“I got your text,” I said as I entered Dylan’s office.

He stood by his desk, a mess of tubes containing different essential oils in front of him. There were notes scribbled on paper and discarded paper coffee cups galore. He looked manic and exhausted. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, the top few buttons of his shirt undone. His hair was rumpled in a way that made me want to run my hands through it and mess it up even more.

“Great, you’re here. Come in,” he said and ushered me forward.

I unbuttoned my coat and slipped it off, wondering what he was in such a hurry for.

“What’s going on, Dylan?”

He levelled his eyes on me, his brimming over with frenetic energy. “I think I’ve found it.”

“Found what?”

“The combination of scents.”

“Oh,” I exclaimed. “That’s fantastic. Can I smell?

“Of course. Why do you think I asked you over?” Dylan picked up a container and started adding lots of different oils. He placed them in an odd little machine that mixed them all up, then he removed the container and held it out to me.

I eyed him curiously. “You don’t want to smell it first?”

He shook his head. “No. It has to be you. I want to see your reaction, then I’ll know if it’s right.”

This felt like an important moment.

He was bestowing a responsibility on me—an honour—that I wasn’t sure I was worthy of. Swallowing back my nerves, I took it from him.

I inhaled and closed my eyes. A medley of freesia, fig leaf, tiare flower and poinsettia captured my senses. It was the original mixture we’d come up with together, but there was more and it was all Dylan. I would never have the nose, the creative intuition and genius to pick out such a perfect combination. Sam’s smile flashed in my mind’s eye, his blue eyes shining in a moment of happiness, and I knew Dylan had gotten it right. There was orchid and vanilla and something else . . .

“Is that pepper?”

“Yes,” Dylan exclaimed, his smile huge, eyes so alight they practically sparkled.

I concentrated, trying hard to figure out the base note. “And sandalwood?”

“Perfect,” he breathed.

“You took the words right out of my mouth.”

“No, I mean your reaction. It’s perfect. That’s exactly what I wanted to see.”

“You can tell if a perfume’s right from just one person’s reaction?”

“Not just anybody’s. Yours.”

My cheeks reddened as I set the container down on his desk. “So, what next?”

Dylan started to pace, his mind moving faster than his words. “I’ll have my lab in California create a number of samples. We’ll test them on my marketing team, collect their responses and ideas. After that we’ll figure out what direction we want to take.”

I stared at him, feeling truly hopeful and inspired for the first time in a long time.

“I’m excited,” I breathed.

He came and stood in front of me, then pulled me close to his chest with his arms wrapped around me. “We did it, Ev.” He almost sounded like a giddy little boy, but hints of sadness permeated his excitement as if he still wasn’t sure it was enough. It is enough, Dylan. It is. You are.

He pulled back and took each of my hands in his. “Thank you.”

He kissed my forehead, lingering a little longer than perhaps necessary when he said, “I’ve been meaning to ask, what are your and Yvonne’s plans for Christmas?”

I gave a gentle shrug. “We’ll probably just hang out at the apartment and gorge on turkey. Why?”

His expression softened. “What do you think about coming to stay at my place? My dad and Bridget will be there, and Conor’s parents and his sister, Bethany, are coming, too.”

My heart swelled, because that sounded lovely. I’d never had a big family Christmas in a houseful of people before. For so long it had been Yvonne and me, then Gran and me if Yvonne couldn’t make it home to visit.

I looked up at Dylan and nodded. “Sure, I’ll ask Yvonne, but I’m sure she’d love to.”

His answering smile took my breath away.

* * *

It was Christmas Eve morning when Dylan and I were scheduled to meet with his marketing team. I thought it was an odd day to do it, but Dylan said he wanted to get the ball rolling so we could go full steam ahead in the new year.

I turned up at the offices, which happened to be located in Manhattan. They were on the 47^th floor of a building on Park Avenue and I swore my ears popped going up in the elevator. I wore the only black pencil skirt I owned, with a deep red blouse and some heels. I hoped I looked the part and didn’t immediately give off ‘outsider’ vibes.

Dylan met me at reception and led me into a long meeting room where a bunch of well-dressed people waited. They chatted amongst themselves and sipped on coffees when we stepped inside.

“I’m nervous,” I whispered to him.

“Don’t be. You’ll do fine,” Dylan reassured and gave my hand a quick squeeze.

“Mr O’Dea, we’re very excited to sample the newest scent,” said a dark-haired woman wearing a navy fitted dress. She looked to be in her early thirties and was extremely attractive.

“Ah, Miss Keating, can I introduce you to Evelyn Flynn? She collaborated with me on the scent. Ev, this is Diana Keating, Head of Marketing.”

Her eyes met mine with interest and curiosity, probably because Dylan had never collaborated with anyone before.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Evelyn,” she said and offered her hand. We shook as she went on, “And which perfumes have you worked on in the past?”

“Oh, this is my first,” I replied, stomach twisting. Here came the judgement. I could feel it rolling in on a tidal wave of self-importance.

“How wonderful, good for you.” She might as well have said, You’re not good enough for this company. I don’t know what Dylan was thinking bringing you on board. Some women had a skill for saying so much more than the words that came out of their mouths. It was all in the tone.

“Evelyn is a very talented gardener. She grew the flowers I used in my very first perfume,” Dylan said. I noticed this was something he liked to tell people to give me a little boost of confidence, and it worked. Already Diana’s judgement simmered down, though I suspected she had a bit of a thing for Dylan. It was in the way she played with her hair and swayed her hips when she walked toward him.

Damn, were we all that obvious when attracted to someone? I hoped I wasn’t because that shit was embarrassing.

“Well, I’m very much looking forward to what you both came up with,” said Diana and we all sat. I was introduced to the other members of Dylan’s marketing team, before he stood and opened a leather briefcase. Inside were seven bottles, all containing the same list of ingredients, but with different combinations of each.

These people were our test subjects, so we could find which variation was the most appealing. After each bottle was a small dish of coffee beans to help identify each option better. Smelling coffee beans between perfume samples increased the ability to perceive different aromas as opposed to smelling air between each sample.

It was all very interesting, so much so that I forgot about Diana’s interest in Dylan while the samples were being passed around. Everyone was given the chance to smell each one, then air their opinion. Dylan’s assistant, Clive, sat in the far corner of the room recording what was said for later use.

When all bottles had been sampled, Dylan opened up the room to further discussion. We were both keen to know which one was everybody’s favourite.

“Number three has a spike of musk at the end that I think our customers will find too strong,” said one woman. “But number six has just the right amount of floral to green to spiciness. It’s definitely my favourite.”

“I agree about number six,” someone else added. “There’s a herbal note within the floral that’s very unique.”

“Yes, and I don’t think I’ve ever encountered a perfume with a poinsettia note before. It’s very unusual, subtle yet so unexpected, but somehow it just works.”

I smiled, because again Dylan found that one thing to make the perfume—our perfume—special, and it was completely by accident. If I hadn’t suggested going for hotdogs, we might never have walked by that flower stall, and then we wouldn’t have discovered the missing link.

“I’m interested to see how the scent fades in a couple of hours,” Diana said. “That will be the telling part.”

“Oh, I wore it home the other day and it only gets better,” I replied. “The spiciness of the sandalwood comes out with the sweetness of the vanilla. It’s very pleasant.”

She took in what I said, but instead of responding to me, she turned her attention to Dylan. “Sounds like another success story, Mr O’Dea. As soon as we return after the holidays I’ll get straight to work developing a marketing strategy,”

“Perfect, thank you.”

Someone cleared their throat, a man sitting at the very end of the long table. I remembered he’d also favoured number six. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but has it been given a name yet?”

Dylan smiled then looked to me when he answered poignantly. “Yes, we’ve decided to name it Samuel.”