How the Light Gets In

by L.H. Cosway

  “Who’s out there?” she whispered.

  I closed the door and stepped inside. “Just Conor and Dylan. We got bored at the gala and decided to come here. I hope that’s okay.”

  “No, it isn’t okay. Conor invited me tonight and I told him I was working. I’m going to have to hide in here until they leave.”

  “Yvonne, I’m pretty sure Conor knows that was a lie. He isn’t stupid. He knows you don’t want to date him.”

  She chewed on her lip, looking torn. “Do you think I should go out there and apologise?”

  “I’m sure he’d appreciate your honesty.”

  She took a deep breath. “Okay, just let me fix my hair first.” She went over to her dresser, pulled her hair out of its knot and ran a brush through it. “How do I look?”

  “Gorgeous. Now come on. We have visitors waiting.”

  When we emerged, Dylan and Conor sat chatting on the couch. I went to grab the beers from the fridge while Yvonne approached Conor.

  “Hey,” she said, voice quiet. “I’m sorry for fobbing you off about tonight.”

  He gave her a soft look. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Can I give you a hug?”

  His expression warmed. “Sure.”

  She approached him and threw her arms around his shoulders. He held on to her for a long moment, squeezing tight before he let go. I shared a look with Dylan. We both wanted something to happen between them, but we knew there was no point meddling. Well, not any more than I’d already meddled by bringing Conor to the apartment.

  I set the beers on the coffee table and told everybody to take one. Yvonne declined, instead opting to make herself a cup of peppermint tea.

  “Oh, Ev, you’re wearing the T-shirt. Tell them your joke,” she said as she came back in and settled down on an armchair.

  I shot her a wry look. “I thought you hated that joke.” Also, it wasn’t so much a joke as a funny statement. At least, I found it funny, because I was a dork.

  “I do, but that’s only because I’ve heard it twenty times.”

  “What’s the joke?” Dylan asked, gaze skimming the curve of my hip. I thought of our phone call last night and flushed all the way to my toes.

  I took a swig of beer. “So, I got this T-shirt when Yvonne took me to see Wicked, and I asked the girl on the merch stand if it had magical powers, and if so, did it enable the wearer’s boobs to defy gravity.”

  “That is one terrible, cheesy fucking joke,” Conor chuckled.

  “Yeah, I never knew your sense of humour could sink so low,” Dylan added teasingly.

  “Hey, I have a great sense of humour,” I protested, smiling. I felt a little tipsy from the wine at the event and the beer I was currently drinking.

  “If by great you mean an eighties sex comedy,” he said, hoping to get a rise out of me. I could tell by the shine of mischief in his eyes. I wasn’t going to let him win, trying to think of a snappy comeback.

  “Well, you . . . you have the sense of humour of a politician making a joke about a rival politician, like he’s wants to fix the problems in education, but he can’t even fix his own hair in the morning, and then everyone in their party starts laughing like it’s the funniest thing they’ve ever heard.”

  Dylan chuckled loudly. “That is quite possibly the most specific putdown I’ve ever heard.”

  “Didn’t you ever watch Oireachtas TV back home? They’re always cracking jokes like that,” I said. “It’s upsetting.”

  Yvonne laughed. “Upsetting?”

  “Yes, anything that cringe-worthy is incredibly upsetting.”

  We spent the next hour chatting and drinking, and it all felt so effortless between the four of us. In fact, it was really nice, like a little slice of home. I’d been distracted by a story Conor was telling when I noticed Dylan staring intently at my chest. I cleared my throat. His attention lingered then rose to my face.

  I mouthed a quick, What?

  Are you wearing a bra? he mouthed back.

  Instantly, my nipples hardened at the thought of him studying me, trying to decide if I was wearing one. My T-shirt was extra baggy, and I wore a small vest underneath, so it wasn’t immediately obvious. I simply cocked a brow at him and ignored his mouthed question. He knocked back a long gulp of beer and frowned. Maybe he was annoyed that I wasn’t wearing a bra and he couldn’t do anything about it.

  “Jeez, it’s getting late. I better call a taxi,” Conor announced. “You ready to head back, Dylan?”

  Dylan cast me frustrated look, then brought his attention to Conor. “Sure, why not.”

  A few minutes later their taxi arrived. Dylan came and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek before they left, whispering in my ear, “You just love to torture me.”

  I only smiled in return and then they were gone.

  “I’m going to bed,” Yvonne said, yawning.

  “Go ahead. I’ll clean up out here.”

  My phone buzzed with a text when I was in the kitchen. I picked it up.

  Dylan: Wish I could’ve stayed over again. I missed you last night.

  I thought about how to reply. He was being too romantic, and I couldn’t handle it. I already felt like I was falling for him way too quickly, which was why I responded with humour.

  Evelyn: Boob oglers don’t get to stay over.

  Dylan: Not even if they pay fealty to said boobs?

  Evelyn: I’d advise you to remove ‘pay fealty’ from your dirty talk repertoire.

  Dylan: Too medieval?

  Evelyn: Makes me think of a nerdy guy in a cosplay outfit who wants to be dominated.

  Dylan: Enough said. It’s out.

  Dylan: Just out of curiosity, what should be in my repertoire?

  Evelyn: I can’t give you answers to the test. That’s cheating :-P

  Dylan: Just looking for some pointers.

  Evelyn: Okay, here’s one: Go to bed. You have work in the morning.

  Dylan: Have you thought any more about Saturday?

  I hesitated before typing out a reply.

  Evelyn: I’ll go, but only because I want to see the farm.

  Dylan: Great. I’ll pick you up at 10. Xxx

  A few minutes went by and I was just climbing into bed when my phone buzzed again.

  Dylan: I know I already said it, but you really did look beautiful tonight.

  I swallowed down the flutters his text solicited and typed back.

  Evelyn: And you looked very handsome.

  Dylan: See you Saturday, Ev.

  Evelyn: See you Saturday, Dylan.

  I slid my phone onto my dresser, switched off the lamp and closed my eyes, a smile on my face as I fell asleep.

  Chapter 12

  “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 hav
e 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 t
o 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.