Barely Breathing (The Breathing #2)(26)

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Text me as soon as you get home. I want to hear all about him! Sara sent as I pulled into the parking lot.

I called my mother to make sure she was at the restaurant before I went inside. She picked up on the third ring.

"Hi, Emily," she answered. "Are you there?"

"There?" I questioned in alarm. "You mean you're not here yet?"

"Um, no," she faltered. "I'm still at work."

"What?" I shot back, panic beginning to take over. "So what am I supposed to do?"

"Start without me," she suggested. "It will give you some time to talk without me there, you know, to get to know each other."

I didn't respond. I sat in the car with my mouth open, shaking my head.

"Please," she begged. "You can do this."

"Uh huh," I uttered, staring at the large glass windows, wondering which one of the people in there was waiting for me. "Does he know you're late?"

"I just talked to him. I won't be too much longer, I promise. Just take a deep breath; you can get through this."

The fact that she understood my anxiety wasn't at all comforting. It only gave me another reason to panic.

"Please," she begged more emphatically.

I filled my lungs with air and blew out quickly. "Okay."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" she exclaimed joyously.

"Hurry."

"As fast as I can," she promised.



I walked into the steakhouse, trying to remember what this guy, Jonathan, looked like. I had been too stunned and embarrassed the other night to really get a good look at him. All I knew was that he had intense brown eyes.

"Can I help you?" the hostess offered as I looked past her into the dining room.

"Umm, I'm meeting someone."

"Emma." A man stood at a table in the middle of the room.

"Found him," I told the hostess, who shot me a curious look. I glanced back a couple of times as I approached the table, finding her still following after me with a stunned expression on her face.

"Hi," Jonathan welcomed, pulling out a chair for me.

"Hi," I responded, draping my coat on the back of the chair before taking a seat.

That's when I looked at him―I mean really looked at him―and nearly slid off my chair as I pulled it forward. He was not the guy I remembered from the bottom of the stairs.

"I was afraid you wouldn't come in," he said, sitting across from me.

Jonathan definitely looked young. But it was difficult to pin an age on him, except to say he was in his twenties. He was bigger than I remembered as well, but then again, he'd had a jacket on when I last saw him.



       
         
       
        

He had an All-American quarterback look. His dark wavy hair was neatly unkempt on top, with the sides trimmed tight. But it was his eyes that kept me from speaking. Intense was absolutely the word for them. I had a hard time meeting his eyes. It felt like he could peer right into me, and it kept me a bit on edge.

"Emma?"

"Huh?" I looked up. I had been fidgeting with my napkin to avoid making eye contact. My cheeks became hot when I realized he and the server were waiting for me to respond to whatever she'd asked. "Sorry. What was that?"

"Do you want something to drink?"

"Um, water's fine."

The tall blonde paused before leaving, looking me over with judgment. Then she turned toward Jonathan and smiled brightly. "I'll be back with your drink."

I raised my eyebrows at her odd behavior and watched her walk away.

Jonathan laughed. "What's wrong?"

I quickly turned back toward him, my entire face heating up again when I realized he'd read the look on my face.

"Wow, I thought Rachel had all of the hues of red down," he said, sounding amused. "But you have a few shades I've never seen before." He chuckled before adding, "Did she do something wrong?"

"No," I answered quickly, my napkin falling off my lap as I adjusted myself in the chair. I bent down to pick it up. While I was out of his eyesight, I closed my eyes and willed myself to pull it together.

"Everything okay?" he asked in amusement when I sat back up in the chair.

"Just my napkin," I explained feebly.

Jonathan's phone beeped and he pulled it from his pocket, still grinning at my social ineptitude.

"Looks like she's running later than she thought. She wants us to order, and she'll be here for dessert."

"Great," I muttered, my enthusiasm amiss.

"Would you rather not do this?" Jonathan questioned, his bemused expression suddenly lost.