Breathless (5 page)

I’d been working for the Olsen’s since my sixteenth birthday, a little over a year ago, and they treated me like family. Some Fridays, after my shift, I would sit for hours and talk with Mrs. Olsen. She’d never had a daughter, and she wasn’t close with her son. Sometimes, it made me sad that I could be myself with her and not with my own mom. I wondered if that was how she felt about her son.

“
Um, I’m okay,” I lied. “I just didn’t get much sleep last night. Fight with my mom.”

She gave me a knowing look and smiled. Mrs. Olsen knew all about our relationship—the highs and the lows. She didn’t press the topic any further. Rather, she tossed me an apron and pointed me toward a conveyor belt of cookies at the back of the room.

“
Well, I’ll put these aside for later. I’m sure you’ll get your appetite back sooner than later,” she said, placing the bun and the tea on the counter next to the till.

I tried to smile, but I knew it only came off as a partial grin. She meant well, and I didn’t want to worry her. I kept my thoughts to myself and started counting cookies by the dozen as they crept along the conveyor. Just then, the room got cold. The bell above the door chimed, and a dark figure slinked quickly to the counter. Though I was farther from the front, Mrs. Olsen was bagging several loaves of bread that were teetering dangerously in a pile on a shelf. One wrong move, and she would lose them all. I spared her the grief and shuffled to the service counter. I was looking down at my flour-dusted apron, brushing as much off with my hands before entering the public area. Without looking up, I called out to the customer who was not yet in my line of sight.

“
What can I get for you,” I asked, wiping away the last few splotches of white powder.

I gasped when I finally looked up, only to be met by
his
brooding gaze. He just smiled.

“
Cordelia,” he said softly.

“
No one calls me that.”

“
I do,” he said, catching me off guard.

I looked to my feet, feeling a blush rise in my cheeks. Fidgeting nervously, I asked again what I could get for him. He didn’t say anything. He just passed me a note and left as quickly as he’d come, bells ringing again as he exited. I was dumbfounded.

“
Who was it, Lia? Is everything okay? It’s awfully early for customers. Even the diehard coffee drinkers don’t usually make their way around for another few minutes. Well, if they even make it past the Starbucks these days,” Mrs. Olsen shouted from the back.

I winced. So, she knew Starbucks had stolen her business. Of course she knew. How could she not? But, that seemed insignificant now. I had much more important thoughts on my mind.

“
No one, Mrs. Olsen. It was just some guy dropping off a flier—junk really.”

My fingers felt three inches thick as I fumbled to unfold the small slip of paper he had slipped into my hand before stealing away. I had butterflies, but I didn’t know why.

Cordelia,

Thank you.

Chaseyn

Chaseyn. The sound of my voice reading his name echoed in my ears. How unusual. Beautiful. Just like him. I tucked the note into my pocket and looked up in time to realize a line had started to form at my till. The man at the front was looking at me impatiently.

“
Can I get some service,” he asked angrily.

“
Is everything all right out here, Lia,” Mrs. Olsen said, jumping on the other till to ease the lineup.

“
Yes, sir. What can I get you,” I asked, still dazed by the note burning a hole in my jeans’ pocket. My head was spinning, and I felt dizzy. I needed to talk to Addie, but my shift had just started. I would have to wait another two hours before I could take a break. Thankfully, the bakery was filling quickly. If people keep piling in at this pace, I wouldn’t have time to breathe, let alone think about what had just happened.

The next hour passed by in a blur. From double-shot espressos to triple-chocolate brownies, I was serving up goodies by the dozen. My hands had stopped trembling, and I was able to focus on making change. My first few customers must have thought I was a flake. I gave the angry man the wrong order, made the next order with one percent milk instead of soy, and dropped an entire carrot cake on its side. Mrs. Olsen was very understanding. She thought my problems at home were distracting me, and she shot me a sympathetic look, as she scrambled to help me clean up the mess. I felt bad for letting her think she was right.

As if on cue, Addie came bobbing through the door right at 10 a.m.—ready to gab during my regularly scheduled fifteen-minute break. I held up one finger to let her know I would be just a second. I ran to the back, took off my apron, and skipped to the table where she was sipping an iced cappuccino with an extra squirt of caramel.

“
How bad was it,” she asked.

I shook my head, letting her know that the topic was off limits. And then, I pulled the note from my pocket.

“
What’s this,” she said, opening the paper slowly. She practically yelped with glee when she read the words. “Oh. No way.”

I smiled wryly.

“
What does this mean,” she asked.

I just shrugged. The butterflies were back.

“
I’ve got to get back to work. No time to think about this now. I’m grounded for life, but I’ll call you later. My mom’s picking me up, so tell Ian I won’t need him to get me today.”

We walked hand-in-hand to Addie’s car, and I watched her speed away. That girl had one heavy foot. Despite the warm breeze, I felt cool. I turned quickly to head back inside, knowing I had less than a minute before I was officially back on the clock. I was taken aback when I slammed straight into a broad, leather-clad shoulder. I didn’t need to look up to know that my gaze would meet Chaseyn’s deep green eyes.

“
Can I see you later,” he asked.

I’m not sure how, but I managed to utter two words.

“
I’m grounded.”

“
I know. I’m sorry. But, you didn’t answer my question.”

How did he know? Was he there when I told Addie? I didn’t remember seeing him inside. And, what did he mean I didn’t answer his question? I said I was grounded. That was the answer.

“
Um,” I stammered nervously. “I would like to, but—”

He stopped me short, holding up one finger to his mouth to silence my words.

“
That’s all I needed to hear,” he said softly. Then, he turned on his heel, mounted a black Harley V-Rod, and drove off.

Again, I stood breathless.

“
Lia, sweetie? Everything okay? Do you need to go home? You don’t look so good,” Mrs. Olsen called as I walked through the door.

“
I’m fine,” I lied for the second time today. And then, I told the truth. “My stomach’s just doing flips.”

Chapter 8 - Later

I managed to work it through the rest of my shift without making any more mistakes, but my hands never stopped trembling. I wasn’t sure how to interpret Chaseyn’s earlier actions. Just the thought of his name made me giddy, let alone the thought of seeing him again.

I felt silly for replaying every word, sound, movement over and over again inside my head. I tried to remember exactly the way his green eyes sparkled in the sunlight and his wavy hair whirled around his head in the wind. He hovered over me, hands in the back pockets of his faded Levis, as he spoke with the faintest hint of a British accent. He said so few words, I couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like that of someone who had been born overseas but was raised on American soil. I felt frail next to his broad, composed stature.

It took a while, but I was certain I had finally discovered the reason he would want to see me later. The previous night, he had left me with a red velvet blazer. Before hanging it on the back of the vanity chair in my bedroom, I noted the Armani label along the inside lining. I was sure he was eager to retain the pricey cloak. The jacket had kept me toasty despite the chilly night air and my mother’s less-than-warm welcome home that night. It was an unexpected comfort, and the musky smell of Chaseyn’s unique scent clung to the fabric like expensive cologne. I would be sad to give it back. Still, at least now I understood the motivation behind his unexpected presence this morning.

After the early morning rush, the store had been quiet. A few people stopped in to pick up pre-ordered birthday cakes and party favors, but otherwise, there were only a handful of customers. I would be gone before the lunchtime rush, but it seemed as though the clock stood still. I couldn’t wait for the shorthand to reach due North.

As promised, my mom was waiting for me at exactly noon. She had taken a quick break from her volunteer work at the walk-in clinic, and insisted I return with her for the afternoon shift. I felt bad lingering around the offices, fearful that someone from school would be caught in a family-planning dilemma, and I would suddenly be in on the secret. It was a small community, and it was only a matter of time before I was at the center of just such a scenario. Instead, I sat in the back and worked on my trigonometry assignment. I was hoping to attract Ivy League attention, and the only way would be to ace the toughest courses available at my school. The choices were few, so I was stuck with both trig and calculus. It wasn’t easy, but I was determined to score at the top of my class. It kept my brain from running overtime analyzing Chaseyn’s next move. There was no point in speculating when he was so unpredictable.

At 3 p.m., my mom decided to call it a day. We piled into her Kia Sportage and headed to the grocery store. Since we would be spending the entire evening shut in together, we might as well make the best of it. We scoured the shelves for the ingredients to make chicken stir fry with Szechuan noodles—a family favorite. It would take hours to prepare, giving us time to focus on something beyond each other for at least a small portion of the night. After that, we would watch a movie, likely a romantic comedy, in silence, before heading to bed early. For my mom, it would be a typical Saturday night. For me, it would be excruciating.

We arrived home around 5:30 p.m., and I ran upstairs to change into my comfy clothes. There was no point in keeping up appearances to lounge around the living room with my mom. I grabbed an old, oversized t-shirt from the drawer and pulled on a pair of yoga pants before wrapping an elastic band around my thick mane. Dashing back down the stairs, I heard the phone ring.

“
I’ve got it,” I yelled, scrambling to reach the bottom step and the phone on the side table near the front door.

“
I don’t think so, young lady,” my mom hollered, beating me to the punch. She cocked her head to the left and squinted her eyes, a look that I knew meant she wasn’t ready to ease up on my punishment.

“
Hello,” she said sweetly. “No, Addie. She can’t talk right now. She’s helping me make dinner, and then, we have plans. You can talk to her on Monday at school.”

“
Monday,” I mouthed, then grunted under my breath when my mom stared straight into my eyes and nodded twice stiffly. “Ugh.”

I fought the urge to stomp to the kitchen like a child, knowing that sort of behavior would not help my case. Instead, I tucked my feet into some fuzzy slippers and made my way to the kitchen to begin washing vegetables. When I had a stack of mushrooms, carrots, sprouts, peppers, and baby corn drying on a bed of paper towels, I began prepping the wok. Once I was done, I helped my mom cut the vegetables into thin slices. Unfortunately, I failed to curve under my fingers while chopping the ends off a large carrot. A single drop of blood oozed from my finger, in the exact place where my gash was just starting to heal. Again, I thought I heard a low gasp, but my mom—the only other person within the walls of our humble abode— hadn’t even noticed anything had happened. Cool water ran from the tap, and I was about to place my finger beneath its numbing waves when the doorbell rang. I clutched the fist of my opposite hand against the throbbing wound and made my way to the door. My mom was elbow deep in noodles sizzling in the wok, and I knew it would be disastrous if she left it to answer the door.

“
If that’s Addie…,” she said, her voice trailing off without an official warning, but the threat wasn’t lost on me.

Of course, I truly had no idea who I would find on the other side of the door. I hadn’t spoken to Addie since my break earlier today, and she hadn’t given any indication that she had planned to stop by. My mom would have no problem telling her to leave, so I secretly hoped it was someone else—maybe one of her friends would join us for dinner and keep us from driving each other crazy. I could only hope.

I used the heel of my hand to awkwardly force the door open, trying not to get blood on the handle. A bandage would be useful right, but it was too late for me to turn back now.