How the Light Gets In (Cracks Duet #2)(17)

I shrugged. “It’s my day off, so I did laundry and watched TV, because you know, I’m one of those exciting, creative types.”

Dylan chuckled. “You self-deprecate, but you are creative. Remember your allotment? All those flowers were like your art.”

I stiffened and twisted some noodles around my fork. “Yeah well, like I said, I don’t do that anymore.”

“You really should think about getting back into it. There are lots of flower farms outside the city.”

I shook my head. “Dylan, I know your heart’s in the right place and all, but don’t waste your energy trying to convince me to garden again. It won’t work.”

He studied me. “And why not?”

“Because I said goodbye to it a long time ago. After Sam died, that part of me went with him.”

Dylan flinched visibly at the mention of our lost friend.

“Wow,” I breathed as I came to a realisation. Surely he doesn’t . . . “You still blame yourself.”

He didn’t meet my gaze, the only sign of his discomfort his throat moving as he swallowed. “Some things are hard to let go of,” he said finally.

“Yes, but if you don’t, you’ll die with them hanging over your head. It took a long time for me to get over Sam’s death. I mean, I’ll never fully be over it, because I think about him every day, but I’m not letting it rule me anymore. Or at least I’m trying not to.”

“What made you decide that?” Dylan asked with interest.

I ate more noodles, my eyes resting on the dark wood of his desk. “Just something Gran said to me before she died.” I paused and glanced up at him. His attentive gaze urged me to continue.

“It’s funny, but even before she died, I think she knew she wasn’t long for the world. She told me that once she was gone, I wouldn’t have any more excuses. I asked her what she meant, angry at how she was so accepting of her fate. She said I used my love for her as an excuse not to live my life. I told her she was being ridiculous, that I was living my life just fine. She shook her head and said, No love, how can you be with that dark cloud hanging over your head? When I’m gone you’ll have no other choice but to find the sun.”

“Poetic,” Dylan mused, absorbed by my story.

I inhaled a deep breath, scraping my fork around in the container. “And then when she did die, I stood by her grave and thought, No, Gran, you were wrong. I can’t find the sun, because the clouds have gotten so much thicker. But then days turned into weeks. I was alone in our flat, and suddenly, I couldn’t stand to live there anymore. The place was too quiet, and everything in it made me sad just to look at. I felt lonely. So, when Yvonne made her offer for me to come and live with her, like she did every month, I finally said yes. Gran was right all along. She knew I couldn’t stand to be without a purpose, and without her I didn’t have one. I decided if she was right about that, then maybe she was right about me finding the sun, too. Maybe I should finally just . . . you know, try to be happy. Try to be the girl I was before I lost Sam.”

When I finished speaking, Dylan’s eyes were misty. I stiffened, uncomfortable with his show of emotion, and also because I’d revealed far more than I intended. He blinked and the glossiness disappeared.

“I hope you succeed,” he said, then focused on eating his food.

We ate in quiet for a while, both of us almost finished when his phone rang. He shot me an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, I have to take this.”

I waved away his apology. “No, go ahead.”

He held the phone to his ear while I slurped down the last of my noodles and listened to his side of the conversation. “Hello?” A pause.

“Yes, that’s correct.” Another pause.

“And to confirm, we need eight hundred bottles of E.V., five hundred Synaesthesia, and three hundred Limerence. When is your estimated delivery?”

“Next Tuesday? Perfect. Yes, talk soon.”

He put the phone down and fiddled with his shirt collar. “The order all fixed then?” I asked, amused by how business-like and professional he was on the phone.

Dylan sighed. “Yes, but the business we’ll lose over the next few days still makes me break out in hives. My poor floor staff will have an awful time explaining to people that E.V. is out of stock.”

I arched an intrigued brow. “That was your first perfume, right?” He nodded. “And it’s still the most popular?”

“It’s a timeless scent,” he replied and looked at me speculatively. “I created it at a time when I was most inspired to make something meaningful.”

“Oh,” I replied, wiping my mouth with a napkin and gathering our used utensils.

I sensed Dylan studying me before he stated, disbelieving, “You’ve never smelled it, have you?”

I met his gaze and shook my head, sheepish when I admitted, “Dylan, the other day when I tried Wildflower, that was the first time I’d ever smelled one of your perfumes.”

There was a long moment of silence. Dylan’s eyes betrayed his emotions. He almost appeared . . . offended. No, that wasn’t the right word. Hurt. He was hurt I’d never taken it upon myself to try his scents.

“You look surprised.”

He frowned and glanced away. “I’m not surprised, it’s just . . .”