Free A Phantom Enchantment by Eve Marie Mont Page B

only temporary. It sounds silly, but I think we’re soul mates.”
    Owen scoffed. “You’d think if you were soul mates, the universe might make it a little easier for you to be together.”
    I tried not to look as hurt as I felt. “You think the idea of soul mates is stupid, don’t you?”
    â€œNot stupid. Just . . . optimistic.”
    â€œWell, you know me,” I said. “Miss Sunshine and Roses.”
    That finally got a laugh out of him. “It’s great talking to you again, Emma. I miss this.”
    â€œI know. Me too.”
    I shivered from the cold, or maybe from the sense of unease I’d had ever since getting my father’s text. Owen noticed me bracing against the chill and suggested we take the Métro the rest of the way. I was grateful since I was anxious to talk to my dad. It was just around five thirty at home. Dinnertime. Barbara would be practicing some experimental dish in the kitchen, and Grandma would be sipping her first old-fashioned of the night. My dad might be stealing croutons from the salad bowl, and jazz would be blaring from the kitchen radio.
    I was so enamored of my little scenario that I didn’t realize we’d reached the Bastille Métro stop. Owen walked me to Saint-Antoine’s back gate, which now filled me with dread. I paused with the key in my hand.
    â€œWell, this is where I get off,” I said.
    â€œWant me to stay with you until you call your dad?” he said. “In case something’s wrong?”
    â€œNah,” I said. “You know me. I worry too much. It’s probably nothing.”
    â€œAs long as you’re sure.”
    â€œI am. But aren’t you forgetting something?” I said. He shrugged. “Last year, you may recall that I made a promise to sing a certain song to a certain someone on his birthday.”
    â€œNo!” he said. “You remembered?”
    â€œYep.”
    â€œAnd after the karaoke debacle last year, you’re still going to do it?”
    â€œYep.”
    â€œSo let me get this straight. Emma Townsend . . . is going to serenade me in an alleyway in Paris. Don’t you think I might get the wrong idea?”
    â€œDon’t worry. This will be anything but romantic. You ready?”
    â€œHit me.”
    I proceeded to sing Owen the most terrible rendition of “Happy Birthday” ever, using my unique Muppet stylings to make Owen laugh.
    But then he got serious. “Emma, I know you like to joke around, but you have a much better voice than you give yourself credit for. Have you ever taken a singing lesson?”
    I laughed. “Let’s leave the singing to you, and I’ll do what I’m good at. Writing.”
    â€œOr we could do both together,” he said. “I’ve written a few songs in my day. I’d love to collaborate with you more on the opera. We make a great team.”
    â€œWe do,” I said, nodding and feeling about a thousand conflicting feelings, the strongest of which was guilt.
    â€œI’m going to kiss you now,” Owen said, and my face flushed to my earlobes. But he did the European air kiss on both cheeks, adding a joke: “You know, when in Rome . . . ”
    â€œAw, Owen. You’re the sweetest guy ever. And Elise knows this. She’s just a little . . .”
    â€œConfused. I know. I’ve been on this side of things before, and I have to say, it sucks.”
    This time, it was my turn to kiss Owen. On one cheek and very sincerely. “Happy Birthday, Owen.”
    â€œThanks, Emma.”
    He waited until I was safely inside, then I ran to the dorm, feeling a slight unease at being on my own so late at night. Ignoring the feeling, I went up to my room, locked the door behind me, and crept onto my bed, pulling out my phone to dial my home number. My dad answered on the first ring.
    â€œEmma, thank God,” he said.
    â€œDad? What’s wrong? Is everything okay? Is it