Free Just Breathe by Tamara Mataya Page B

expensive car. I gasp at the word above the radio. Maserati. Holy shit. What does Dominic do for a living? It’s not that I haven’t dated wealthy guys before, but this is next level wealth. The clothes, the car, the flowers he sent... what does he do? What if he’s a drug dealer? He’s too young to have amassed a fortune legally. I hope he’s not in the mob. Is there even a mob anymore? Do they call it the mob? He looks European; maybe it’s the Russian Mafia.
    “Are you Russian?” I ask him as he opens the door.
    Not having been part of my inner dialogue, my question must seem a bit out of left field, but he rolls with it.
    “My grandmother on my dad’s side was Russian and French.”
    “Ah.” KGB isn’t ruled out then. Kidding. Mostly. I don’t even want to know what he does, just in case it’s a deal breaker.
    “And you?”
    “Mostly Swedish and Irish. So, about tonight. I should let you know before we get too far into this date that I have a condition, and then you can decide if you still want to date me.” I keep it matter of fact—I’ve had to give this speech a few times, but it doesn’t hurt any less the more I tell it. Best to tear right into it, like removing a bandage.
    “I have a condition called—”
    “Synaesthesia.” Dominic finishes my sentence. Psychic KGB? What the hell?
    “How do you know?”
    “Well.” He looks a bit uncomfortable. “I sort of asked one of your coworkers for a couple things you might like to do on a date, and they told me about your condition and gave me Kennedy’s number. So I called her and found out some more specifics.”
    “Oh.” I’m not sure how I feel about this. Relieved that him and Kennedy bonding wasn’t because they were into each other or because they had previous history. A bit uncomfortable at the thought of him going behind my back and talking to my friends and coworkers about me for, what, tips? But I also feel a bit, I don’t know, touched? Impressed? This obviously means a lot to him for him to go out of his way and talk to my friends to see what I like. “So you still want to go out?” Relief trickles through me.
    He frowns. “Of course I do! Why would it change my mind?”
    “It’s happened.” This is so embarrassing to admit. “It can be limiting for my date.”
    “Leave that up to me.” He starts the car. “Dinner first, and then a surprise later.”
    “I hate surprises,” I grumble. “They’re never good.”
    “This one is. I talked to Kennedy about it at length, and she assures me that your ears and brain will be safe.”
    I’m not sure I like all this planning without me, but I’m going to go with it. He gets points for winning Kennedy over; she’s not one to trust someone so quickly. I can imagine her face as he called her and had to persuade her. She’d have told him what I like and... wait. The flowers. That’s how he knew what my favourite flowers are. Damn, that was part of what made up my mind to go out with him.
    “So,” I force my tone to be casual, “that’s how you knew to get my favourite flowers.”
    “They’re your favourite?” He shoots me a pleased grin. “I chose those on my own before talking to anyone. They just seemed to suit you—the lilies, not the roses. Roses are a bit... Wait, you meant the lilies right?” He looks uncomfortable, like I may have been talking about the roses and he’s just stepped in it.
    He chose my favourite flowers by himself. “Yes, the lilies are my favourite. The roses were pretty and everything, but by themselves they’re just so...”
    “Tired?”
    “Yes! Well, maybe not so much tired as they are automatic.”
    “They are quite the go-to flower.”
    “I still like them in a bouquet, but alone, it feels like there’s less thought behind them,” I muse.
    “I think so too.”
    “So where are we headed for supper?”
    “Do you like sushi?”
    “No.” I wrinkle my nose.
    “Me neither. But I thought I’d ask you, as it seems to be the trendy