How the Light Gets In (Cracks Duet #2)(37)

“Don’t listen to him. He does a whole lot more than that,” Dylan said.

“Oh well, please let them know they did an incredible job,” I added.

“Evelyn here is a gardener, too,” Dylan went on. “I used her flowers in my very first perfume.”

Frank’s eyes widened with interest. “Really? And where do you work now?”

My chest constricted at his question, and all of a sudden it was harder to breathe. I didn’t expect to react this way. I also didn’t expect the excitement that lay beneath the difficulty breathing. I was excited to talk to someone who owned a flower farm, someone who let his workers create beautiful displays with the things they grew.

But then, I felt unworthy, because I had no achievements of my own. No farm to boast about.

“Oh, I don’t garden anymore,” I said.

“I’m trying to convince her to start again,” Dylan added. “But she’s a stubborn one.”

Frank’s expression was amiable. “Well, if you ever want to dip a toe, I’d be happy to have you at my place. We always need extra pickers, though we’re coming to the end of fall now, so things are quieter.”

“That’s very kind of you, but—”

“She’d love to,” Dylan said, and I shot him an irritated glance.

Frank chuckled, obviously noting Dylan’s enthusiasm and my apprehensiveness. “Why don’t you both drop by this Saturday and I’ll give you a tour?”

“We’ll be there,” Dylan replied and then Frank excused himself to mingle with other guests.

Dylan turned to beam at me. “Well, what do you think?”

“I think he’s only being so welcoming because of his business relationship with you. I could be anyone.”

“But that’s the thing. You aren’t just anyone, and once he gets to know you he’ll see that.”

“Hmm,” I said, feeling like this whole evening had been a trap, even if it was a well-meaning, kind-hearted trap on Dylan’s part.

He slid his hand affectionately down my arm. “Think about it. We don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

“Yeah, okay. I’m going to the bar.”

I felt his eyes on my back as I walked away. Conor stood by the bar, sipping on a drink.

“Is that a Bellini?” I asked, amused by his choice.

“It’s cheat day and I’m partial to fruity cocktails. So sue me.”

“I didn’t see you ordering any of those when we were out with Yvonne.”

“That’s because I need her to see me as a big, sexy manly man. I’ll wait until the fourth or fifth date to reveal my girly preferences.”

I chuckled. “Speaking of, did you invite her tonight?”

“I did. She said she was working.”

That lying wench.

Conor grimaced. “I take it from your expression that was a lie.”

“My aunt has issues.”

He held out a hand. “Totally understandable given she knew me when I was a skinny little kid with acne and giant glasses.”

“That shouldn’t matter. I can tell she likes you. It’s just, Yvonne’s never excelled at relationships. I think she prefers the controllable predictability of being single. That way she doesn’t have to worry about getting hurt.”

Conor nodded, thoughtful for a moment. “Can you talk to her for me? Let her know I really, really like her. She can pretty much have me any way she wants me.”

Well, that was interesting. It’d be sexy if he wasn’t talking about my blood relative. I studied him speculatively. “What is it about my aunt that you like so much? I mean, you must have your pick of the ladies over here.”

His lips curved in a smirk. “Is that a compliment?”

I poked him in the arm. “You know it’s true.”

He took a sip of his drink and shrugged. “I just really like her. She doesn’t judge people, you know? Back home I was so used to everyone looking at me funny because of the colour of my skin. They’d do this little double take when I came around a corner. But Yvonne never did that, she just smiled and spoke to me like I was a normal person.”

My chest ached a little at his explanation. “You were a normal person.”

“I know that now, but it was hard to feel that way when I was younger.”

I pursed my lips, remembering some of the mean, backhanded comments people would whisper about him. It wasn’t outright bullying or racism, but I was sure it made Conor feel like crap sometimes. Like he didn’t belong. And aside from his family, it wasn’t like there was anyone else who could relate to his situation. Where we lived, everyone was white. Then Yvonne came along, full of sunshine and pretty smiles, and she treated him like any other person. I wasn’t surprised she’d made a lasting impression.

I reached out and squeezed his arm. “I’ll talk to her, okay?”

Conor shot me a grateful smile before Dylan appeared at my side. “Everything all right?”

I nodded, still a little put out by him foisting me on Frank Harrington like some sort of charity case who needed a job. I had a job. It just wasn’t as fulfilling as Dylan thought flower farming would be. He was right, of course. I think it bothered me even more that he was right.