“Is this your car?” I asked Dylan when he picked me up outside my building on Saturday morning.

I slid into the passenger seat, enjoying the feel of the soft leather. I knew nothing about cars, but I could tell this one was expensive, and I bet it wasn’t even on a payment plan. Seemed you could buy expensive cars when you were the master of your own universe. Sometimes it freaked me out how far Dylan had come in life. Okay, a lot of the time it freaked me out, but I was slowly getting used to it.

“Yeah, bit of a pain in the arse though,” he replied. “There are all these rules about parking here. I have to send my assistant over to move it at different times of the day.”

“You have an assistant?”

He nodded. “His name’s Clive. Good bloke.”

That was interesting. I never saw him around, but then again, I’d only visited Dylan at work twice. “Clive is such an assistant’s name.”

Dylan shot me a funny look as he pulled into traffic. “Is it?”

“Yep. I can just imagine you all, Clive, get me my coffee. Clive, tell Nancy in accounting I can’t make our 11:05. Clive, bring me my navy pea coat.”

Dylan’s husky laugh sent a pleasurable shiver down my spine. “First of all, I don’t shout commands at him, I ask nicely. And second of all, I have never worn a pea coat in my life.”

“Don’t believe you for a second. I bet you have several in various shades of businessman,” I taunted.

His lips twitched as he narrowed his gaze, looking between the road and me. There was heavy traffic, so it was going to take us a while to get out of Brooklyn.

“You’re hilarious.”

I smiled wide. “Why thanks.”

Reaching out, I turned on the radio and Taylor Swift’s new song came on. Dylan chuckled when I shimmied my shoulders and sang along.

“I take it you’re a fan?”

I shrugged. “It’s catchy.”

“You’re a delight.”

I grinned and continued my sing-a-long.

“How’s your dad these days?” I asked when we finally got out of the city. Dylan hadn’t mentioned his dad yet, and I wondered if everything was okay with him.

“Really good, actually. He’s still in Galway. I bought him a house down there.”

“You did? That’s great.”

“He likes having his own space. He’s even started seeing a woman named Bridget. He calls her his friend, but I know better.”

“That sly dog,” I said with a laugh.

“I’m just happy he’s happy.” Dylan glanced at me for a second. “What about your mam? Do you see her much?”

I pursed my lips and let out a sigh. “Nope. I’m pretty sure that’s a dead relationship. I know they say you only get one set of parents, or one single parent in my case, but sometimes you just have to accept that they aren’t worth the heartache.” I paused to look out the window, not saying anything for a minute. “I guess I got a little colder after Sam died. I decided I wasn’t going to waste my time and energy on people who didn’t deserve it anymore. It was probably the only good thing that came of his death.”

Dylan frowned and went quiet in that way he always did whenever I mentioned Sam.

He cleared his throat, his voice solemn when he said, “Do you ever wonder where he’d be now if he was still with us?”

I swallowed and fiddled with the sleeve of my jacket. “I like to hope he would’ve come here with me.”

“He’d have loved New York.” Dylan smiled fondly.

“I know,” I said, my own smile sad. “I just have to think he’s in a better place now, looking down on us all and judging our life choices. Well, maybe not yours, because you obviously make great ones, but he’d definitely have a lot to say about mine.”

Dylan shook his head and stared at the road. I felt like he wanted to say something, but was holding back. I reached out to touch his arm.

“What is it?”

He exhaled and glanced at me, eyes skimming my forehead and nose, my lips. “It frustrates me how down you are on yourself.”

“It’s just the truth. I mean, I’ve never done anything meaningful. Not like you.”

Dylan flexed his hand where it rested on the steering wheel. When he spoke, his voice was tense. “How is anything I’ve done more meaningful than you caring for your grandmother? Putting your own happiness aside for the sake of her health?”

“I never saw it as putting my own happiness aside. It was just something I was meant to do,” I said quietly.

Dylan glanced at me, then reached for my hand and gave it a brief squeeze. “Every year around this time, I’ve thought about flying to Ireland and finally convincing you to come back with me, but I never did. You know why?”

I shook my head.

“Because I knew despite my own selfish need to be with you, you were living a worthwhile life. You were doing something that made a world of difference for one person, and that was enough.” Wow. That’s how he saw me?

His words made me emotional. “I guess.”

“So please, don’t compare us like I’m this big success and you’re a failure, because it’s simply not true. Who you are as a human is its own success.”

My throat was tight as I stared at my lap. It was ridiculous, but I wanted to cry. It just felt so nice to have someone tell me that. To let me know I was doing okay. That I didn’t need to achieve particular things, I just needed to do what felt right for me.

It was almost lunch when we arrived at the farm. Dylan pulled up to a large brick house where Frank stood on the porch. Unlike the suit he wore the other night at the gala, now he wore jeans, a green shirt, and a ball cap covered his grey hair.

He brought us inside and fed us tomato soup with grilled cheese sandwiches before giving us our tour. My heart filled with longing when I saw his workers in the fields.

That could be me, I thought to myself.

It was the first time I realised that my head told me not to garden, but deep at the back of my heart, there was a place that still yearned to sink my fingers into soil, plant seeds that would transform into something pretty and bright.

That place grew bigger each day, and it was all because of Dylan.

“Do you mind if we take a little walk around before we head back?” Dylan asked when we came to the end of our tour.

“Not at all,” Frank replied, then looked to me. “And Evelyn, if you ever need a job you know where to find me.”

“Thank you. That’s very kind.”

Frank shook his head. “I’d be lucky to have you. I could see your passion for growing while we walked through the flower beds. It’s not something people can fake.”

He left us and a warmth seized my chest at his words. Was it so clear to see my old love for gardening?

Dylan took my hand and we walked in quiet for a little while, until we reached a small storehouse, where pretty winter jasmine vines crawled up a trellis.

“I love this colour yellow,” I said, admiring the flowers as I bent to take a sniff.

“I use these in E.V. you know,” Dylan said, reaching out to touch the petals.

“Oh, and what else?” I asked, unable to help my curiosity.

His expression grew amused. “I keep forgetting you’ve never smelled it.”

“Is that funny?”

He didn’t answer, and instead listed the ingredients. “E.V. is mostly made up of jasmine, echinacea and wildflower top notes, angelica root for the middle note and anise hyssop for the base.”

I frowned at him, because that sounded a lot like the perfume he made when we were still at school, the one he’d used my flowers to create. Dylan must’ve seen the realisation on my face.

“Ah, now she gets it.”

“E.V. is that same perfume you made in the lab at our school?”

“With a few adjustments here and there.”

“Wow, that’s . . . wow.”

I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t believe that something so simple, a little school chemistry project making perfume, could turn into a global success. Dylan tugged on my hand and we continued walking. “It’s still my best work. I think that’s because I made it when I was with you.”

My mind wandered back to what he’d called me when we slept together, and heat suffused my chest.

My muse.

“So, I’m your lucky charm?”

He grinned. “Something like that.”

We walked for a few more minutes then headed back to the house. When we reached the car, Dylan hesitated at the driver’s side. I stood on the passenger’s side and studied him. He looked like he was deep in thought.

“Everything okay?”

He fiddled with his keys and pressed the button to unlock the doors, but he didn’t move to open it. I didn’t open mine either, wondering what he was thinking about. I didn’t have to wonder long when he braced his hands on the roof of the car and levelled his eyes on me.

“I want us to design a perfume together.”

His statement took me completely off guard as I stared at him, wide-eyed. “You and me?”

“Yes. And I want to dedicate it to Sam.”

I swallowed a few times as emotion clutched me. The idea of doing something like that after all these years . . .

I blinked to keep from welling up. “But I don’t know anything about designing perfume.”

“Yes, you do. You’ve just pushed it to the back of your mind. All you need to do is rediscover it.”

I knew he was talking about my allotment, the flowers I used to grow. I guess I did know a little about perfume in the sense that I knew what almost every flower smelled like. Even now, I could pick them out the moment I stepped into a room, whether it was a rose-scented candle or the orange blossom in a bowl of potpourri on a coffee table.

“Why do you want to do this?” I asked.

Dylan appeared overcome. “I just . . . I know this sounds ridiculous, because I was at his funeral, but I feel like I never really got to say goodbye. He was there one minute and gone the next. Sam was such a vibrant soul, and I feel like the world needs to know he existed, even if he was taken too soon.”

And you blame yourself, I thought.

I knew he’d never admit it, but it was true. Those boys had been after Dylan, not Sam. He was caught in the crossfire, and paid the ultimate price. I thought of how angry I’d been back then, how angry Dylan was, too.

I stifled the need to cry for a second time and walked around the car. Without a word, I pulled him into a hug and he practically melted into my arms. I could feel his vulnerability like a tangible thing. I rubbed his back and nuzzled my nose into his neck.

I felt him shiver and wrap his arms around my waist. He held me tight as I whispered in his ear one word. “Okay.”

* * *

“So anyway, we have two kids and neither of us wants more. My wife asked me to have a vasectomy, because the labour with our second was so awful and she never wants to go through that again,” said the man sitting in front of me.

I was working my usual shift at the bar, and listening to the woes of customers came with the job. Most of the time, I didn’t mind, but tonight my head was elsewhere. I was too busy thinking about Dylan’s proposal. Design a perfume together.

I knew it wasn’t some ploy to spend more time with me, because I’d always been able to tell when he was being honest. Not that he’d ever been dishonest. Anyway, I’d agreed to do it, but now I wondered what I’d gotten myself into.

On the drive home he told me that he’d pay me for my time, and that we’d donate half of the profits to charities that worked to keep young kids out of gangs. I was touched that he was willing to do that, but also by the sentiment. He’d obviously spent a lot of time thinking it all through.

“I really want to do it for her, but I keep hearing stories about men who feel different afterward. Like they’re obsolete, not a man anymore.”

I brought my attention back to my customer. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven.”

I pursed my lips. “That’s very young. I’m not sure any doctors will agree to the procedure.”

“Maggie’s determined. She could nag any doctor into submission. I feel like I’m being bullied into it.”

I nodded sympathetically just as Yvonne walked out of the back office.

“I think you should tell your wife what you just told me. If she loves you, she’ll understand,” I said then walked to the other end of the bar to meet my aunt.

“Working late?” I asked as she slid onto a stool and let out a tired sigh.

“Yes. We need to start hiring some extra staff for the run up to Christmas. I spent half the day putting up advertisements online.”

I bit my lip, feeling bad about what I was going to say next. “Speaking of staff, I may need to cut down on my hours for a little while.”

“Why? Did you get another job?”

“Sort of. Dylan’s asked me to help him with his next perfume.”

Yvonne’s eyes widened. “Really? That’s amazing.”

“He wants to dedicate it to Sam and donate half the profits to charity,” I continued.

“Oh my.”

“Oh my is right. Every time I try to keep my emotions out of things with Dylan, he goes and does something that just melts my flipping heart. It’s too much.”

“He’s a very special person, Ev. You’re lucky to have him.”

I flinched, because her words were so similar to what Laura said at the gala the other night, though the meaning behind them was completely different. Then I remembered what Dylan said to me in the car earlier, and how convinced Frank had been that my passion was easy to read. Others see me so differently than how I see myself. Moments like these, I wondered if a lot of my feelings of unworthiness stemmed from Mam leaving me.

But I shook my head. No, not anymore. I’ve had people validate me my whole life. Yvonne, Sam, now Dylan . . . or rather, Dylan again.

I had to live my life for me—be me—nothing more, nothing less. Who you are as a human is its own success. I wasn’t obligated to impress or appease anyone with achievements.

I sniffled and glanced back at Yvonne. “So, you don’t mind if I cut my hours?”

“Not at all. I’ll just hire some extra Christmas workers in the meantime.”

“Have I ever told you you’re the best?”

She smiled. “Not recently, but feel free. Also, I’ll have a glass of merlot. It’s been a long day.”

I smiled back at her. “Coming right up.”