Breathe for Me by Rhonda Helms Page A

go home,” he tells me. Regret laces through his voice. “I don’t want to make things uncomfortable for you.”
    I turn around and nod, not daring to look up into his eyes. This is the smart thing to do. The right thing to do. Even if every ounce of my being wants to bring him closer.

    The weekend passes slowly. For some reason, Samantha doesn’t return my calls, and I don’t hear from Dominic. In a way, I appreciate that he’s giving me space. I’m barely controlling my fluctuating feelings as it is, and I feel bad dragging him into it every time I’m around him. I know I’m coming across hot and cold, and I don’t want to make him mad. But secretly, I wish he would contact me, even just to talk about our project.
    I spend my Saturday curled up on my couch in the crisp air conditioning, rereading the poem Dominic wrote for me and digging into the Christina Rossetti book. Dominic was right—her verses are beautiful. I connect with her emotions and find myself especially drawn to the love poems. Each time I stumble across a poem I want to talk about with him later, I flag it.
    I also crack open my copy of Jane Eyre . The heroine’s struggles with a family who hated her, to be cast out and disowned but still hold her head high through all her trials, inspires me. With couch pillows propped around me, I slowly devour each word and watch Jane’s childhood unfold before my eyes until late in the night, when I grow too tired to read anymore and fall asleep.
    Sunday morning and afternoon passes quietly, as well. I poke my head in the fridge, mentally planning dinner. Maybe a salad would be good. I can always run out and grab pastries later tonight.
    â€œThere’s nothing in there,” a smooth, familiar voice says from behind me. “I checked it out the other day. You really should do more grocery shopping—your fridge looks like a bachelor’s.”
    I grab the bag of salad mix and roll my eyes as I turn to face Sitri. “Why don’t you just poof me some food in here, then?”
    He gives me a crooked grin as he leans against my counter, fingers casually brushing the granite surface. “Where’s the fun in that? If I’m going to be poof ing anything, it’ll be something better than that boring crap you’re always eating.” He nods at the salad in my hand. “You’re in New Orleans, eating rabbit food for dinner. Shouldn’t you be sampling the city’s delights?”
    I press my lips together and plop the bag onto the counter, digging into the cabinets for a bowl. “I have, and I do. But I didn’t want to—” I pause, biting back the words that were about to spill from my mouth— but I didn’t want to dine out alone tonight. Again .
    For a long moment, Sitri is silent. I don’t hear a sound from him at all as I prepare my salad, then duck back into the fridge and grab dressing and cheese.
    â€œI have a surprise for you,” he finally says.
    I snag a fork from the drawer and stick it in my salad bowl, turning around to face him again. This time, the smile is gone; instead, his eyes are locked into mine. “Why?” I ask bluntly. Sitri takes care of my basic needs, but anything beyond that worries me. Nothing he gives me is free.
    â€œBecause I discovered something cool in the city and I thought you’d like to see it. That is, after all, why you’re here, right?” His words hold his usual sarcastic edge, but I sense an odd level of sincerity in his intent.
    I nod slowly, unsure what to think.
    â€œHave your salad. Go on—I’ll wait.” He crosses his arms in front of him and raises one eyebrow as he looks at me, unblinking.
    I purse my lips. “I can’t eat with you staring at me.”
    He doesn’t move, doesn’t look away.
    â€œFine.” I grab the bowl and turn my back to him, shoveling in the food as quickly as possible, barely