How the Light Gets In (Cracks Duet #2)(47)

“Well, Diana’s admiration definitely escaped your attention.”

His voice was a low, soothing rumble that hit me right in the pit of the stomach. “Maybe I was just too busy looking at you.”

I rubbed my palms along my skirt and wet my suddenly dry lips. What he said rendered me a little hot and bothered.

His expression was thoughtful when he went on. “Believe it or not, Laura was the only employee I ever slept with. I don’t make a habit of it.”

I touched his hand, appreciating him wanting me to know it wasn’t something he did often, or ever.

“I believe you.”

He glanced between the road and me. “I just want to make sure you’re aware . . .” He trailed off.

“Aware?”

He huffed a frustrated breath. “I want to make sure you’re aware that you’re the only person I want to be with. I don’t notice how other women look at me, Ev. I only notice you.”

I held still. His declaration was so unexpected and out of the blue. It wasn’t that I was unaware he wanted me, it was just that in the last few weeks, we’d worked on being friendly and not really saying what we felt. About each other, anyway.

My voice was so, so quiet when I responded. “I feel the same way.”

Silence filled the car. I looked at the passing buildings, the Christmas lights and people rushing around buying last-minute gifts. Something about the moment, being here with Dylan, just felt . . . right.

Without warning, he reached out and lifted my hand, bringing my wrist to his nose so he could inhale. I’d sprayed a little of number six on during the sampling session.

“Your skin was made to smell beautiful,” he murmured.

“Samuel is a very beautiful scent.”

His eyes met mine, the car stopped in traffic. “You approve of the name?”

Almost instantly, tears sprung in my eyes. “Of course. It’s perfect.”

I sniffled and looked away again. The traffic let up and we made our way across the Brooklyn Bridge. I thought of the gift Dylan bought me during our shopping trip the other week. He’d never asked me what I thought, even though I sensed it meant a lot to him to know.

I didn’t think when I blurted, “I think E.V. smells best when it fades.”

Dylan seemed to hold his breath. Was he surprised? He exhaled and there was a long few moments before he spoke. He nodded as he kept his eyes on the road. “It meshes with the wearer, becomes a part of them.”

I mustered the courage to continue. “Some perfumes don’t do that though. It takes skill, I think. Some fade and become unpleasant, but yours get better the longer you wear them. We might’ve come up with the idea for Samuel together, but you’re the one who made it special. You’re the reason why all those people in that room today were so impressed.”

Dylan shook his head, his eyes ablaze. “I might create them, but they’re all you.”

My heart stuttered in my chest. “What do you mean?”

“Each perfume I’ve create was inspired by you, Ev. Synaesthesia is you in the morning, when you’ve just woken up. Wildflower is you when you dance. E.V is you when you smile. Limerence is how I love you. And Hiraeth is how I’ve felt for eleven years without you in my life.”

I was short of breath, mouth agape. He always used such fancy, romantic words to name his scents. One night I’d looked up their meanings.

Synaesthesia was feeling a sense outside of the one stimulated, like seeing colour in sound, or hearing sound in colour.

Limerence was euphoric love.

And Hiraeth was a Welsh word for homesickness, for a place you could never return to.

Suddenly, it all made sense. But Dylan was wrong. Each perfume wasn’t me. Each perfume was us. Together, they told our story.

I swallowed, my body aquiver as I asked, “What does E.V. stand for?”

He reached out and took my hand in his, twining our fingers together as his eyes captured mine. “It doesn’t stand for anything. How could I create a perfume for a girl I love and not give it her name?”

Liquid pooled in my eyes, while emotion caught in my throat. I saw the stark, blatant honesty in his words and mourned for all the time we’d lost. Mourned because I had been lost in mourning. We both had been. He had to leave when he did. I had to stay when he left. Our paths diverged, first one, then two.

Now they’d collided once more. I wanted to say something, but I knew Dylan would be all right with my silence. I needed to process his words, and he knew me well enough to allow that. I wanted to tell him I’d never stopped loving him and had lost hope of ever knowing love again. But I remained quiet. In awe. Feeling overwhelmed with gratitude for whoever put our meeting in New York into place.

Dylan pulled his car to a stop outside my building. He slid his fingers through mine and for a few minutes we simply sat there.

“When will you be over later?” he asked, voice soft.

“Yvonne finishes work at five, so we’ll head over together then.”

He lifted our twined fingers to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the top of my hand. “I’ll see you then.”

Inside the apartment, I felt like I was floating on air the entire time I packed. I could’ve put nothing but socks inside my overnight bag and I’d be none the wiser. Dylan’s tender words kept replaying in my head. I should’ve kissed him right there in his car. I should’ve dragged him inside and thrown him down on my bed.