Breathe Again (3 page)

“True, but I still feel shitty.”

I couldn’t help but feel a little smug satisfaction at that,
and I let a small smile slip. At least he wasn’t someone who couldn’t take
responsibility when something happened. It was an accident, true, but he was
the one who wasn’t looking where he was going.

“It’s fine, I’ll just go home and get myself cleaned up and
we’ll forget it even happened, okay?” I said, reluctantly pulling my arm from
his grasp. Finally.

“I’ll explain what happened. No need to refund their money,
I’ll make sure it gets taken care of.”

I was just tired at this point, and uncomfortable with the
heavy layer of sugar still coating my shirt and pants. Thank God no more of it
had fallen to the floor in the kitchen, but I was sure there was still a
mountain of cake left outside where I dropped it.

“I should go back out there, clean up,” I said quietly,
exhaustion evident in my voice. It wasn’t just the cake; freaking out like that
always tired me out.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, shaking his head. “I got it.
Go get yourself cleaned up.”

I nodded, reluctantly thankful that he was giving me a way to
get out without actually having to face everyone outside. I moved back to the
sink and rinsed out the towel, and left it in the sink.

I offered him one last smile before turning to head out the
door, and I could feel him watching me as I left.

“Wait,” I heard him call out after me. “What’s your name?”

I paused, wondering if I should just keep going, pretend I
didn’t hear the question. But it was impossible. There was something in his
voice, something that I wasn’t completely sure I was really hearing. It was
low, rougher than in the movies that I, embarrassingly enough, loved to watch
by myself on lonely Saturday nights.

I couldn’t stop myself, not when the thought of him just
knowing my name sent shivers down my spine.

“Mellie,” I said, turning and looking him one more time. He
held my gaze, refusing to let it go.

“Hi Mellie. I’m Jackson.”

I was in trouble.

I wasn’t boy crazy. I’d never had the chance to be boy crazy,
let alone stay locked up in my apartment for two days watching Jackson Traver
marathons. Sure, when I was a teenager I’d had my fair share of movie-star
crushes, but my mother always quickly reminded me that they were unrealistic. I
shouldn’t waste my time pinning up posters of Leonardo DiCaprio in my bedroom
when there was a perfectly acceptable boy next door, literally right next door.

But it was two days later and I was on my fifth Jackson
Traver movie of the weekend. To be fair, I didn’t have anything else to do.
Collin was unavailable for another date until the next night, and the café was
always closed on Sundays and Mondays. I usually spent my afternoons in the
library, or catching up on baking for the week. Today, however, I just felt
like doing absolutely nothing. Well, nothing other than eating ice cream and ogling
Jackson’s abs in whatever movie I happened to find on Netflix.

The only thought that made me feel better was knowing that
Collin really did want to take me out again that week. I just needed a sharp
dose of reality, to see what was really in front of my face, to get out of my
funk. He was supposedly taking me to a French restaurant this time, and I
couldn’t help but be a little excited at the thought of trying someone else’s
crème brûlée to test against my own.

I tried to think of what I would wear, and even considered
taking myself out on a little shopping date. But then Jackson came on screen
and I couldn’t think straight. He played someone different in every movie: a
heartbroken widower struggling to save his infant daughter from a natural
disaster, a reformed con helping the FBI find the world’s most wanted criminal,
even a male stripper with a desire to make something of himself (I can’t lie—I
did enjoy that last one immensely).

I guess I was trying to find that little piece of him that I
met back at Meredith’s house on Saturday. I wanted to see those blue, guarded
eyes again, but they were absent. There was something superficial about the man
in all those movies, though it shouldn’t have come as any surprise. He was an
actor, and as far as I knew, all actors were the same. But he just seemed . . .
different.

As soon as one movie ended, I scoured Netflix for another
one. It was stupid, I knew it, but I couldn’t help myself. I spent close to an
hour searching to see if there was something I missed, but nothing came up. I
even contemplated running out to the nearest store so I could buy his newest
movie, but I stopped myself.

“I just need to take myself on a date,” I said, pulling
myself off the couch and heading into the kitchen to throw away the empty
ice-cream carton. I liked to take myself on dates sometimes. I wasn’t one of
those girls who got all self-conscious when they were alone. I liked the quiet,
the chance to read a book without the distraction of the TV or phone.

I got ready quickly, pulling my hair into a ponytail and
throwing on a pair of skinny jeans and an ivory blouse. It was warm outside, so
I didn’t bother with a sweater or jacket, just put on my minimal makeup and my
grandmother’s pearl necklace before heading downstairs.

There was a small wine bar next to the café that was usually
quiet on Monday nights, since the rest of the stores and restaurants on the
street were closed for the day. I loved sitting at one of the bistro tables
outside and ordering a cheese plate to go with my bottle (yes, bottle) of wine.
It was a thirty-second walk to my apartment, so I never felt guilty about
splurging a bit on the wine. And it wasn’t like I did it all the time, either.
It was really one of the few things I actually did for myself, and rarely.

The outside patio was empty when I got there. I sat in my
usual shaded seat and pulled out a well-worn copy of
To Kill a Mockingbird
.
The waitress was a sweet, if not oblivious, girl named Elena, who quickly
brought me a glass of water and their wine menu. I ordered myself a bottle of cabernet
to go along with a charcuterie plate, and lost myself in my book.

I was almost finished with my first glass of wine when I felt
him approaching. It was almost impossible not to; I was completely immersed in
my wine and my book, but his presence was too strong to ignore. It was as if
the air changed when he came near, his confidence radiating from every inch of
him. I kept my focus on my book, waiting until the very last minute to
acknowledge him, standing next to me. I was secretly hoping that he wouldn’t
notice me, or didn’t remember me, at least.
The incident
was only two days ago, but I was still an insignificant girl in a crowd of
other women that threw themselves at him. And I was most definitely not about
to throw myself at him, even if he was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.

“Hi, Mellie,” he said, casting a shadow over my table.

I kept my eyes on my book for a few more seconds before
looking up. He was wearing dark jeans and a T-shirt, one that showed off the
muscles in his arms and shoulders. Thank God he had on a pair of dark,
reflective aviators; I swear I would have melted into a puddle at his feet if
he’d looked at me with those blue eyes. I struggled to sit still, my stomach
unsettled with those damn things called butterflies.

“Hello, Jackson,” I said, picking up my wineglass to take a
sip so I had an excuse to look away. He just stayed silent, waiting for me to
finish and look back up at him.

I saw him eyeing the empty seat across from me, and for a
second I wondered if he was going to actually ask me if it was taken.

Instead, he skipped the question altogether and just sat
down.

I raised my eyebrow at him. “So,” I said, clearing my throat.
“This is weird.”

He smirked, which sent my heart into overdrive. I could
almost hear it sputter to a stop, and I hated myself for it.

“What is?” he asked, that fucking crooked smile still on his
face. He tilted his head to one side, as if he were trying to goad me into
losing it, right then and there.

It pissed me off, and I glared at him. There was no way that
I was going to let him turn me, Melanie Devlin, queen of practicality and
level-headedness, into a hormonal teenager.

“Why are you here, Jackson?” I asked, trying to keep my voice
level, despite the irritation I so desperately wanted to express.

“Why not?” he shot back, raising his eyebrow at me. And then
he took his sunglasses off. Goddammit, he took his sunglasses off.

I poured myself another glass of wine and drained half the
glass quickly. “I’ve been in California for exactly seven months, and I have
yet to see any celebrities. At all. And now, here you are. Again.”

The smirk on his face softened, but he still stared at me
with those eyes. Those incredible, deep-blue eyes.

“I wanted to come see you. Apologize for what happened on
Saturday. See if I could make it up to you.”

“You already apologized to me on Saturday. There was no need
to come find me.”

“I know, but I still feel bad. I can’t get the look on your
face out of my head. I feel like an ass.”

I frowned and played with the rim of my wineglass. “How did
you know where to find me, anyway?” I asked, keeping my voice down when I saw a
group of girls come down the street. I watched as Jackson looked down and to
his right, keeping his face hidden from them. Thankfully, they were too busy
talking amongst themselves to notice the star in their presence.

“I asked Meredith what bakery you worked at. It wasn’t that
difficult; I figured you would have to be here sometime. Unless they fired you,
which I’m really hoping they didn’t.”

I shook my head. “No, my cousin owns the café. I told her
what happened and she just laughed and told me not to worry about it.
Apparently, it was much more amusing to her than it was to me,” I said
bitterly.

Jackson choked out a laugh, and I glared at him. “Sorry,” he
said, his eyes gleaming. “I don’t mean to laugh at you. Really, I don’t. I just
can’t get the image of you covered in frosting out of my mind. It was cute.”

I couldn’t stop the blush that crept up my neck. Did he really
just call me cute? I finished my wine and quickly refilled it. At this rate, I
was going to need to get another bottle.

“Aren’t you going to offer me any?” he said, gesturing to the
bottle.

This man. This infuriating, sexy man. “Seriously?” I asked.
“You crashed my solo date, and now you want me to share my wine with you? Get
your own wine,” I said, pulling the bottle from his reach.

His laugh echoed down the empty street and filled every
crevice of my body. I could feel it ringing in my ears, its warmth radiating
all the way down to my toes. It was infectious, and I couldn’t hold back the
laugh that struggled to break free. It came out strangled at first, but
eventually we were both laughing. Laughing together, laughing at each other.
Laughing at the ridiculous image of me, covered in cake and frosting, looking
all sorts of pathetic.

And then, suddenly, he stopped, and I was left alone in my
hiccupping giggles. I looked up to where he sat across from me and found him
looking directly at me, through me. He wasn’t even smiling anymore, just
staring right through to my soul.

I flagged down the waitress quickly, and asked for another
bottle and another glass. She barely even glanced in Jackson’s direction before
heading back inside.

We stayed silent for a few minutes, while I nibbled on a
piece of cheese and avoided his gaze. Finally, I heard him clear his throat.

“Where did you come from?” he asked, leaning back in his seat
and crossing his arms.

“What?” I asked, slightly confused.

“You said you’ve been here for seven months. Where did you
come from?”

I looked at him warily. I was almost afraid to tell him, for
fear that he’d laugh at me again. “Kansas,” I said finally. “I moved here in
January.”

Jackson nodded, as if he was thinking about something.

“To bake?” he asked, motioning to the café and bakery next to
us.

I looked behind me slowly, not really meeting his gaze again.
“You could say that,” I said. I could see him frown from the corner of my eye.
“Where are you from?” I asked, hoping he wouldn’t push me any further. I wasn’t
ready.

“Here,” he said with a shrug. “Well, about an hour north of
here, in the suburbs.”

“I guess that would make it easy to break into the industry?”
I asked, though I immediately felt stupid for asking. I had absolutely no idea
how easy or difficult it was for him to ‘break into the industry.’

He didn’t seem to mind. “Yeah, you could say that,” he said,
smiling at me. I felt that heat creep up my neck again, and tried to rub it
away.

“Do you like it?” I asked cautiously. He hadn’t mentioned his
career to me, but he had to know how difficult it was to ignore that
little
detail.

“Of course I do,” he said, and thanked the waitress when she
came back. He poured himself a glass of wine. “Well, most of the time, anyway,”
he amended, half frowning. “I guess you could say that the good outweighs the
bad when it comes to my choice of career. I enjoy acting. I just don’t like
what comes with it.”

I was the one to frown this time. I imagined that it must get
difficult, always being recognized and stalked and having your picture taken.
It sounded exhausting.

“At least you found something that you’re good at, and enjoy.
That has to count for something,” I said.

Jackson smiled again, and I couldn’t pull my eyes away. It
was a sincere smile, one that reached his eyes. “Absolutely. I wouldn’t want to
do anything else in the world.”

I thought for a moment. “But, if you had to choose something
else, what would it be?” I asked, honestly curious.

“I’ve never really thought about it before,” he said.

“Really?” I said, surprised. “You never had a backup plan,
like being an accountant or going to law school?”

Jackson made a face at me. “Oh, god no. I could never be
happy sitting in an office all day. I could barely make it through high school,
let alone college.”

I stared at the wineglass in front of me, wondering if I
should just leave now. My situation was almost too different to even justify
sitting there with him. I had to fight to get through high school, and college
was never even an option. Regardless of how much I’d wanted it.

“To be honest,” Jackson said, interrupting my thoughts of
abandoning him. “I really never had a backup plan. I always kind of just knew
that this was what I wanted to do. And I knew that I would do whatever it took
to get here.”

I didn’t say anything right away. I was too busy trying to
convince myself that what he said didn’t matter, though I knew deep in my soul
that it did. Apparently I was quiet for a little too long, because Jackson
decided it was time to start asking the hard questions. The ones I wasn’t yet
ready to answer, even to myself.

“So, if you didn’t move here to bake, why did you?” he asked,
looking directly at me. This guy did not play around.

I shrugged, trying not to let my anxiety show. “I guess I
just needed a change of scenery.”

“Did you come with someone?” I could almost see the question
in his eyes. I hadn’t really let myself believe he was interested in me. Why
would he be? But why would he be asking if he didn’t really want to know the
answer? I guess the real question was whether or not I wanted to give him the
answer.

I licked my lips, glancing back up at him. “No,” I said
firmly. “I’m all by myself.” I tried not to emphasize that last point too much.
He didn’t need to know the dirty details.

“Wow,” he said. “That’s brave.”

I let out a humorless laugh. “It sounds much more exciting
than it is, really.”