How the Light Gets In (Cracks Duet #2)(36)

But just barely.

“Look, I want to clear the air.”

She put a hand out to stop me. “Don’t bother. I’m sure Dylan’s told you all about us. He’s not the type to hide that sort of thing, but if you think we’re going to be friends you’ve got another think coming. I knew him for months and then you just came along, and poof, he’s taking you out on dates and telling me not to call or text him anymore. Do you know how awful that feels?”

My guy clenched, because I suddenly felt bad for her. I tried to see things from her point of view and knew it must’ve hurt to be rejected like that. My expression was empathetic when I replied, “I’m sorry, you must feel horrible.”

She sniffled and went to grab a tissue “Don’t be nice. I don’t need you turning out to be a kind person on top of all this.”

What she said made me smile a little, because it was exactly what I might’ve said if I were in her position. Maybe Laura wasn’t so bad . . .

“Please don’t tell him I cried in here. I already cried in front of him when I screwed up an order at work the other week. I’m sure he thinks I’m an emotional and weak woman.”

I arched a brow. “If he ever thought that I wouldn’t be with him.”

Wait, was I with him?

Laura groaned and crumpled up her tissue. “God, you are nice.”

I shrugged. “I like to think I’m not a complete bitch. Dylan and I were childhood sweethearts,” I said. “He came back into my life recently, and well, it’s all been a little out our control really.”

“Oh.” She took a deep breath and nodded, and then I saw resolution in her expression.

She went over to the mirror to fix her make-up. “That makes more sense.” I wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but for some reason it made her smile. Did she think it was only because there was history between Dylan and me that he was interested in me now rather than her?

“You don’t have to explain. I’d rather hate you than like you, but I get it.” She gets what?

After she’d touched up her lipstick, she let out a tired sigh. “Listen, I’m not stupid, I can see how Dylan looks at you. I know trying to get him back is pointless, and I love my job too much to jeopardise it that way. Still, I’ve barely known him six months and already I can tell he’s one of the best and most talented men I’ve ever met. I hope you know how lucky you are.”

She dropped her lipstick back in her bag then walked out the door. I didn’t know what to make of her little speech, but it did make me question if I was good enough for Dylan. I still didn’t understand why he had such high opinions of me. At least when we were teenagers, I’d been cheerful and full of life. I had passion. Now I was a directionless bartender who enjoyed watching mindless reality TV, painting her nails, and wasting time laughing at Internet memes in her spare time.

I wasn’t special.

Not like Dylan.

As though my thoughts summoned him, he appeared outside the bathroom when I emerged. He took my hand, eyes bright like he was excited for some unknown reason.

“Come on, I want to show you something,” he said, and I let him pull me down the hallway. We walked through the main function room and out into a smaller atrium. People stood drinking wine and eating canapés, but at the centre of the room was a large and very impressive flower display. It was similar to the one out front, only bigger and more intricate.

“One of the sponsors of the event owns a flower farm in New Jersey called Hillview. They made all of the arrangements.”

“They’re beautiful,” I said, and I meant it. Looking at the display made my heart beat faster, like I could see a life for myself through fractured glass. One I could’ve had if things had been different. One I still could have if I was brave enough to take a chance.

The idea was more powerful now that I was becoming fixated on how ordinary I felt compared to Dylan.

The display was like an artistic expression of a meadow. There were forget-me-nots and pansies, gardens mums and morning glories. It was an explosion of colour to dazzle the eyes, a feast of scents to seduce your nose.

“I know the owner,” Dylan said. “I buy flowers from him on occasion when I’m developing new perfumes.”

“Oh?” I replied, curious.

“Would you like to meet him?”

I narrowed my gaze, both charmed and disgruntled at the same time. “You know I do, you bastard.”

He chuckled. “I said I’d get you gardening again.”

“Yes,” I answered back. “And your determination knows no bounds.”

His smile was everything as he turned and guided me back into the main function room.





Chapter 11





“Mr Harrington,” Dylan greeted. “May I introduce you to my date, Evelyn Flynn?”

The older gentleman turned to us with a kind smile. “You can, of course, but be warned, I might have to steal her because she is ravishing.”

“Hello, Mr Harrington,” I said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Your flower display is amazing.”

“The pleasure is all mine, dear, and please call me Frank. My staff made the display. I’m just the old codger who pays their wages.”