Barely Breathing (The Breathing #2)(169)

"True," I agreed. "But that's a lot of people."

"Yes, it is," Sara smiled. "And everyone is arriving at eight, so you and Evan should arrive at eight-thirty."

"Okay," I replied, anxiety looming in the pit of my stomach.



Everything was going as planned when I left Sara's with my hair in soft waves down my back and the pink dress hanging in the backseat. I kept replaying my strategy for when I arrived at the house over and over in my head.

Move the kitchen table to the porch. Cut up the salad and fruit. Season the steaks and keep them wrapped in the fridge. Mix the brownies and stick them in the oven before I change. Then the finishing touches after, like set the table, light the candles and... oh yeah, take the brownies out of the oven.

I could do this. It was going to go perfectly.

And despite the palpitations that made me fearful I was about to have a heart attack, and the jitters that kept my hands shaky, it was going exactly how it was supposed to. I kept glancing at my phone on the counter, hoping the battery wouldn't die before Sara called to tell me he was on his way. 

In order to get him here, he'd have to know I had a surprise waiting for him. Sara was supposed to send him to me after he dressed at his house. Jared would make certain he didn't go anywhere near the barn. I could only imagine his reaction when he was told where he was to meet me. Sara's call was supposed to give me a twenty minute heads-up.

I was mixing the brownie batter in the bowl, reading the back of the box for the hundredth time to make sure I hadn't missed anything, when my phone chimed. My stomach flit with nerves, fearing he was ahead of schedule.

I picked up the phone, sucking the chocolate off my finger.

"Hello?"

"Emma?" Jonathan responded. My heart stammered. Without giving me time to react, he asked, "Where are you?"

I took a breath and tried to sound as casual as possible. "I'm at Decatur Street unfortunately, but it's the only place I―"

"Emma," Jonathan interrupted, "there's some―" A beep from the phone signaled in my ear at the same time the smoke detector blared loudly.

"Shit!" I exclaimed, forgetting the stove had a tendency to smoke. "Hold on. I can't hear you." I set down the phone and the bowl I'd tucked under my arm, and proceeded to fan the alarm with the dish towel until it turned off.

"Stupid stove," I muttered, clambering up on the sink to push the window open with a grunt.

I picked up the phone again and said, "I'm sorry about that." But he didn't respond. I pulled back the phone and the screen was blank; my battery was dead. "Great. And just when everything was going so well," I grumbled.

I opened the front door and allowed the smoke to filter through the screen. It was a good thing we were eating outside. I continued back into the kitchen to pour the batter into the greased pan. I placed it in the oven and set the timer before I made my way up to the bathroom to get dressed, knowing Sara would be trying to call me any minute―although I wouldn't be able to answer. I wanted to shoot myself for forgetting the charger.

I tried to calm my nerves as I zipped the dress along my side. My hands were sweaty, and I needed to dry them off in order to seal the last inch. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath, unable to get rid of the flutters overtaking my stomach.

I stepped out of the bathroom, disappointed I no longer had a full length mirror to double check the sundress for the chocolate that seemed to be everywhere.

I skipped down a few steps and stopped at the sound of a car door closing. He was early, and I wasn't ready.

"Shit," I breathed, rushing down the stairs in search of my shoes. Then I saw the mess I'd left behind in the kitchen and tried to decide what was more important. I picked up the chocolate lined bowl and dumped it in the sink, filling it with water while I scraped the scraps of vegetables and fruit from the countertop into the trash.

I slid the trash can in place and rinsed my hands just as the screen door slammed shut.

"Emma?"

I froze, my heart hammering in my chest. I shut off the water and slowly turned around, wiping my hands on a paper towel.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

Jonathan's eyes widened at the sight of me. "Wow. You look beautiful."

"Thanks," I choked.

But then his eyes tightened as he looked to the stove, the chocolate aroma filling the kitchen. "Are you cooking?"

"Um, I wouldn't really call it cooking," I laughed nervously. "It's just brownies."

"But you're cooking... for Evan." Jonathan appeared disturbed by his conclusion.