Just Breathe (12 page)

“That was funny. They definitely don’t sound like I thought they would.”

“Nope. I’d have pegged them as sounding closer to a horse’s whinny.”

“Not so much. What’s after this?”

“I believe we’re feeding the giraffes.”

“This is too much.” Shaking my head, I turn and bend to retie my shoelace to hide my blush. He’s gone out of his way to make two dates special and safe for me. Kennedy thinks I’m worth it, but no one’s really bothered before.

A sudden wind whips across my back, and a dark shape swoops past the corner of my eye. “What was that?” I sit up and look around but see nothing.

Dominic looks a bit shell-shocked. “Um. That was a kamikaze peacock.”

“What?” Another swoops over us, skimming our heads even though we both duck. “Oh my god! Lunch is over!” I shriek, and we rush to the garbage to throw out our waste, and head for the next event, laughing and clutching at each other.

***

Fourteen inches long and a blackish purple colour. I had no idea giraffes had such long tongues. Julia tore branches from a bush and handed them to us. The branch dripped a whitish sap onto our hands, and it dried almost instantly, sticky as glue. Orson, the giraffe, wrapped his tongue around the branch and yanked it high above our heads to devour in peace.

Up close, their huge eyes are gentle. There was a fence between us, but he bent down over the top of it and I could have petted him. I didn’t. Apparently he’s not a fan of contact, and I didn’t want to confirm that the hard way. This is a peaceful herbivore who can fuck shit up. You don’t want to offend a giraffe, that’s for sure. I’m content to feed him his tree, a few branches at a time, and watch him strip the leaves.

The giraffe feeding is our last stop of the day as Zookeepers. We shake Julie’s hand, thanking her for a great experience. I’m a bit sad that it’s over, but I’m buzzing with the day’s events. Memorable doesn’t even begin to describe it. Dominic tugs my sleeve.

“Follow me.”

He leads me into a large building and into a high ceilinged room. The air tastes hot and feels so dry that it’s like walking into an oven. Desert plants are all around the path and centre of the room, but he guides me down a short walkway and through a small door. Past the door, the air is cooler, but more humid. It’s easier to breathe, and we walk through plastic strips that dangle from the ceiling, into a vaguely sweet-smelling room stuffed with lush, green plants.

And then I know where we are. The butterfly room.

“I thought they shut this place down years ago,” I say softly. Something about the gentleness of the butterflies hushes voices.

“They had. The generators kept breaking down, and it took too much power to justify the electric bill. But they recently got enough funding to continue.”

“It looks exactly the same.”

“It is.”

“This was always my favourite place to visit. There was a bench. Over here.” I grab his sleeve and pull him to where my Pan bench used to be. Second bend to the right, tucked a couple feet inside a little alcove, where the plants grow larger on either side. It’s still there. “They didn’t change it!” I nestle on the bench delightedly and pat the seat beside me.

“Why is this your favourite place?” He settles on the bench.

Breathing deeply, I lean back and point to the plants growing from behind us. “They reach over, making a ceiling. It feels like you’re the only one in the room. Listen.”

He stills and closes his eyes. I could lean in and kiss him. Instead, I share what I love about the room.

“Do you hear that? The soft hum of the generators. The quiet trickling of the water in the little man-made stream. The tiny tapping of the mist droplets landing on the leaves above our heads.”

“It’s very soothing.” He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes. “I can see why you like it.”

“And the way the plants reach around this bench, cradling it, surrounding it. Embracing it. It’s like we’re in our own little room made of plants and waterfalls.” A butterfly flutters delicately into the moment, landing on Dominic’s shoulder.

“And them. The butterflies. They’re so beautiful and fragile. And Pan’s here too.” I point at the bronze statue of Pan, standing beside the bench, flute in hand. “I just love everything about this room.”

“Then I’m really glad it’s here again.”

“Me too.”

We sit there for a while, visiting with the butterflies, and each other, until it’s time to go.

What an utterly perfect day. All I can think is,
when can I see you again?
And I know I should wait and not rush into anything, but I feel so relaxed with Dominic. Relaxed, but exhilarated too. Being with him feels natural, and easy, which scares the crap out of me.

The walk back to the car is quiet and slow as we take our time getting back. He reaches past me to unlock and open my door. It’s such a small nicety, opening my door before he gets in himself; it’s considerate and another way he makes me feel special.

“Dominic?” When I don’t move to get into the car, he looks at me with raised eyebrows.

My voice is tentative, but my hands aren’t. Slamming the door shut, I step into him and slide one hand around his ribs, resting it on his lower back. I brush the other up his stomach and pause at his chest.

“Thanks for today.”

And I reach up and kiss him. For a fraction of a second, he doesn’t respond, through surprise maybe, I don’t know. Then he hauls in a deep breath and wraps his arms around me, pulls me tightly to him, and kisses me back.

OMFG
is he ever kissing me back.

My hands clench his sweater, trying to pull him closer. His hand teases the nape of my neck, and we’re in the danger zone—that’s one of my hot spots. I pull him with me as I take a step back. Not breaking contact, he caresses my hips, and presses me against the side of his car, which is a damned good thing because I’m pretty sure my knees are about to give out.

I’ve had sex that didn’t affect me as much as this kiss.

He wrenches his mouth from mine, half-talk, half-moans, “Oh my god, Elle,” which only makes it worse for me. His voice is a heavy, velvet blanket, wrapping me more tightly in the moment, weighing me down beneath my desire. Our bodies are still in full contact, but neither of us moves, as if we’re both wild animals about to attack each other. I know for sure, if he moves right now, I’ll be all over him again. I want him so much.

Dragging in deep breaths, we gather control of ourselves. He kisses my jaw, slowly separates from me and opens my door. I manage not to lick the window that separates us when he closes the door after me. Barely. I want him so badly I ache all over. If we weren’t in public... but we are. And even though we have mad chemistry, it’s only our second date and I don’t really know much about him.

But I want to know more. And I can’t jump into bed with him until I learn more about who he is. No matter how loudly my body is arguing right now. It’s going to sound strange when I tell him I want to take it slower—especially right after that kiss! He gets in the car, and grips the steering wheel.

“I’m taking you home.” He doesn’t look at me. “And I’m not coming in. And I’ll tell you why: Because I don’t want this to just be a physical relationship. Ugh, that sounds so lame.”

“No, it doesn’t.” My voice is soft. I completely get it.

He looks at me intently, as if reading my sincerity. “And don’t doubt for a moment how much I want you.” His voice swirls down the back of my neck, and I grab his hand. He squeezes mine and something quickens deep inside me. Pent-up desire flows inside me from where our skin touches, and I close my eyes, savouring the feeling of delicious torture.

“But if you kiss me like that again,” he continues, “all bets are off.”

I buckle my seatbelt, and keep my mouth shut, lest I invite him to my side of the car to do the fabulously inappropriate things that parade through my mind.

Chapter Twelve

It’s been a week since our date at the zoo and my feet are only now just touching the floor. I can’t wait to see him again. I’m going to have to come up with a date as cool as the ones he’s taken me on. But what?

“Hi, I’d like these books please.” The small boy slides his card toward me on the counter. Tearing myself out of my daydream, I scan it and then pull his two books closer. He’s taking out a book on origami and a book on hypnotism. Interesting choices. I scan the origami book.

“Have you done origami before?”

“No.” His gaze shyly drops to the counter.

“It’s pretty cool, you can make all kinds of stuff. One time, a guy folded a fifty dollar bill into the shape of a tiny frog and gave it to a friend of mine. She couldn’t spend it without undoing the frog.”

“Whoa! Did she unfold it and keep the money?”

I shake my head. “The frog was so cool. I don’t think she ever spent that fifty dollar bill.”

“Cool.”

I never got the whole origami thing—especially origami napkins. You have too much time on your hands if you’re learning how to make three hundred different origami napkin options. It’s a napkin. It’s going to be scrunched up or put on someone’s lap in less than thirty seconds anyways. The best reaction you’ll get is, “Oh wow, amazing napkin,” and then they crumple it, or shake it out, and put it on their lap. Sounds like a bunch of work for nothing.

But I bullshit lots of people at work, all in the name of drawing them out, or making a connection with them. We want them to come back, and we want to make their visits special. If it takes feigning an interest in something harmless then I’m all for it. I scan the hypnosis book and put a date slip in between two pages.

“All right, these are due in three weeks. Have a good day.” I smile at him and he scampers off.

Interesting choice with those two books though. I wonder if he wanted to try his hand at origami, but then worried that his product wouldn’t be that good, so he also grabbed the hypnosis book from the shelf. Maybe he was thinking,
hey, if I fail at origami, I can hypnotize people into thinking that my work was awesome!
“You like my origami creations. You think they are amazing. You think I’m the best at paper art you’ve ever seen.”

Maybe I’m projecting, but I’ve seen some interesting combinations before. One guy got two books once that separately weren’t bad, but together were an unsettling combination. One was a book on serial killers, the other was a book on curing and storing your own meat. Now, I’m not saying he’s a serial killer who was planning on cannibalizing his victims after making them into people-jerky, but the only thing that would have made it worse would be if he’d also grabbed a book about human anatomy.

The phone rings and I get it.

“Elle?”

“Kennedy? What’s up?” She doesn’t usually call me at work.

“You’ve got to get straight home after work.”

Dread fills me, weighing my body while making me feel light-headed. “Why? What’s wrong? What happened? Do you need me to come home now? I—”

“No, sorry, everything is fine! But there’s a big thing happening at the gallery, and Nick really needs us to be there. It starts at nine, so you’ll need to hurry if we’re going to get ready and get there in time.”

Relief pounds through me. “Gotcha. I’ll take a cab home. It’s just Jan and me, so we’ll get out of here right away.”

“Awesome. See you in a couple hours.”

“Bye.” I hang up and call a cab company. I keep an anxious eye at the counter, hoping no one comes to the counter before I can complete my call. A male dispatcher answers fairly quickly.

“Hi, I need a cab to the central library please. The back door.”

“Yeah, okay. What time?”

“Ten after eight.”

“Is it going to actually be ten after eight?”

“Um, what?” What?

“Are you going to be there ready, or is it going to be, ‘Yeah one more drink and I’ll be right over there.’ And then you don’t show up for half an hour?”

I take the phone away from my ear to look at it, as though that might make this conversation make more sense. It doesn’t. I put it back to my ear.

“What? I’m a librarian, so yes I will be ready at ten after eight.”

“Oh my god, I’m sorry! This conversation must be so strange.”

“You have no idea.”

The dispatcher laughs. “There’s an apartment complex right across the back alley, and the young girls will call for cabs. We get there and no one’s there, so we call the number back. They say ‘One more drink and they’ll be right over.’ It’s such a time waster and happens quite a lot. Sorry about that.”

I chuckle. “No, that’s awesome. For a second there, I was thinking that some of my coworkers were like, librarians gone wild in the back room on the weekends or something. ‘What’s that Anne getting up to when she’s here late?’”

He laughs. “For sure. Sorry about that!”

“Don’t worry about it. So, eight ten?”

“Yup. We’ll be there.”

***

The cab shows up on time and spirits me home with a minimum of small talk from the driver. Kennedy meets me at the door looking phenomenal. Her light blonde hair is smoothed back, adorned with a thin silvery headband. Her killer legs are showcased by the skirt that’s like a mullet—short in the front, long in the back. It’s white and looks like gathered lace. She turns to give me a view of the back. The skirt is sort of ruffled, like the collar of a fancy blouse. Her top is black velvet, super tailored, high collared. Oh! It’s like a tuxedo dress.

“Oh my god, Ken! You look crazy-good!”

“Yeah?”

“Yes!” I kick my shoes off. “Kind of fancy though, isn’t it?”

“Normally yeah. But it’s not just an artist’s reception tonight. Someone’s investing in the gallery, or something, supporting local artists.”

“Ah, enough said.” We had to do this song and dance once before. Nick called us in a panic because there were hardly any people at the showing, which looked really bad, so we had to storm the castle dressed to the nines, padding the numbers. We saved the day, but it was boring as hell, other than the free snacks and champagne. But it has to be a big-time patron if Nick called us in again.