Breathe Again Read Online Free Page A

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