“That Diana fancies the pants off you,” I commented when we left the offices. Dylan had offered to drive me back to my apartment. I still needed to pack for staying over at his house the next two nights, though he was sure to mention Yvonne and I would be sleeping in one of the guest bedrooms.

“You’re imagining things.”

“I am not. She wants you.”

He sighed heavily. “She’s very good at her job.”

“Hey, I’m not telling you to fire her, just stating a fact. I think you can be a little oblivious to these things,” I teased to lighten the mood.

“I can tell when a woman is attracted to me, Evelyn.”

“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.

The way he felt for me, how honest and truthful and kind he was, he deserved to be cherished. He deserved someone who could love him just as much as he loved them. I wanted to be that person so badly, but I questioned my ability to love as openly as he did. To give all of myself, because life and loss had hardened me.

I was still completely immersed in this thought spiral when the door opened and shut. Yvonne was home, a cheerful smile on her face.

“Happy Christmas Eve!” she sing-songed and came over to give me a hug. Her joy was infectious, and I smiled despite myself.

“You’re in a good mood.”

“I’m off work for the next three days and we’re going to stay in a big fancy townhouse. How could I not be full of seasonal cheer?”

I chuckled. “Do you need time to pack?”

“Nope. Already took care of it last night. So, tell me, how did the meeting go this morning?”

My smile grew bigger. “It went great. They loved the scent.”

“I can’t wait to see how it all turns out. I bet Dylan’s planning something extra special.”

“You mean for when it releases?”

“Yes, that ad he put in the newspaper for his last perfume was stunning.”

I chewed on my lip. “I hadn’t even thought of that. I’m just so glad we managed to come up with something together. I’m really starting to feel . . .” I trailed off, my heart squeezing.

“Happy?” Yvonne finished.

I blinked a few times, overcome with emotion, then nodded. “Yes, happy.”

It was such a simple concept, but it was something I’d been striving for, yet hadn’t truly known. There was always something bringing me down, always something to make me feel like happiness was an illusion. Then I moved here and I just…I just found it as if by accident.

“Well, there’s no need to be so upset.”

“These are wedding tears, not funeral tears.”

Yvonne laughed softly. “Glad to hear it.”

* * *

There was a big festive wreath on Dylan’s front door when we arrived. I wondered who put it there, because he didn’t strike me as the decorating type. I soon discovered that Conor turned into Mr Christmas on December 24^th. We knocked on the door and he threw it open, wearing the most ridiculous knitted jumper I’d ever seen.

It showed Darth Vader sipping mulled wine next to a roaring fire.

“Yvonne! Ev! You’re here,” he exclaimed, and I thought old Darth wasn’t the only one sipping wine. I couldn’t smell alcohol though, so maybe he was drunk on festive cheer.

“Hello,” Yvonne greeted and he pulled her into a hug. I noticed he held on a moment longer than typical before letting go and my aunt’s cheeks flushed bright red. Man, I was going to burst if they didn’t figure their shit out soon.

“I’m trying to decide if your jumper is awful or inspired,” I commented, and he grinned wide.

“Well, there’s one in your size wrapped and under the tree, so I hope it’s the latter,” he shot back with a wink.

“You better be joking,” I warned. “Or there’ll be a Christmas morning tantrum courtesy of yours truly.”

They both laughed. Conor led us inside and the house had been transformed. There were garlands twisted along the staircase, fairy lights on the bookshelves and mistletoe hanging over the doorway. There was even a giant tree in one corner of the living room donned with gold and red baubles.

“Did you do all this yourself?” I asked, impressed.

He nodded. “Yep. Christmas is my favourite time of year.”

“You’re such a big kid.”

“Stop trying to bring me down, or I’ll call you Ebenezer for the next two days.”

I folded my arms and smiled. “Fine. But only because your cheerfulness is adorable.”

Conor scowled playfully, just as his parents emerged from the kitchen, alongside his sister. Bethany was a few years younger than Conor, her hair in a long braid down her back. I knew them all from the Villas, and we used to say hi when we ran into each other, so they weren’t complete strangers. We exchanged greetings just as Dylan’s dad, Tommy, and his girlfriend, Bridget, came down the stairs.

I couldn’t believe how well Tommy looked, and Bridget seemed lovely. She had short brown hair and kind eyes, and I guessed her to be in her late fifties. I was admittedly glad I lost that bet on her being a pretty young twenty-something who favoured older gentlemen.

“Evelyn! I can’t believe how long it’s been. And Yvonne, you look great,” Tommy said as he came and gave us both hugs.

I felt a little emotional just to see him, because he was clearly in a much better place now. Life away from the Villas had been good for him, and it wasn’t so much the setting as it was the memories. I couldn’t imagine how hard it must be to move on when you still lived in the same flat you shared with your dead wife. It had certainly been hell for me to live in a building where my best friend’s memory was so engrained.

Maybe that’s why I felt lighter here in New York, where everything was new and there weren’t reminders constantly bringing me down.

“This is my friend, Bridget,” Tommy went on. “She’s a chef.”

“It’s lovely to meet you,” I replied and shook her hand. “You aren’t by any chance cooking the turkey for tomorrow? I’m dubious about letting Conor and Dylan loose in the kitchen.”

“Hey! I’m a great cook,” Conor protested, overhearing me where he stood chatting with his parents.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll believe it when I see it,” I teased.

“Dylan’s actually doing most of the cooking,” Bridget replied. “I’ve given him a little guidance, but other than that I’m off duty.”

Speak of the devil, Dylan emerged from the kitchen wearing a green and red apron. I held back all the jokes I wanted to make, since we were in company and I knew I should behave. There was flour on the apron and I wondered what he’d been making.

His eyes landed on me first, his smile tender, and I remembered all the things he’d said to me in the car.

I might create them, but they’re all you.

Warmth suffused my body as he came and greeted us. “I see everybody’s met.”

“Yes, and we hear you’ve taken on the task of preparing the food,” Yvonne said. “How’s it going?”

“So far so good. I just finished the mince pies.”

Was it weird that I was aroused by the idea of him in the kitchen, cooking up a storm?

“Anyone for Baileys?” Conor asked and was met with a round of yeses.

“Let me show you both where you’ll be staying,” Dylan said, eyes on me. He pulled off the apron then led Yvonne and I upstairs. It really was a wonderful house. If Dylan ever decided to settle down, he should seriously consider buying the place.

Our room was on the second floor. It had a king-sized bed and a pretty antique vanity. I could just imagine some turn of the century lady sitting down to powder her cheeks.

“Wow, this is great,” I said and dropped my bag by the foot of the bed.

“The room is gorgeous,” Yvonne added.

“I’m just at the end of the hall,” said Dylan, like I needed reminding. Maybe he thought I’d sneak down there in the middle of the night. With the way I was feeling about him lately, it was a definite possibility. “And the bathroom’s just over here,” he went on, crossing the hallway to open the door to a nice-sized bathroom.

“Yeah, we remember,” I said, unsure why he was giving us the grand tour. We’d been up here before, though admittedly it was a while ago. Maybe he was just nervous. After our emotional heart to heart, I knew I was experiencing all kinds of intense feelings.

“Dad and Bridget are on the third floor, and Conor’s parents and Bethany are staying on the basement level.”

“You should’ve put us down there,” I chided. “We were the last-minute invite, after all.”

Dylan shook his head. “You haven’t seen the basement. It’s a separate little apartment with a door that leads outside. They’re staying until the 28^th, so we thought it best they had their own space.”

Oh well, that made me feel a little better.

“Bridget seems nice,” I went on, curious about what he thought.

Dylan nodded. “She’s great. I like her. I was so worried she might be trying to use Dad for money or something, but she’s actually really lovely.”

I eyed him, dubious. “Because that’s the only reason anyone would be interested in your dad. You of all people should know he’s a catch.”

He narrowed his gaze, about to say something when he shook his head. “Nope, I’m not rising to it. You’re trying to rile me, I can tell.”

I smirked. “He’s in very good shape for his age. Isn’t he, Yvonne?”

“Oh yeah, a real silver fox,” she added, joining in.

Dylan put his hands in the air. “Still not rising to it. You both take your time getting settled. I’ll see you downstairs.” His eyes met mine briefly before he closed the door behind him.

Yvonne placed her bag up on the bed and pulled out a cardigan. She shook her head, smiling to herself. “You two.”

I shot her a look. “What?”

She sighed then levelled me with a fond expression. “He loves you very much, Ev.”

I looked away and busied myself looking around the room. Most of the drawers were empty, as was the wardrobe. When I didn’t respond she continued, “And you love him.”

I exhaled in exasperation. “Where are you going with this?”

“Just stating some facts. I’m not sure why you’re both dancing around one another when it’s obvious you should be together.”

Pot meet kettle.

I didn’t bother saying anything about her and Conor, because I’d already tried. She needed figure it out for herself. She pulled on her cardigan and went downstairs. I sat on the mattress, stomach turning over with butterflies as I thought about what she said. She was right about me loving Dylan, and I was certain he loved me back. What else could he have meant by telling me all his perfumes were inspired by me?

And why would he stare so deeply into my eyes and say he didn’t want to be with anyone else?