‘I don’t remember this restaurant from the time I was here on training camp,’ I commented, biting into my own slice of mushroom pizza. It had a thick fluffy base, drizzled with olive oil.
‘We don’t bring the riders, Leesa,’ Wil said with a grin, gesturing with her pizza for emphasis. ‘So, tell me how it’s all going.’
I chewed while I considered my answer. ‘My boss is happy with my work – and so is the client. That’s the most important thing really, for my hopes of getting a permanent job. Now I just need Colin to win a stage or two and it’ll be a dream project.’
‘Yes, well,’ Wil said with a wince, ‘we all hope he can pull it out of the hat when the Tour starts. But I meant for you. Have you enjoyed being back with the team?’
I hesitated for a moment too long and Wil gave my hand a quick squeeze.
‘I know it can’t have been easy to come back.’
I sighed. ‘You’re right. I wanted to move on.’ The final two words echoed in my mind along with flashes of memory of the time I’d spent with Colin over the past two weeks.
Wil put down her pizza and wiped her fingers slowly on a napkin. ‘I ask you because I have a lot of connections in various teams. If it doesn’t work out with Redwin – or if you have a change of heart about working for them – I’m sure I’d be able to get you placed somewhere.’
The ripple of possibilities was pleasant, especially after the angst of the past six months, wondering if Redwin would employ me, if I was good enough.
‘You probably want to stay in the States to be near your family, but I wanted to have it said, so there it is.’
Sure, my parents wanted me closer to home, but they’d prefer I took whatever job would lead to success the fastest – and they probably wouldn’t count working for a cycling team as a great success, when Redwin had worked with sponsors for the Superbowl and the NHL. If Ihadto do something frivolous like sports marketing, at least let it be for a team with a lot of money behind it.
‘Whatever you do,’ Wil continued, leaning closer, ‘don’t sell yourself short. You might not have all that much experience, but the right employer will appreciate your potential – and so should you.’
I gave her a weak smile. ‘Thanks, Wil. But first, I’m actually looking forward to the Tour, which I didn’t expect. I wish I could stay and watch the women afterwards.’ Maybe if I ended up unemployed, I could, I thought bleakly.
‘You’re young,’ Wil said with a chuckle. ‘You still enjoy the madness. I have to deal with Tony and his anxiety. I think it would have made his life a lot easier if he hadn’t been so successful at bringing his children into the sport. You’ll see Lori at the start.’
Two weeks ago, I would have been dreading seeing her, jealous that she was still racing – actually winning – while I was trying to claw my way out of the sport. But now that I’d let myself remember life with the team, sharing the anxiety and the boredom, the grumbles and the high points with the others, I wouldn’t mind so much seeing her.
Except that I suspected Lori would now remind me of her brother.
When we finished eating, we made our way back in the direction of the blue-and-yellow fairytale cathedral, all intricate details and baroque swirls, but a familiar figure down a back street caught my eye just before we crossed the square – a figure I’d been staring at for two-and-a-half weeks straight.
‘Just a second, Wil,’ I said, stopping her with a hand on her arm, then I dashed off before I lost sight of him. Whatever he was doing in Brixen alone, I suspected it would be trouble.
Following him down a narrow street behind the cathedral, past the gate of the church cloister and terraced buildings in pale blue and pink and yellow, I caught up with him by a low wooden door, his hand reaching for the handle.
‘Colin!’
He snatched his hand back, confirming my suspicions that he was up to no good.
‘What are you—?’ My gaze snagged on the subtle plaque by the door: Norbert Gasser, Tattoo Studio. ‘You can’t get a tattoo two weeks before the Tour de France!’ I hissed.
He shrugged. ‘Just a little one. It’s fine. It’ll heal over by then.’
‘If it doesn’t get infected and kill you!’
‘Take it easy, Kubicka,’ he crooned, a hand slipping around my waist – a natural touch that spoke to something deep inside me. ‘I have to do this. I’ll take good care of the wound. It’ll be just like racing with road rash and we’ve all done that.’
‘Not on purpose!’ I wanted to shove him away, but I didn’t quite manage it, my hand gripping his T-shirt instead. ‘You don’thave todo anything. You could just plan some artwork for later. Your Dad will kill you.’Myparents certainly would.
Of course he ignored me. ‘You should come in with me. I might need a hand to hold. You can make sure Norbert sticks to the hygiene rules.’
‘Norbert Gasser? Is that really his name?’
‘He’s a great guy – a real artist.’
‘You’ve been here before?’
