Breathe Again

BREATHE AGAIN

A LOVE STORY

BREATHE AGAIN

A LOVE STORY

JOELLE CHARMING

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Text copyright © 2014 Joelle Charming

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a
retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic,
mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written
permission of the publisher.

Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle

www.apub.com

Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake are trademarks of
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, Inc., or its affiliates.

e-ISBN: 9781477876602

Cover design by Mumtaz Mustafa

BREATHE AGAIN PLAYLIST

“White Horse” by Taylor Swift

“Breathe Again” by Sara Bareilles

“Fireflies” by Owl City

“Fix You” by Coldplay

“Fearless” by Taylor Swift

“Kiss Me” by Ed Sheeran

I said yes to the date because he drank
his coffee black and drove a Honda. His hairline was also starting to recede,
which was a good thing. It meant that he’d be completely bald by the time he
was forty.

I’d seen him in the café before, but he didn’t ask me out
until he tasted one of my red velvet cupcakes. He usually only ordered coffee
and a blueberry muffin on his way to work, but Darcy had spilled half-and-half
all over his lap that morning and gave him one of my cupcakes to apologize. He
took it with him, and apparently loved it enough to come back to the café in
the afternoon to ask who made it. Darcy forced me from the kitchen to introduce
me; she didn’t even give me a chance to take my apron off. He asked me out then
and there, and I would have said yes even if Darcy weren’t breathing down my
neck at the time.

I thought I was ready to date again, but I still had half a
mind to cancel the day before he was supposed to pick me up. It felt too soon,
and it would save me from any awkward encounters at the café if things didn’t
work out. But when I came home to a dozen red roses sitting on my doorstep the
night before, I decided not to. Romance wasn’t exactly on my list, but it
couldn’t hurt his chances.

“What are you going to wear?” Darcy asked as I untied my
apron before leaving for the day. Even if I didn’t talk much about my personal
life before moving to Los Angeles, she still felt as if it were her place to
ask about my life now. I tried to act annoyed, but it really was nice having a
girlfriend here.

“I’m not sure,” I said, hanging my apron up on the peg
outside the kitchen door. “My closet isn’t exactly full of dateworthy clothing
at the moment.” It was true; my workday uniform typically consisted of a
polka-dotted apron and tennis shoes. Most of my fancier clothes were still hung
in my closet back in Kansas, and I hadn’t really had an excuse until now to go
out and shop for anything new.

“You should have said something,” Darcy said, an annoyed look
on her face. “I would have brought you this new dress I bought the other day.
It’s hot pink and super sexy and absolutely adorable. You’d love it.”

I laughed. “Darcy, we’ve been working together for almost
seven months now. What about me would make you think that I would wear anything
that could be described as sexy and/or hot pink? Anyway, I have a pretty little
black dress that is perfect for a date.”

“Well, we’re both off on Monday; let’s go shopping. If you’re
going to start dating again, you should probably stock up.”

“I’m leaving,” I said, definitely ready to flee at her
mention of shopping. Darcy was notorious for spending entire paychecks on her
infamous shopping trips. It was the reason she was working at the café in the
first place. Her parents were not hurting for money, but they’d cut her off
when she racked up so much credit card debt that they could have put her
younger sister through her first year at Stanford.

My apartment was above the café, and my feet ached when I
walked up the stairs. I’d been working for thirteen days straight at this
point, and as the café’s only pastry chef, I was usually on my feet for twelve
hours a day. I didn’t mind so much; I liked working for Josephine, my cousin
and the owner of Olive Sweet. Or, at least, it wasn’t like I had anything else
to do.

I had a few hours before Collin was supposed to pick me up,
so I made my way into the bathroom to relax in the tub and actually pamper
myself for once. My apartment couldn’t be considered large in any sense of the
word, but the bathroom was definitely a selling point. It had the same dark
wood floors that the rest of the apartment had, and the original claw-foot tub.
It was beautiful, if a little cramped. But best of all—it was free. Well, free
in the sense that I worked my ass off in exchange for the loft above the café
and a little monthly stipend. It worked for me; I didn’t need a lot to be
happy. Anything was better than back home.

My hair clung to my face as the hot water began filling up
the tub and the bathroom started steaming up. I pulled it free of the bun on
top of my head, and let it fall down my back. With the exception of a trim
every few months or so, I hadn’t really cut my hair since I was thirteen. It
wasn’t necessarily my favorite style, but old habits die hard. I could almost
hear my mother’s voice in my head, listing all the reasons why I keep my hair
long.

I slipped into the tub, cringing slightly at how hot the
water was. Eventually my body adjusted, and I succumbed to the smell of
lavender that filled my bathroom. It wasn’t often that I actually let myself
relax; I was constantly running up and down the stairs to check on rising dough
and make sure that my egg whites didn’t get too warm before turning them into
meringues. I was lucky that I even got to bathe most days, really.

Obviously, I didn’t mind. Josephine trusted me enough to do
my own thing. She’d built Olive Sweet’s reputation on her culinary expertise,
focusing on understated, yet decadent, breakfasts and lunches. The icing on her
proverbial cake, however, was my dessert. Literally. In the seven months since
I’d taken over pastries at the café, I’d already been written about in the
LA Times
,
and had turned Josephine’s modest coffee shop into a mecca for the gluttons of
the Westside. As someone with no real training, and no true accomplishments in
life, I took my job very seriously. It was my lifeline, the only purpose I
knew. I wasn’t about to give it up because I was tired.

I let the water go cold before finally getting up and out of
the tub. The steam had settled, leaving the surfaces in my bathroom damp. It
was August in California, but there was an unusual chill in the air, so I
wrapped myself in my long plush robe and made my way into my bedroom to rummage
through my closet. It really was sad how few clothes I actually had in there;
it was a tiny closet as it was, and my paltry wardrobe made it look downright
pathetic. To be fair, I hadn’t really had the time
or
space to
pack up my entire closet back in Kansas, and left with only what I could fit
into my grandmother’s vintage suitcase. Call me sentimental, but I figured if
she could pack up her entire life into that one suitcase to move to a new
country, I could do the same. And though California was technically part of the
same union as Kansas, it may as well have been a different planet.

Thankfully, I had brought the classic black dress that I’d
also inherited from my grandmother. I pulled it out of the garment bag hanging
in the closet and laid it on the bed, before moving to the vanity in the corner
of the room to start getting ready.

The antique vanity in the bedroom (really just the bedroom
section of the loft, since I lived in a studio) was my second-favorite part of
the apartment. Josephine had the same sensibility that I did when it came to
style, and had filled the apartment with vintage furniture and décor when she’d
lived in it. Her girlfriend, Heather, had much more modern taste, and Josephine
had left behind the majority of her larger pieces when they’d moved in
together. So I was getting it all second- (and third-and fourth-, probably)
hand, which was exactly how I liked it. Everything had a history, and now I got
to contribute to that history too. I just hoped I was leaving behind a good
story.

I kept a towel on my head while I applied my makeup, making
sure not to overdo it, just a little powder and liquid eyeliner, some dramatic
mascara, and red lips to finish it off. The power of subtlety when it came to
making up your face was another gift my grandmother had left me, a product of
her coming of age in Paris during the second World War. It had paid off; she
died when she was seventy-five years old, but her skin was still nearly
flawless. Much different than my own mother, who had grown up thinking that
makeup should be applied like frosting: thick and obvious. It didn’t matter how
much my grandmother, her mother, had tried to teach her otherwise. The rest of
the girls were doing it that way, and my grandmother was an embarrassment to
her as it was.

I lined my lip with a nude liner before filling it in with my
favorite red lipstick. I was on a tight budget every month, so much so that I
didn’t even bother with a cell phone, but I still found a way to afford a tube
of Chanel Rouge Coco whenever I needed it. It was as essential to my cocktail
dress as it was to my apron. It was a security blanket. A mask.

I had only a half hour to fix up my hair before Collin would
be arriving, so I decided to dry it quickly and pull it into a messy chignon at
the back of my head. Only thing left was to get dressed, but as I made my way
to the bed where I had put out my black dress earlier, something stopped me. I
stared at the black cocktail dress, cut perfectly below my knee and fitted in
all the right places. It was trusted, made almost perfectly for me, but
something just didn’t feel right. I’d worn it to my grandmother’s funeral, my
high school graduation, both my brother and sister’s weddings, and even my own
engagement party. It held so many memories on its own, memories that I wasn’t
quite ready to share with anyone yet.

I glanced at the clock: five minutes before six o’clock. I
made a mad dash to my closet and flipped through the hangers quickly, before
finding the only other dress I’d brought with me. It was more practical, a
hand-me-down from my brother’s wife, and much more subtle than the other. I
pulled the navy jersey fabric over my head, tied the belt at the waist, and
slipped on a pair of nude pumps right when I heard Collin knock on my front
door.

“So?” Darcy bombarded me as soon as I
got in to work the next day. It didn’t help that Josephine was in there too. I
was trapped in a tiny, stuffy kitchen with the only two people who actually
cared about my life, and I’d just gone on my first first date in, well,
forever.

I moved to grab my apron from the hook next to the
refrigerator, ignoring both sets of eyes boring into the back of my head. “Oh
come on,” I heard Darcy say, “You seriously cannot leave us hanging. How was
it?”

I finally turned, internally cringing at the overly eager
expression that she wore on her face. Josephine just looked slightly amused. I
sighed.

“It was fine,” was all I said.

“Fine?” Darcy said, a look of disgust now on her face. “Fine?
You need to give me more than that, Mellie.”

Josephine laughed. “I’ve had to listen to Darcy discuss your
love life, or lack thereof, for a week now, Mel, since Collin asked you out. We
all know this is a big deal. You, Melanie Devlin, have not been on a date since
you arrived in Los Angeles seven months ago, and Collin Sorenson is one of my
best customers, not to mention a partner at one of the biggest accounting firms
in the city. So, spill.”

I glared at her. Traitor.

“It was fine,” I said again, pulling the strings of my apron
angrily to emphasize my point, and almost cutting off circulation to my stomach
in the process. “He picked me up at six o’clock on the dot, took me to some
fancy Italian restaurant where we drank fancy Italian wine and ate fancy
Italian pasta, and then took me home. We have exactly three things in common,
and he already wants to take me on another date.”

Darcy squealed. “I knew it!” she said, her voice an octave
higher than it usually was. “I knew you two would get along! He’s so . . .
dreamy. And rich!”

I couldn’t help but give her the stink eye at that last
sentiment. I heard Josephine choke back a laugh.

“Aren’t you supposed to be, I don’t know, working or
something?” I snapped at them, turning to the fridge so I could grab the
ingredients for the desserts I was making for an event the next day. “I’m
already running late today, and would really appreciate a kitchen free from
distractions.”

Darcy just rolled her eyes. “Well, you can’t avoid us
forever. I guess I’ll get back to the register,” she said, and turned on her
heel to head out the swinging kitchen doors.

I ignored her, and set my cold ingredients on the counter
before grabbing the dry items from the pantry. I almost forgot Josephine was
still in the kitchen, and went to work measuring flour and cracking eggs.

I jumped when she finally did speak up. “Really though,
Mellie, how was it? You know that you don’t
have
to
start dating again, if you aren’t ready. Not that it’s any of our business, of
course.”

I sighed and turned to face her. “It’s not that I’m not ready
to date again. It’s more that I don’t know
how
to date.
This is all just too new for me. I didn’t come here to find a husband, you
know. I just want to live a quiet life and bake. That’s all.”

Josephine studied me for a moment, and it made me nervous. I
turned my back to her and grabbed another large bowl from the shelf above the
counter. I knew that look; my dad had the same one when he was concerned or
worried about me.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” she asked.

I shrugged. “It’s what I’m good at, so why not?”

“That’s not what I asked,” she said, moving to where I stood
next to the counter. She grabbed my hand, forcing me to stop pouring
ingredients into the bowl haphazardly. “Are you sure that’s what you want?
Staying here, baking things for other people? It doesn’t matter if you’re good
at it. What do you want to do with your life?”

I could almost feel the tears pool in my eyes, but I blinked
them back quickly before they could actually form. “I don’t know Josephine,” I
said quietly, not looking at her. “It’s all too soon. All of a sudden, I can do
whatever I want. It’s a big change from having my entire life planned out for
me. I just need time to figure it out.”

She nodded and put her arm around my shoulder. “I understand.
And you know that you can stay here as long as you want. It’s nice having a
family again, but know that I’ll support whatever you want to do. You do have
your entire life ahead of you; don’t feel like you need to compromise your
happiness for someone. Or something.”

“I know,” I said, letting out a little of the tension in my
shoulders. “Thank you, Josephine. For everything.”

Josephine just smiled and kissed my hair. “You don’t need to
thank me for anything. I’m your cousin and I love you.”

For the second time in less than a minute, I felt moisture in
my eyes, and it scared me. I knew that Josephine understood how it was; we did
come from the same family. She released my shoulder and took a step back before
heading out to the front of the café.

She stopped at the swinging doors and turned back to where I
still stood. “Let me know if you need any help with that order for tomorrow,”
she said gently. “It’s been a while since I’ve made Grandma Lissy’s cream
puffs, but I still know the recipe by heart.”

I just smiled and nodded. “Sure. I think I’m good for now,
thanks.”

I heard the squeak of the swinging door and let out a breath
I didn’t know I’d been holding.