Chapter Five

The champagne bar, Corkers, was elegant and stylish. It appeared to be housed in an old school, and the inside was contemporary and chic—all walnut panels and cream leather. Ruben had been right. There was a grand piano someone was playing, a lazy jazz tune that tinkled around the soft furniture and up into the high-beamed ceiling.

I couldn’t see Ruben when I stepped in and the place was fairly empty, so I knew I hadn’t missed him. I walked up to the bar, my heels clacking on the floor, and ordered a glass of white wine, hoping he wouldn’t be too long.

“Pinot grigio or sauvignon blanc?” the barman asked.

“Sauvignon, please.”

“Hold the wine. We’ll have champagne. Moët please.”

I turned at the sound of Ruben’s voice.

He smiled. “I was walking on the other side of the street. I called, but you didn’t hear me.”

“Oh, sorry,” I said, smiling. “Hi.”

His hair was freshly brushed, perhaps a little damp from a shower, and his jawline was clean-shaven. He smelled divine, an unusual scent that was woody but also fruity—berries maybe. It swirled around me, into my nose, and settled on my tongue. It was the first time I’d noticed the scent of another man in years.

“A bottle or two glasses, sir?”

“Have you eaten?” Ruben asked me.

“Yes.” That was my standard answer whether I had or not, but actually, tonight it was true. I’d had a microwave meal an hour or so ago.

“We’ll have a bottle. We’ll be staying a while,” Ruben said.

“Very good.” The barman gestured to a corner spot that held a soft sofa and a low table. “I’ll bring it straight over.”

We moved to our seat.

“That was extravagant,” I said.

“It’s not often I have the company of a beautiful woman on a Saturday night,” he said with a smile. “And you do look gorgeous.”

“What, this old thing?” I plucked at the silky red blouse I’d teamed with skinny black jeans and red heels.

“Well, if that’s your idea of a tatty old thing, I look forward to seeing your definition of something foxy.”

“Foxy? You’ve spent too much time around those stuffed animals.”

“You’re probably right.” He grinned and groaned at the same time. “I’ve got myself lost in another century.”

He sat, and instead of sitting opposite, I settled next to him, twisted slightly and crossed my legs.

“Has the museum been busy this week?” I asked.

Ruben rested his arm along the back of the sofa, but we were sitting too far apart for it to be around me. I studied his legs, the stretch of his arms. He was tall and long-limbed. Matt had been the same, but much thicker set—his biceps had bulged when he’d worn a T-shirt, and his chest and shoulder muscles had rippled through a shirt on the occasions he’d worn one. Ruben was slighter. Whether he’d always been that way, I didn’t know. Maybe he’d lost muscle mass since his illness. That wasn’t to say he was skinny, just not beefy, the way Matt had been.

“Not particularly busy. I got those Earl Spencer pictures framed and up. Perhaps you’d like to come and see them sometime?”

“Yes, that would be nice.”

“He was actually a pretty good artist.”

The barman approached us. We sat in silence as he expertly popped the cork and poured two bubbling glasses of champagne. He then set the bottle in a silver ice bucket alongside several small bowls containing nuts, olives and triangular crisps.

“Cheers,” Ruben said, handing me a glass. “Here’s to your new life in Northampton.

It was the perfect toast—maybe a little too perfect—and I snatched in a breath, held it for a moment, willing myself to stay calm. I could do this. The decision had been made, and I wouldn’t wobble on my tightrope. “To Northampton.” I touched the rim of my glass to his then drank.

He did the same. “Mmm,” he said. “I don’t normally drink, so I might as well enjoy the good stuff when I do.”

“That makes sense.” I wondered if it was because of the transplant that he didn’t drink. I knew he’d be on tablets to stop his body rejecting Matt’s organs. He’d have to take them for the rest of his life. Was he allowed to drink alcohol?

“Has your work been busy?” he asked.

“No, not really. Christmas is our chaotic time, and then January when the sales are on. People are pretty minimalist on makeup this time of year, especially in this heat.”

He looked at me and smiled. I wondered if he was examining my makeup. I had only a sweep of powder, slick of mascara and the barest hint of tinted gloss. This wasn’t a date, after all. Just a drink.

I again sipped my champagne.

“So, um, how long have you been widowed?” he asked.

His question surprised me. I’d thought we were just swapping pleasantries. “Oh, er…nearly two years.”

His brow creased. “I’m sorry. I was thinking about you after we met in the park last week. How young you are to have gone through losing your husband.”

“I’m twenty-seven. Matt was a bit older than me.” I paused, wondering again if my husband’s name would mean anything to Ruben. But his concerned expression didn’t falter. Of course, Matt’s name wouldn’t mean anything. He had his heart and lungs, but he didn’t know his name. They wouldn’t have told him that. It was against the rules.

I sighed. “He was thirty when he had an accident at work.”

Ruben sipped his champagne. The glass pressed on his bottom lip, flattening it slightly.

When he’d finished, he placed the drink on the table and sat back again, tipping his head as if urging me to continue.

“He worked on a construction site. Scaffolding was his responsibility,” I went on. “He was in charge of a team of apprentices. Something went wrong. The inquest went into details but basically someone hadn’t fixed about two dozen poles together that should have been joined and the whole thing collapsed. Matt fell with it, not very far really. He could have walked away they said, without even a broken bone, but his safety hat, it was faulty. He died instantly when a pole landed on his head from about thirty feet up.” I tucked my hair behind my ears and touched my lips, remembering that awful day and the decision I’d had to make about his organs going for donation. Only his brain had died in the accident. The rest of him had lived on for a few hours with the help of a ventilator, making him a suitable donor, and part of him was still living on now, in Ruben, not three feet away from me.

Ruben said nothing. He gave me a sad smile, and his dark gaze connected with mine. I got the feeling he understood pain. Maybe not my pain, but certainly the terror of death, the shadow that lurked close. It always amazed me that so many people treated death like an unsubstantiated rumor, when you only had to look around to see the facts.

“It was horrendous,” I said. “The worst time of my life. We’d been married for three years, together for five. We had all kinds of plans and then suddenly it was over. He was gone. Not a goodbye, not a farewell hug, nothing. Gone. He just wasn’t there anymore.” My eyes filled. I could see the tears brimming on my lower lids. I blinked, hoping they’d reabsorb, but overspill point had been reached.

Ruben stretched over and laid his warm hand on mine. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s okay, asking or not asking doesn’t change the facts.” I caught the single tear and the bizarre thought that, Thank goodness this isn’t a date, crossed my mind. If it was, it would be bloody disastrous. Ten minutes in and I was crying. “I miss him, of course, but I’m trying to get on with my life. I think Northampton will help, when I settle in. It will give me the change I need.”

“And you can start making new memories,” he said gently. “That’s the thing about change. Everything feels empty to start with, but then when you settle into it—over days, weeks, months—that change becomes the norm and it’s not different anymore. You find your feet and a new way to be—a new place for you in the world that feels right.” He paused and rubbed his chest, pressing his black, short-sleeved shirt against his sternum. “I think you’re brave to have moved away from Leicester. It must be hard when your people are there.”

“My parents are in Yorkshire. It’s just friends I’ve left.” I sighed and pulled my hand from his, reached for my drink. “But I feel like I’ve left him, even though he’s not there really. Well, unless you count Hill Rise cemetery.”

“Do you go there often?”

“No, but I went today.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You did?”

“Yes, I had things to tell him. Well, to get off my chest anyway. Usually I leave his mother to deal with his grave. I think she likes it.”

Ruben inclined his head, as though understanding what I meant.

“So tell me.” I pasted on my I’m-okay-now smile. “What else is there around here for me to see?”

Ruben blinked slowly then nodded, ever so slightly, as if he could see straight through my carefully applied mask and knew damn well I’d changed the subject on purpose. “Well, next month there’s the hot-air balloon festival, right there.” He gestured out of the window. “If your new place faces the park, you’ll have a great view. You won’t need to buy a ticket. My flat is like a front-row seat.”

“Oh, that sounds nice.”

He grinned. “It’s good fun. They have a bizarre assortment of balloons, all shapes and sizes—some like giant, sweet monsters, others shaped like houses or fish. It gets international coverage.”

“I’ll look out for that. And what about these country pubs you mentioned?”

“More than you can shake a stick at, though one of my favorites is The Fox and Hound in Great Brington. A really pretty thatched-cottage affair, it has beautiful gardens in the summer and roaring log fires in the winter and the food is delicious.”

“Sounds lovely.”

“It is. Maybe if you put something less tatty on, I could take you there.”

I laughed. “Cheeky bugger.”

He laughed too, a genuine chuckle, the way mine had been. I touched my lips, feeling the air from my giggle. It had just bubbled up, popped out. It had been wonderfully effortless and reminded me of a time when laughs had been ten a penny.

The bar began to fill—glamorous women, stylish men, all enjoying a drink and nice music in chilled-out surroundings. I felt relaxed, and I think Ruben did too. We chatted about the museum and Northampton. He told me about his parents who lived nearby and were golf enthusiasts. He also told me about his brother and his wife who lived in London and had twin girls.

When the champagne bottle was empty, I excused myself and went to the restroom. After slipping out of the cubicle and freshening up, I looked at myself in the mirror.

A Katie I hadn’t seen in a long time stared back at me. I was out, on a Saturday night, my chestnut-colored hair was tonged. I wore makeup and my blouse was undone to reveal just a little bit of chest—not that I had much cleavage these days.

Two girls, early twenties, burst into the restroom. The sound of the piano increased for the few seconds the door was open and carried in on a wave of conversation.

“He’s gorgeous,” one said to the other, flicking her hair over her shoulders. “I’m so glad you set me up with Ian. Just my type.”

Her friend grinned. “I knew you’d get on. You have so much in common, and next week we’re going to Yarmouth. Come with us. It’ll be a laugh.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

They took no notice of me and carried on with chatter about their men. I watched as the one with the new fella brushed her hair, added a spritz of perfume to her wrist and neck then rolled up a bright pink lipstick.

“Never thought I’d date a fireman,” she said. “I owe you big time, Cheryl.”

“He’s as into you as you are him. I’ve known Ian ages. I can tell when he likes what he sees.”

“Do you think so?”

“Yeah, absolutely. Come on. Let’s get back out there. You’ve got some serious flirting to do.”

They barged out in a tangle of giggles and linked arms.

How wonderful to be so carefree, so optimistic about the future, so enamored by a new man.

I thought of Ruben waiting for me in the bar. If this had been a date, would I be all excited and giggly? Counting my lucky stars for having found someone so gorgeous?

After retrieving my lip gloss from the bottom of my bag, I applied a delicate swipe. Ruben was a great-looking bloke. There was no doubt about that. I wondered why he didn’t have a girlfriend, or why he’d been free on a Saturday night. It wasn’t as if he was still sick. He had a new heart and lungs, he was getting on with his life, he could return to the land of the living and be strong, as his name suggested. Not that he’d told me anything about his illness or operation all evening. I didn’t know if he was purposefully not mentioning it or if it just wasn’t a big deal for him anymore.

How could it not be?

I dropped my gloss away, smoothed my hair then checked my teeth for crisp fragments. It was probably time to go home. It was getting late and this would be my first night in my new flat.

Ruben smiled at me as I walked toward him. “Would you like to go somewhere else or stay here and have another drink?” he asked.

“I think I’ll go home, if you don’t mind.”

“Whatever you want.” He stood, straightened his shirt and checked the sofa to make sure we hadn’t left anything. But in this hot weather, jackets were redundant, even in the evening.

We wound our way through the bar, and I spotted the two girls who’d been in the restroom. They were sitting at a table with two handsome men, all had smiles on their faces, all seemed oblivious to the room. It was just them, out, having fun. They had their whole future ahead of them. They had history to make.

A pang of jealousy hit me. I wanted that carefree, self-absorbedness again—a life without that damn anvil weighing me down.

Ruben slipped his hand to the small of my back, steered me around a group of four men holding pints and chattering loudly. For a moment that weight lifted, as if he were holding some of the load for me. Once outside he dropped his hand from me. I took a deep breath and tried to keep that light feeling inside.

“It still smells hot,” I said, holding the railing and walking down the four steps to the path.

“I love that smell,” he said, “tarmac and ice cream.”

“Sun lotion and grass,” I added.

“Yeah, definitely grass. I guess that’s the park smell.” He gestured left then right.

“Which way are you from here?”

“Down past Darren Street.”

“Okay. I’ll walk you.”

“I’ll be fine, really.”

He huffed and folded his arms. “What kind of man do you think I am?”

I smiled. “I’m sensing stubborn.”

“Got it in one.”

We started walking.

“My father would tan my hide if I let a girl go home on her own after we’d been out on a date,” he said.

“A date?” The word caught in my mouth.

“Well, you know…a drink.”

“Have we been on a date?” I felt a little woozy from the champagne, but not enough that I couldn’t think straight.

“I don’t know. I guess some people might think so, but we can just call it a drink if you want.” He paused. “I’m sorry. Have I said something wrong?”

“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 walking, 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 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’d both spoken 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…”

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 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 mentioned 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 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 run my hand up it the wrong way. Ruben’s, however, looked soft and silky, as if 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.”