorbing his words, letting them saturate me. Of course he's a poet. I should have recognized a kindred spirit.

The last sentence of the poem has a sense of promise. A sense of understanding. Does he want me to call him?

I swallow, carefully fold the poem and slip it into my shorts pocket. The last thing I need is for Sitri to discover it. I should toss the paper. Or even better, burn it. But Dominic opened himself to me without even a promise of me doing the same. I can't make myself get rid of it.

So for now, I will keep the poem close, where Sitri can't get it. I will have something sacred that is just for me.

I reach for my cell, my hand trembling. Before I can change my mind, I dial the numbers on the paper.

“Hello?” a female voice answers.

My heart smashes against my ribcage. For a split second I worry that I can't do this. But Samantha's words from earlier in the day soothe me. She's right—he's respecting me, giving me space to take the lead. I can overcome my fear and take this small step.

“Hello, is anyone there?” the voice says.

“Um, sorry. Is Dominic home?”

“Sure, hold on a sec.” I hear the phone being set down and the person's voice hollering for him.

A few seconds later, Dominic answers. “Hello?”

“Um.” I swallow.
Talk!
“Hi. It's…it's me, Isabel.”

“Hi. Are you busy right now?”

I glance at the pile of homework on my desk. Normally I finish Friday's homework that day, but there's no reason it can't wait until tomorrow. “No. Why?”

“Meet me in your courtyard in…” Pause. “Twenty minutes.”

I can't help the smile on my face. “What are we doing?”

He chuckles. “Wouldn't you rather be surprised?” His voice is husky, and it stirs something inside me.

“Okay,” I reply, a little breathless. “I'll be there.”

We hang up. I frantically run to my closet, trying to pick out the most flattering outfit I can find. Nothing satisfies me. Finally I just pick a pale blue top and jeans, then go to the bathroom to apply a little makeup.

Once done, I slip the note into my pocket, grab my purse and cell phone, and head down the stairs. I force myself to walk slowly, to stay calm and relaxed. This is just a friendly get-together, nothing more.

According to his poem, he wants to know more about me. I scour the scant memories of the last few months for things I can tell him, things that won't give too much away. I'm surprised by my eagerness to connect with him. Surprised, and a little afraid.

But this evening is not to be one of fear. I will find that courage within myself. Because something in me won't let him go. Won't let me push him away.

I murmur a quick prayer that Sitri will stay away for the evening and walk into the courtyard. Dominic is already waiting for me. The dark blue of his shirt brings out the color of his eyes. His hair is slightly unkempt as always. It looks soft and wavy. I clench my fists at my side to keep from sweeping a hand through it.

“You're here,” I say as I approach him.

“Of course. Ready?”

I nod and follow him out the gate onto the sidewalk. We stroll in companionable silence for several minutes. I suspect Dominic is giving me time to relax, to acclimate to him. But I promised I wouldn't run away anymore, and I plan to keep my word.

“Where do you live?” I ask him.

“Uptown. Not too far from the Garden District.” His words are comfortable, easy like his slow gait, and I fall in place right beside him. “My mom grew up in New Orleans and always wanted to move back, so we finally did a few years ago.”

“I haven't lived here that long either,” I say, trying to weigh my words. “I just moved here about five months ago.”

“What do your parents do?”

I force my eyes ahead and look at the cracks in the sidewalk as I pace forward. “They died a long time ago. I live…with my uncle. He's out of town a lot.” Half truth, half lie. The best I can give right now.

“I'm sorry.”

“No apologies, remember?” I glance over at him, peering up at his face.

He smiles. “How could I forget? I made that rule.”

I shake my head in mock sadness. “Memory loss is usually the first symptom of an aging brain.” The words are flowing from me easier now, even though I still feel a little self-conscious.

“So I've heard. Guess I'd better watch myself around you. I'm forgetting things I should already know.” A smile teases the edge of his face.

I turn my gaze back to the sidewalk, trying to swallow down the flush that climbs up my neck and across my cheeks. As we walk, the pinky of his hand brushes the side of mine. My heart rate doubles instantly at the unexpected contact, and I dare to let my own finger reach out in response.

He doesn't push me any further, and I am content for the moment to feel this intense, albeit brief, moment of connection. Then I pull back.

“Here we are,” Dominic finally says, stopping in front of Jim's Books.

I give him a huge smile. “You have no idea how much I love this place.”

“I figured. I'm a frequent visitor here too. Let's go inside.” He opens the door for me, and I head in, wondering what else I'm going to learn about him. And how hard he's making it for me to think of him as just a friend.

chapter five

“I
SABEL
!” A
GRUFF
EXCLAMATION
by Jim catches my attention immediately. He's over by the nonfiction area shelving books, covered in dust. “You're back. Did you get through
Jane Eyre
already?”

I shoot Jim a smile. “Not yet. Hey, you promised me last time that you were going to clean this store,” I say, clucking my tongue with a teasing shake of my head. “It's still a mess.”

He smacks his thick, wrinkled hands on the side of his corduroy pants. Dust puffs all around him, and he waves the thick clouds away from his face as he coughs lightly. “I was. Got sidetracked.” He glances over my shoulder at Dominic, his eyebrows raised. “Small world. Fancy seeing you two here, together.”

“Hey, Jim,” Dominic says, his voice unusually loud. Is he nervous? “We're, um, just gonna look around for a little bit.”

Jim gives Dominic a showy wink, then turns back toward his shelves. “Help yourselves, kids.”

Before I can ask what that was all about, Dominic grabs my hand. “Come here—there's something I want you to see.” He weaves me through the shelves toward the back of the room. I try to focus on walking, not on the heat pouring from his hand.

“Where are we going?”

He stops suddenly, tugs me in front of him. “Look.”

There's a small, rickety table with a thin, leather-bound book perched on top. The book looks old, very old. As gently as I can, I pick it up and open it to the title page.

Goblin Market and Other Poems
By
Christina Rossetti

“She was a well-known poet in the Victorian era. I think you'd like her work.” He pauses. “I got it for you.”

I suck in a quick breath of air, surprised. My throat closes up, and I stare at the book. “I can't take this.” I turn around, looking up into his eyes. The room is a little dim so it's hard to see him perfectly, but I can clearly feel the warmth of his skin as he stands just inches from me, smell the clean crispness of his cologne.

He shrugs, the dark stain flooding his cheeks belying the casual gesture. “I already bought it. Besides, do you know how badly my brother would beat me up if he saw me with this?”

A chuckle escaped from me. “Nice.”

His face turns serious. “I saw it yesterday and thought of you. It has some great poems in there. Figured you'd appreciate it. Please, just take it.”

“How about we share it?” I offer.

He smiles. “Okay. I'd like that.”

A small piece of my heart chips off as I realize I'll have to leave this book behind when Sitri takes me. I can't even let myself think right now about how I'll feel leaving Samantha and Dominic behind, too.

We head toward the door, making sure to tell Jim goodbye. Jim hollers the same at us and tells me to enjoy the new book. We step outside into the warmth of the evening air. I press the hardcover against my chest and try hard to calm my pulse. Dominic bought a gift
for me
. I can't remember the last time I got a present—at least, one that didn't come with any strings attached.

“Did you eat yet?” he asks.

I shake my head. “You?”

“Nope.”

“Do you…do you want to come over?” I ask, trying to keep my voice casual. “I can make something for us, if you like. I mean, I'm not the greatest at cooking, but I can throw together a few things, and—”

“Sure,” Dominic says, interrupting my rambling. A smile spreads across his face.

Every step back to my house seems to hold a lifetime. I capture it all in my mind, silently wishing I could keep this memory forever—the balmy breezes, his steady breathing, the rustling of the trees around us. It all etches within me a sort of living photograph.

“So, tell me more about yourself,” I say, then wish I sounded a little less awkward and clichéd. “I mean, um, if there's anything you want to share.”

Dominic reaches a hand up and brushes the tips of his fingers along the bottom leaves of a low-lying tree. It rustles from his touch. “Hm. Well, I have a few friends but we don't get to hang out enough. My favorite class is English—”

“Mine too,” I say in a rush.

He smiles, his eyes twinkling. “Kinda figured. What else… I like old kung fu films and Chinese food. My brother and I spend a couple of marathon nights each month in front of the TV, reenacting the fight scenes.” He grins wryly. “He usually wins, but I'm getting better at anticipating his moves.”

What would it be like to share those kinds of moments with a sibling? Jane would have been too horrified to watch such a movie with me—she couldn't even stand seeing our neighbor's brothers wrestling around. And when they got cut, she'd fuss over them, clucking her tongue and cleaning up their messy wounds. So motherly and nurturing, even at a young age.

An image pops into my mind of Dominic and me sitting on a couch together, watching one of those films, digging into a container of noodles and laughing at the buckets of fake blood that result from every flesh wound. I smile.

“We should do that one night,” he says, and I jump a little, startled that he practically read my mind.

I nod in response, licking my upper lip nervously.

We make it back to my building, navigating our way through the courtyard and up to my apartment.

“Is your uncle home?” Dominic asks.

“No, he's pretty much always out.” But thinking about my pretend uncle makes me think of Sitri, the reason for all my lies. How could I have forgotten about him? If he sees Dominic here and suspects I have feelings for him, it could mean the end of everything.