How the Light Gets In (Cracks Duet #2)(9)

“Smell,” he urged.

I took a whiff and was surprised by the pleasant aroma. Dylan had mixed sweet with earthy, a combination I wouldn’t normally find appealing, but somehow it worked.

“That’s actually really good,” I said, inhaling a second time.

He swept the petals and wood back onto the table and cleaned his hands with a cloth. “It’s a work in progress. It needs something else, but it hasn’t come to me yet.”

“How about cinnamon?” I teased. “It’d sell well during the holiday season.”

Dylan smirked. “I know you’re taking the piss, but that’s actually not a bad idea.”

“In that case, I want ten per cent.”

He chuckled. “I’ll give you eight.”

“Five,” I countered, feeling silly. “Hold on. I’m doing it wrong.”

“You’re a goof,” Dylan said. “Come. I want to show you the rest of the shop.”

It was impressive, especially considering how competitive the location was. Dylan ended our tour on the top floor, where his products were stored and staff took inventory of stock. I wandered through the aisles, reading all the labels when I came to a small, circular-shaped window that looked onto the busy shopping street. It was old, probably original to the building, and I loved it.

I was a sucker for unconventionally shaped windows, especially circular ones. There was something mysterious about them. I glanced down towards the street and Dylan came to stand next me. We weren’t touching, but his closeness alone was tactile. He’d always been like that, so much larger than life. His presence left its fingerprints all over your body.

“So, what do you think?” he asked, and though I wasn’t looking, I could sense him studying my profile.

“Impressive, but there’s still a few things I’d change.”

“Oh?” he asked, intrigued.

I glanced at him. “You seriously care what I think?”

His expression was fond. “I always have.”

I blew out a breath and looked around. “Well, for a start I’d ditch the whole ‘meet and greet’ at the door. It feels too much like a hard sell, and personally, I find that intimidating. I want to at least have a look around before there’s a sales clerk in my face. Oh, and also, the uniforms.”

“The uniforms?”

“Those plain black pencil dresses are way too stuffy. Your perfume might be elegant, but your brand is young and fresh. The staff should dress smart, but I think you should let them personalise what they do wear. All the guys and girls on your shop floor are like clones.”

“Go on, Ev. Tell me how you really feel,” Dylan teased, and I flushed a little.

“You asked.”

“Yes, I did. And thank you. I’ll take your recommendations under advisement.”

I nodded at him, pleased, and turned to gaze back out the window.

He stared at me for a second, like he was thinking of something.

“What?” I asked, curious.

“Can I take you somewhere?”

“Depends on where.”

“I don’t want to tell you until we get there.”

“Why?”

“Because if I do, you won’t come.”

My expression turned guarded. “In that case, no, you can’t take me anywhere.”

“Oh, come on, Ev. Live a little.”

“I’m living just fine right here.”

“You’ll love this, I promise. You’ll hate me at first, but then you’ll love it.”

Hmm, how could I say no to that? It wasn’t like I had anywhere else to be. My shift at FEST didn’t start until eight.

Dylan held his hand out to me, and deciding to take a chance—much like I did eleven years ago—I placed mine in his.





Chapter 4





Dylan took me to a farm.

We left his shop and hopped in a taxi. He rattled off an address to the driver, but given I wasn’t a New York native, I still had no idea where we were going. Turned out it was a rooftop farm called Eagle Street, and it was the sort of place I would’ve given an arm and a leg to work at when a teenager. My old rooftop allotment had nothing on this place.

There was a stall selling produce, but Dylan convinced the owner to let us look around out back. There were rows of cabbages, beets, potatoes, onions . . . you name it. It was admittedly a remarkable place, but not really my thing. Even when I had my allotment, I mostly grew flowers and herbs. Stuff that smelled nice and looked pretty. I noticed some wildflowers growing on the edge of the farm, but otherwise it was all vegetables.

“This is the sort of place I always imagined you ending up,” Dylan said.

I glanced at him as we walked. “Sometimes life doesn’t turn out how you expect.”

“No, it doesn’t,” he replied, subdued. “Still, I think you should ask the owner if there are any jobs going. Surely, you’d prefer to work here than at the bar.”

“I told you, I don’t grow things anymore.”

He seemed unhappy with this. “Haven’t you considered starting over?”

I shook my head and swallowed tightly. “No. After Yvonne left, I managed to get a transfer to one of the ground-floor flats. Gran moved in with me, and I took care of her until she passed. It was a full-time job, so I didn’t have time for the allotment. Mrs O’Flaherty took over.”