Breathe You In (8 page)

“No, no, I don’t think so.” I rubbed my forehead.
I’d told Matt earlier, at his graveside, that I wasn’t going on a date with Ruben.
But I had. The definition of a date was two people going out and getting to
know each other; that was exactly what Ruben and I had done.

“Katie, I’m sorry. Look, I’ve had a really nice
time tonight. I think you’re great, gorgeous, but if you just want to be
friends, I get that. No pressure, seriously, and no dates if that’s not your
thing either.”

Dates not my thing? I didn’t really know, it had
been so long. “I’ve enjoyed myself, Ruben, it’s just…”

“Katie.” He stopped, reached out and rested his
hand on my shoulder.

I paused and looked up at him. I liked the
weight of his hand on me, the same as when he’d pressed it into the small of my
back a few minutes ago. Physical connection with Ruben suited me; it made me feel
nice, safe.

“You haven’t dated since Matt died, have you?”

I let out a huge breath I hadn’t even realized
I’d been holding. “No.” I touched my wedding ring, spun it the way I often did when
nervous. “It’s hard not to feel unfaithful to him.”

“I can see how you’d feel like that.”

“Can you?”

He nodded. “Yes, it’s not like you’re divorced,
is it? You still love him.”

I swallowed. Steadied myself on the tightrope.
“I’ll always love him, but I’ve made a decision, lately, to get on with my
life. His is over, but mine isn’t, I have to move on.”

He slid his hand down my arm. When he reached my
bare elbow his skin was soft on mine. “Moving on isn’t easy, but I’m happy to
help if I can.”

“You have, already, more than you know.”

He smiled and gently took my hand in his. “Come
on, let’s get you home.”

We walked in silence. I concentrated on the feel
of his fingers, the heat of his palm on mine and the way our forearms brushed a
few times. We fit together, in a strange, messed-up-jigsaw kind of a way. Ruben
and I, we clicked.

“This is me,” I said, stopping as we reached the
stone steps that led up to my flat.

“Nice spot,” he said with an approving nod.

“Would you—?”

“Can I—?”

We both spoke at the same time then grinned.

“You go first,” I said.

“Sure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” he said, “would you like to go for a
picnic tomorrow? There’s a reservoir nearby,
Pitsford
,
we could go later in the day, when it’s not so hot. Only if you fancy it,
doesn’t matter if you’re busy or something. Whatever really, just thought you
might like it…” He trailed off.

I looked up at my flat. The lounge window was in
darkness. I had absolutely nothing to do tomorrow and knew no one but Ruben in
this town of museums, champagne bars and hot-air balloons. “That sounds nice.”

He smiled. “It’s just a picnic, no pressure, no
date presumptions.”

“You’re very sweet, you know that?”

“Oh, no.” He groaned. “Not the sweet word. Can’t
I be tough and manly, or maybe even tall, dark and handsome?”

“You fit into the tall, dark and handsome
category,” I said with a smile and then suddenly felt shy and silly. I looked
at my feet, took my hand from his.

He laughed. “Did you forget to put your contact
lenses in?”

“I don’t wear them.”

I giggled again. Ruben had a way of diffusing my
emotions, he’d done it all evening. Whatever I’d said, it had just worked out
all right.

“So shall I pick you up about five?” he asked.

“Perfect.”

A purple sports car purred past. It caught
Ruben’s attention, and he followed it with his gaze until it went out of view.

“You like that car?” I asked.

“Yeah, it’s okay.”

“You said about Silverstone when we were at the
park,” I said, studying the way the orange glow from a street lamp above cast
the angles of his face in shadow. “Working with Formula One.”

“I did indeed say that.”

He pushed his fingers through his hair; several
strands stayed sticking up wonky. I had a sudden urge to flatten them down, see
what his hair would feel like. Matt had always kept his hair super-short, it had
almost been sharp when I’d ran my hand up it the wrong way. Ruben’s, however,
looked soft and silky, like it would fill my fingers, flow around my knuckles.

“So are you going to tell me about it?” I asked.
“This fancy job.”

He shrugged. “Tomorrow.”

“Okay.” The no pressure thing could work both
ways. “Five o’clock, you said?”

“Yes.”

“What shall I bring?”

“Just yourself.”

I was hot and weary. We’d walked almost halfway around
the huge reservoir. It was more of a meander really, because the sun was still
strong despite the fact it was early evening.

Ruben carried a rucksack on his back, and I had
a blue blanket beneath my arm rolled up like a sausage.

“We should stop and eat soon, save you carrying
all of that stuff,” I said. “What have you got in there anyway?”

“Ah, now that’s for me to know and you to find
out.” He tapped the side of his nose.

I laughed. “Man of mystery.”

“Mystery is better than sweet, I suppose.” He
grinned and pointed. “How about over there, away from the path?”

It was a nice spot by a copse of silver birches.
The grass was long and pale, the slight breeze whispering through it in waves.

“Suits me.”

We left the path, and the soft blades of grass
tickled my legs. When we reached the spot Ruben had suggested, I spied a better
one, over the next mound.

“Is over there nicer?” I asked. “It has some
dappled shade.”

“Looks good.”

After another short stomp, I spread the blanket
out. The long grass was holding it up a little, like it was on springy bubbles.
I sat and tapped it down, trying to flatten it.

Ruben patted it, too, then slipped the bag from
his back and set it to one side.

“Oh, that’s good to be off my feet,” I said,
stretching my legs out in front of me. I was wearing denim shorts, soft canvas
shoes, and a white t-shirt teamed with a pale blue silk scarf.

“I’m sorry, have I worn you out?” He sat next to
me.

“Everything is an effort when it’s hot, don’t
you think?”

“Yes, it’s even hard to breathe.” His gaze
caught mine, then he looked away, busied himself with the bag. “So, we have
chicken skewers, cucumber sandwiches, sausages…” He was pulling plastic containers
out. “And crisps and carrot sticks and dips, also hard-boiled eggs.”

“Hard-boiled eggs?” I said with an amused grin.

He held one up. It looked small in his big
fingers. “What’s wrong with hard-boiled eggs?”

“Nothing, it’s just funny that you brought
them.”

He smiled and shrugged. “I like them. But I’m
afraid there’s no cheese, I hate cheese.” He pulled his mouth downwards and
shuddered. “Can’t even bear it in the house these days.”

“That’s okay, I’m used to not eating cheese, and
it looks like there’s plenty to keep us going.” I snagged a cucumber sandwich,
and he passed me a can of Coke. “Thanks.”

Ruben set the egg down and started on some
chicken.

“You can’t see the path from here,” I said, nodding
in the direction we’d come.

“No, nor the water.”

“I’ve admired the reservoir plenty.” I sipped my
drink. “It’s nice to find a quiet spot.”

“I didn’t come to admire the reservoir view
anyway,” he said with shrug.

“What do you mean?”

He set his dark gaze on me. “I have the perfect
view right here.”

I resisted the urge to check my clothing and
fuss with my hair as I felt heat prickle its way up my neck to my cheeks.
“Thanks, I think.”

He smiled and dipped his hand into the bag.

Much as my cheeks had no doubt flared, his were
stained a little red too.

I finished my sandwich and reached for a carrot
stick, dipped it in a pot of hummus.

What were we like, the pair of us? We were both
messed up, both misfits, both been dealt a really shitty hand in life. Though,
of course, he didn’t know I knew that about him, that his cards just hadn’t
added up. Maybe it was time to get that onto the table.

“So tell me,” I said, crunching my carrot and
doing my best to act casual. “What made you stop changing Formula One tires in
fifteen seconds? Isn’t that what you said at the café? Fifteen seconds?”

He popped a crisp into his mouth then flicked a
tiny black bug from his gray t-shirt. “Yeah, sometimes quicker.”

“Big career change, Silverstone to the museum.”

He must have been asked the question before. In
fact, he’d seemed surprised that first day I’d met him when I hadn’t probed
further. It was a bit like my wedding ring question, I supposed, one that kept
being innocently asked by near strangers.

But was I a near stranger? Or had Ruben and I
moved onto friendship? I liked to think so.

He took a deep breath, as though stealing
himself. “I got ill. I couldn’t work for a few years. It knocked my career in Formula
One on the head.”

I nodded, took a sip of my Coke.

“I had a heart condition, bummer really, it came
on quick, messed me up big time. I had to give up work.” He hesitated, glanced
up toward the birches wending in the breeze. “To start with, the doctors
thought they’d be able to control the cardiomyopathy—that’s what it was
called—with drugs, but soon it became apparent that wasn’t going to
work.” He shrugged. “Not if I was going to have any quality of life anyway.”

“So how did you get this
er
…cardiomyopathy?
Was it something you did, something you caught?”

“No, just bloody bad luck. It can run in families,
but no one else in mine has it.”

“And it made you really, really sick?”

“Yes.”

“How sick? What couldn’t you do because of your
bad heart?” Perhaps I’d sounded hard, but I needed to know, had to understand
why he’d needed a new one so badly.

He sighed. “Where do you want me to start?”

“From the beginning.”

“Okay, to begin with I was just a bit short of
breath, my ankles were swelling, I was tired, headaches. I felt like an old
man, even though I was young and fit. So I went to the doctor thinking he’d say
I was working too hard, or maybe I’d picked something up from when we’d been
abroad racing. But he sent me straight into hospital for tests and within a day
my world had turned upside down.”

“I know what that’s like.”

He leaned forward, rested his index finger on my
wedding band. “I’m sure you do.”

I pressed my lips together as a sudden vision of
Matt, myself and Ruben all standing in a triangle, holding hands, hit me.

“It became apparent,” he said, pulling me from
that image, “pretty quickly that the drugs weren’t working. Even on high doses
I could hardly breathe, it was like sucking in air through a wet rag most of
the time, my damn floppy-muscled heart just couldn’t get the oxygen around my
body. Working was impossible then going out became too much. I moved back in
with my parents. It took me all of my time to get out of bed, dressed and walk
to the living room each day. I’d sleep then, after mum brought my breakfast and
a mountain of pills, often till mid-afternoon. I was quite literally slipping
away.”

“That’s awful.” I looked at him now, slim,
tanned and with a sparkle in his eye. I couldn’t imagine him being so wrecked.

“Awful is the word, but without my parents those
four years would have been so much worse. They were my rock.”

“You didn’t have a girlfriend or anything?”

“No, I’d been traveling a lot, with the team,
we’d just come back from Monaco, had a blast.” He smiled, looked wistful. “I
was living the dream, flying high, there wasn’t one special woman in my life—will
you hate me for saying I was just having fun with
lots
of special women?”

I smiled. “Nothing wrong with having fun. I used
to have lots of fun too. I like fun.”

He caught my gaze then glanced away, put the lid
on the tub of sandwiches to deter a tiny fly. “I was put on the list pretty
quickly, but they manage your expectations so you feel like it will never
happen, then if it does…” He lifted his hands, raised his eyes Heavenward. “You
feel honored.”

“What list? Like what will never happen?” Of course
I knew.

He dropped his hands to his lap and looked at me,
his gaze boring deep into mine, penetrating to my core.

“What list?” I asked again, needing Ruben to
tell me. Desperate for him to say he had a new heart, a heart that had belonged
to a person who was good and kind and had given him back his life. Changed him
from that ruined shell into a vibrant, handsome man again who was now enjoying
a picnic in the sunshine with a girl.