Breathe You In (A Sexy Romance)

by Lily Harlem

  “Unless you’ve got a stash of sunflower seeds in your bag, he wouldn’t have mugged you.”

  “Mmm, I’m not convinced.”

  I managed a small smile; Ruben’s was infectious, wide and genuine; it created tiny crinkles at the corners of his eyes and showed a neat set of teeth, though his right canine protruded a fraction. I felt a hesitant calmness wash through me—the claustrophobia of the museum and the shock of accidentally bumping into Ruben was fading a fraction. We could talk a little. Right?

  “They’re actually considered symbols of immortality,” Ruben said, glancing at the departing bird.

  “Why?”

  He turned back to me and slipped on a pair of shades. “Apparently the ancients believed peacock flesh didn’t decay after death.” He shrugged. “Which of course, it does, but it’s a nice thought.”

  Again I looked at his chest. His name badge was squint. Not all flesh decayed after death. Some lived on. Some could allow others to live on.

  “Er…is the café this way?” I asked, my voice croaky.

  “Yes, are you meeting someone there?” He glanced at my left hand. I was clutching the strap of my handbag over my breast. “Your husband?”

  Instinctively I looked at my wedding band. I’d been unable to remove it. In my mind I was still married. Matt was still my husband. We hadn’t divorced. He’d gone, but not because he’d wanted to.

  “My husband is dead.”

  Ruben shifted his head back, as though the bluntness of my words had been a quick slap to his face.

  It was the first time I’d said it like that. Usually I skirted around the question—not that it had been asked many times, I wasn’t in the habit of meeting new people—usually I preferred to say Matt had had an accident, or he’d passed away, or that I was a widow.

  But with Ruben, something had just made me say it how it was. Matt was dead. There was no way to fluff it up. Death didn’t come in a soft pink box with flowers and perfume. It was black and hard and seeped into every cell of your body. But Ruben knew that, right? He’d faced death. He must have. Although he was the lucky one. He’d stared it in the face and then lived to tell the tale.

  “I’m really sorry,” he said, removing the shades he’d only just put on and folding in their thin arms. He shifted his feet and stared down at the gravel. “That’s tragic.”

  I bit my bottom lip. Did he really think it was? If Matt hadn’t died he wouldn’t be alive. My tragedy was Ruben Strong’s salvation. “Yes, it is.”

  I twisted and turned to the ornate white bandstand. Several stout men with brass instruments appeared to be getting ready to perform

  “Can I buy you a drink?” Ruben asked suddenly. “Tea, coffee, or maybe even a Coke or something, if it’s too hot for tea, that is?”

  I looked at him again. This was so far off what I’d intended.

  “To apologize,” he said, “for your mishaps with the bombs and the killer peacock. Not the best impression of our old establishment.” He held out his hand. “I’m Ruben by the way, Ruben Strong.”

  I hesitated for a moment then reached out. Warm flesh surrounded my fingers, hard and firm but with a gentleness about it. Alive flesh, flesh that was nourished with oxygen and vitamins and everything else it needed by Matt’s strong organs.

  “Katie Lansdale,” I said. Did he know Matt’s surname? No, of course not, anonymity was a buzzword the transplant coordinator had slung around constantly, but even so, I looked for a reaction.

  There was nothing, not even a flicker.

  “Pleased to meet you, Katie.”

  “Yes, please,” I said, “I mean, yes please to the cup of tea. It would be very much appreciated.”

  He smiled, released my hand and gestured toward the bandstand. “The café is just beyond there. We should be able to sit in the shade. They’ve moved the outside seats beneath the cover of trees. They don’t normally, but it’s just been too hot.”

  “I agree.” I stepped forward, and he kept pace with me.

  “Is this your first visit to the park and the museum?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “What’s brought you here?”

  “I’m thinking of moving to Northampton.” Jesus, why had I said that?

  “Where from? I mean, where are you living now?”

  “Leicester.”

  “Not too far then.”

  “No, not really.” I paused. “Do you like living here?”

  He stooped, picked up a crushed can that was littering the pathway then tossed it into a nearby bin, perfect shot. “Yes, very much. The town is reasonable for shopping, the property cheap enough, and I like to catch the train to London every now and then and visit the museums or go and see a show.”

  “Museums are your thing then?”

  He laughed, slipped his shades back on. “They are these days. I used to be based at nearby Silverstone, the racetrack, helping out with McLaren’s Formula One team. But I had to cut back my hours about five years ago.” He paused. “Something came up and I needed to slow down, take a bit of time out.”

  I wondered whether or not to question him further. Clearly what had happened was his heart problem. No good having a dodgy ticker and working in a high-energy, fast-paced racing environment. That would finish him off pretty quickly. I decided against any probing. It didn’t seem polite, and I wasn’t sure if I were ready for details. “And you like working in the museum here?”

  He looked at me and pushed his hand through his hair, feathering it between his fingers. Was he surprised that I hadn’t questioned him about his drastic career change?

  “Yeah, it’s okay. Could do with some cash spent on it, but the people are nice. The ones that work here and who visit.” He grinned. “Take you for example.”

  I glanced down at my dress, made sure it wasn’t gaping and showing too much of my skin. It was okay.

  “So, um, what line of work are you in?” he asked as we walked past the end of the row of birds and onto the lawn.

  “I’m a sales assistant in a cosmetic store. Not the most taxing of jobs or one with enormous room to climb the corporate ladder, but I like it.”

  “Sounds interesting.” He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and continued to stride over the lawn.

  “It’s okay. The people are nice, and like you just said, that makes all the difference. Plus I’m passionate about organic beauty and reducing carbon footprint, which is what Skin Deep is all about.”

  “Oh, I’ve heard of them.” He lightened his voice. “In fact, I got my mother one of their gift sets for her birthday this year. She’s all for saving the planet and steering away from chemicals. I bought it from the branch in town.”

  “That’s where I’m going to be working.” Since when had I become a liar? I’d never told such whoppers before. It was completely out of character for me.

  “The one on Abington Street?”

  “Yes, that’s it.” Was it? Bloody hell, I had no idea.

  “And why are you moving?”

  A trombone blasted out a low note, and I waited until the sound had dissipated before speaking. “I feel ready for a change.” As the words had come out of my mouth I realized that I did. I wasn’t really lying, I was just speaking from my soul. I needed a change, a new start. I was fed up of being the young widow who people still felt sorry for but were starting to ask if I was ready to date again. I needed to move away from the bricks and mortar that had played home to my nights of crying and sobbing, of staring into space wondering ‘why me’. Yes, I needed something else—something other than grief and loss.

  This ‘something else’ caught my breath, and I paused and turned to the band. Unable to keep moving in the direction I was going. A new tilt had been put on my world. Was my path about to change? Had I come to a crossroads?

  Yes. I had a choice to make.

  That new knowledge was like getting socked in the stomach. It made my head spin and my fists clench.

  “They play every afternoo
n,” Ruben said, also stopping and gesturing to the congregation of suited, elderly gentlemen settling with their instruments in the bandstand.

  I was glad of the moment to collect myself. Let that new, positive feeling find a place to settle. It was too delicate to examine right now. I’d have to sift through it later, untangle the threads and scrutinize the options. Carefully, I put a lid on it, not completely, just as if I were letting a pot simmer on the stove.

  “That’s nice,” I said. “That they like to play.” Now we were closer I could see that a coat of paint wouldn’t do the bandstand any harm; the color was peeling and there was some rust showing on the ornate swirls around the pillars.

  He laughed. “You haven’t heard them yet.”

  I looked up at him, watched the way he touched that fuzz of hair that ran in front of his ears.

  “So do you really want tea or would you prefer something cold?” he asked.

  “Tea is perfect.”

  “Coming right up.” He pointed to a scattering of chairs and tables beneath several ancient oak trees. About half were occupied. “You go and grab us a seat, and I’ll join you in a minute.”

  I did as Ruben had told me, pleased to have a moment alone with my new imposturous thoughts. It was only just cooler in the shade; there was no breeze, the leaves in the trees above me were perfectly still.

  I watched Ruben as he went to the window of the café rather than going inside—kind of like a walk-through for park-goers. He was the only customer, and within a minute he was walking over carrying a tray. No time at all for me to examine that bubbling pan of ideas.

  Forcing myself not to stare at his tall frame and the way his long legs made short work of the distance between us, I turned my attention to a chip of wood on the bench, poked at it with my thumbnail until it spiked upward in a little splinter.

  “I wasn’t sure if you’d join me in a cream bun, but I bought a couple anyway.” He placed the tray down, sat opposite me and propped his shades on the top of his head.

  The tray held a can of Coke and a white teapot with a stringy label hanging out from beneath the lid—PG Tips. A matching cup, saucer and little jug of milk sat at its side. On a larger plate were two decadent cakes; thick choux pastry bursting with cream, smothered in snow-white icing and topped with glossy red cherries.

  “They look calorie-laden,” I said.

  “I skipped lunch.” He shrugged. “I don’t normally skip meals or indulge in this much cholesterol, but they say a little of what you fancy does you good.”

  “Mmm, you’re right.” The cakes were calling to me. I couldn’t remember when I’d last had a cream bun or even had the desire for one. Having an appetite was off my radar these days.

  “Do you take sugar?” He pushed several sachets my way.

  “No thanks, but yes, I think I will join you in a cake.”

  “Good,” he said, passing me a saucer with Park Café written on it. “I would have felt piggy eating alone.”

  I took a plate and a bun and, unable to resist, sank my teeth into it. “Oh wow,” I said, covering my mouth with my hand as the combination of cool cream and light pastry blended with soft icing melted on my tongue.

  “Good eh?” His eyes widened, and he bit into his own.

  “Seriously amazing.” I bit off another chunk. What a delicious treat.

  He chewed then swallowed, looked at me and grinned. “I like a girl who can appreciate food.”

  “Well, I don’t normally…” My words tailed off. He’d think I was mad if I said I didn’t normally enjoy food just forced myself to eat to keep people off my back about my weight loss. “I mean, I don’t normally indulge in cream, but like you said, a little of what you fancy.” I forced myself to put the cake down and poured my tea, added a splash of milk.

  He popped the ring pull on his can of Coke and took several deep swallows. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he glugged, and he shut his eyes, as though appreciating the cold drink.

  I sipped my tea then continued to eat.

  “So when are you moving here?” he asked.

  “In a week.” My mouth wasn’t my own. It was running away with me. In a bloody week, what was I on about? Moving house so fast was impossible, wasn’t it?

  “That soon?”

  “Yes, I’m going to look at a flat later.”

  The band started, and we both glanced over. Some deep base tune that I vaguely recognized had started up. They were all lies, the flat thing and the job thing. But perhaps I could turn it into reality. Actually make Northampton my new start. My something else. Who was to say I couldn’t go and look at a flat before I headed back up the motorway? I could, if I wanted to.

  Damn, I couldn’t keep a rein on these thoughts. They were like a horse desperate to get out of the stable. I should feel terrible but I didn’t. It felt good, this boost, this propeller starting up beneath me. And besides, what did it matter, these untruths? It wasn’t as if I was going to see Ruben again, not after today, and if they helped me take a brave new step, then that was okay.

  “Whereabouts is the flat?” Ruben asked.

  “Er, I’m not sure, the estate agent is taking me there.”

  “I live just a walk from here,” Ruben said, gesturing back toward the museum. “I have great views over the park.”

  “Oh, one of the big terraces?” I’d seen them lining the main road. Tall, majestic town houses with pillared front porches and wide stone steps.

  “Yes, most of them, like mine, are flats. The residents use the park as their garden. Perfect, no maintenance.”

  “And what a garden.” I finished my food and licked the cream and icing off my fingers. A sugar rush would hit in a minute.

  “You’ve got a bit…” He pointed at my face and then stroked the corner of his mouth.

  “Oh, have I?” I poked out my tongue, felt a stray bit of cream and licked it off.

  Ruben watched me and then slid his tongue over the seam of his lips, as though also checking for cream and crumbs.

  “That was delicious,” I said. “I probably shouldn’t have, though.” I rubbed my flat stomach.

  “I don’t think you need to worry about calories, Katie. You look great.” He glanced away, toward the band again.

  I wasn’t sure, but I thought a little color rose on his cheeks as he took another drink.

  I concentrated on my tea, grateful for its familiar, soothing effect. It was as if I were dreaming. Here I was with Ruben Strong, who Matt had donated something so vital to, and we were having tea in the park and listening to a brass band as though we were a couple of olden-day colonials.

  My life had certainly taken a strange turn. And with all these new thoughts swirling in my head about moving here, moving to the town Ruben lived in. Bizarre didn’t seem a powerful enough word.

  “So what did you think of the museum?” Ruben asked.

  “It was nice.”

  “Nice, that’s not very descriptive.” He smiled.

  “Okay.” I poked at the splinter again. “I thought the shoes were quaint, the stuffed animals creepy, and the blitz room scared the crap out of me.”

  “That’s more like it, proper feedback.”

  “You should get rid of the animals,” I said.

  “I wish that was my decision. I hate them too. Not so bad in the summer, but in the winter, when it’s dark early and the lights are on low, their eyes seem to glow and follow you around the room.”

  I suppressed a shudder. “Yuk, see what I mean, creepy.”

  “It would be much cooler to have some dinosaurs,” he said. “I was mad on dinosaurs as a kid. To me that was the only thing I thought museums should house. Of course, there are lots of arguments against that.”

  “Yes, I suppose.” I paused. “So what did I miss? I didn’t go upstairs.”

  “Loads of stuff about the Saints. That’s the town’s rugby team. A pile of old Roman coins and bits of china that have been found over the years. The really interesting stuff is in the attic,
including some things that have recently been donated from the Althorpe estate.”

  “Where Princess Diana grew up?” Now that impressed me.

  “Yes, it’s just down the road from here and they’ve given us some pictures that were painted by her father. They just need cleaning up and reframing. That’s been one of my jobs this last month or so, that and making the information plaques to go next to them. They’ll go to auction in a year, to raise money for charity, but until then we get them.”

  “Sounds an interesting project for you.”

  He shrugged. “My life was more interesting when I had to supervise changing four tires on a Formula One car in less than fifteen seconds, but I’m not complaining.”

  Of course he wasn’t, because at least he had a life. Unlike Matt. I felt a familiar prickle in my eye, a rogue tear forming. Damn, just when I’d been walking along my emotional tightrope so steadily. I reached into my bag for a tissue and dabbed my eye. It was the unfairness of Matt’s death that hit me like a bolt of lightning sometimes. Kind of like having someone twang that tightrope I was stepping so carefully on and making it shake and wobble and disrupt my balance.

  But then again, today was turning out to be more than I’d expected. In fact, sitting here with Ruben Strong had thrown up a cascade of emotions I was trying to keep in. But I was about to lose the battle. Soon I would be overwhelmed.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Must be a bit of hay fever,” I said and glanced at my watch. “I should get going, you know, to meet this estate agent.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  I stood, needing to get away from him, but also wanting to stay. But I couldn’t, not if I wanted to maintain any kind of composure. Just ten more seconds of keeping that lid on, that was all I needed. I could do that. Yes. I could. “But thanks for the cake, and for, you know, saving me from the blitz and the peacock.”

  “Not every day I get the chance to be a knight in shining armor.” He smoothed his hand over his shirt. “Well, not armor, but white cotton anyway.”