by L.H. Cosway
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 47th 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.”
Chapter 15
“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 24th. 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.
