How the Light Gets In (Cracks Duet #2)(43)
“There’s lots of affordable stuff here,” Dylan argued.
“We’ll see,” I grumbled.
“If you can’t find anything, I promise to take you downtown.”
He winked, a twinkle in his eye and I narrowed my gaze. I elbowed him in the side, about to reply when I was distracted.
“Oh my God, is that a chocolate fountain?”
I led him to a window display and Dylan chuckled. “Let’s do our shopping first and then we can get excited about chocolate fountains.”
My only response was an overly dramatic frown and sad puppy eyes.
He pulled me along. “You’re cute. We can come back this way when we’re done.”
Over an hour later we’d managed to find something for everyone. Dylan bought a cashmere scarf for Bridget, a new watch for his dad, and some brightly coloured socks for Conor. I got Yvonne a Gucci perfume set that was on sale, mostly to rile Dylan, plus some glitzy decorations for the apartment. I didn’t need to go anywhere else after all.
We were still in the cosmetics section when Dylan paused in front of the perfume counter. There was a collection of testers on display, one of which was E.V. Dylan shot me a sneaky glance.
“I’ll take this one,” he said to the girl. She didn’t bat an eyelid, only nodded and rang up the purchase.
Like most perfume designers, the majority of people knew the brand name Dylan, but they didn’t know what he looked like, not unless they were in the biz. I mean, I had no idea what Issey Miyake looked like, or Paco Rabanne, but I knew their names. I guess that was a good thing. It meant Dylan could still live a moderately normal life. I definitely didn’t think he’d enjoy all the pomp and ceremony of being famous.
He came back to me and held out the bag. I quirked a brow.
“Why on earth did you just buy a bottle of your own perfume?”
His smile was infectious. “It’s an early Christmas gift. Here, take it.”
I stared at the bag. “You could’ve just given me a bottle from your shop.”
“Well, this way it’s a proper gift that I paid for,” he said, coming to place the bag over my arm with the others.
I blinked. For some strange reason, I was extremely touched by the gesture. Looking away, I walked over to another counter, feigning interest in some face cream.
“You’ll have to tell me what you think when you try it,” Dylan said, standing next to me. I was struck with an urge to reach out and take his hand in mine, twine our fingers together.
“Sure, I’ll let you know.”
“Your opinion is very important to me, Evelyn.”
“And yours is important to me,” I whispered, still not looking at him.
We stood like that for a minute, side by side, just letting the noise of shoppers wash over us. When I finally glanced up, Dylan’s eyes almost brimmed over with affection. My heart skipped a beat. I couldn’t believe we were sharing this oddly intense moment in the middle of a busy department store. It was moments like this, when even though we were surrounded by many I felt as though I was alone with Dylan, that I saw how easily we fit together. He’d become my best friend again. Friend. Dylan was way more than that, but for now . . .
I cleared my throat and stepped away. “We should go get pizza.”
“Pizza?”
“Yes, believe it or not, I haven’t eaten any New York pizza yet. I’m pretty sure it’s some kind of sacrilegious offence.”
Dylan chuckled softly. “In that case, follow me. I know just the place.”
*
“Oh my God.”
“I know.”
“No, seriously.”
“Seriously.”
“This is so good.”
“It’s the best.”
“I never knew you could make heaven with only three ingredients.”
We stood outside a tiny hole-in-the-wall pizza place, devouring our little slices of heaven. I finished mine off in record time and wiped my mouth with a napkin.
“I’m still hungry. We should get hotdogs for dessert.”
Instead of arguing that they weren’t dessert food, Dylan simply nodded his agreement and hailed a taxi. We were dropped off outside Central Park, purchased two hotdogs, then wandered inside for a stroll. We just finished eating when we came upon a small flower stall. I was attracted to the poinsettias, moving to admire them. Dylan joined me and bent to breathe them in. His expression turned thoughtful as he urged me to smell them, too.
They smelled very, very faintly of pine and something quite vague underneath, something that reminded me weirdly of turpentine. I said as much to Dylan.
“Well, turpentine comes from pine trees, and poinsettias have a pine-like scent so . . .”
I studied him as his words trailed off, thoughts racing behind his eyes.
“What are you thinking?”
Those eyes came back to me. “Remember during our brainstorm last week, when we thought about combining freesias with fig leaf and tiare flowers? I think this is the missing link.”
Freesias had always been Sam’s favourite, which was why I’d suggested them. Everything else we’d chosen was to complement their sweet, honey-like scent.
“We’d need to smell them all together to be sure,” I said, invigorated by his sudden enthusiasm. There was liveliness in his expression I hadn’t yet seen, a creative flow.