Perfect Scents

by Virginia Taylor

  Trent shot him a glance. “You copped a feel?”

  “Let’s keep this above the belt.” Kell folded his arms across his chest. “I tackled her to the ground. I might have enjoyed that a little longer if I’d known she was a female. She can’t pass for a boy when you’re up close. She smells like a woman.”

  “You tackled her to the ground. And then you asked her for a date.” Trent nodded resignedly and shrugged. “I suppose that’s automatic for you.”

  “Only when I tackle women to the ground. You’re going to leave those dishes to drain, I hope. I don’t want this house-sharing deal to deteriorate into a couples’ thing where you wash and I dry.” Kell frowned.

  “It was better when we didn’t have any dishes.”

  Kell absentmindedly picked up the tea towel Vix had left. “It was also better when we had no food in the house. Then I wouldn’t have fallen into the trap of asking Jogger Girl to lunch. She said she would come at one tomorrow.” Surprising himself, he laughed. “She’s crazy. She says we’re drug dealers, and she is coming at one to inspect the place.”

  “And she was standing on a chair peering over the fence.” Trent grinned. “I think we have a live one this time. You don’t want to get too friendly, though, Killer, because if she lives next door, she’ll be hard to shake off.”

  “That won’t be a problem.” Kell wiped and stacked the plates back into the cupboard. When he lost interest in a woman, he simply told her he needed to move on. Not keeping a woman on the hook seemed to him like the most efficient thing to do. He had let his first girlfriend at the age of sixteen hang around far too long because he didn’t want to hurt her. Then he hurt her anyway when she realized he had lost interest. Making a quick break had to be less painful than the subsequent crying scenes she put him through.

  Trent pulled up a chair to the countertop and started fiddling around with the diamond paned leadlight window he had retrieved from the bin, likely trying to work out how to remove the glass he had broken without damaging too much lead. Kell wandered outside to his hastily erected shed where he had stored the cream-painted wardrobe doors salvaged from the bedrooms upstairs. He wanted to strip the paint off one and see if the natural wood might be worth repurposing.

  Recently he’d been experimenting with vintage styles, and he liked using wood with different textures and colors in his kitchens. When asked to do a bedroom or a study, sometimes a customer required more than shelves or cupboards, and he was always on the lookout for good solid slabs of wood that could be turned or carved, or made into a desk or a special set of shelves. Invariably, he ended up supplying laminates or two-pack sprays, but given the choice, he would work on the high end of quality rather than the disposable. Only the well-heeled considered wood that would require maintenance, but only a wealthy person would be able to afford this house.

  As he raced his scraper over the painted surface, he speculated about Jogger Girl, whose reaction when he had tackled her to the ground was remarkable, considering she was female. She hadn’t yelped or screamed. She’d been quite determined not to let on that she was a woman. Interesting. Then she had faced him, ready to fight back, which had given him a scare when he realized he could have hurt her. He admired her pluck.

  Eventually, he revealed an inlaid pattern of various woods beneath six or more layers of paint and decided that instead of sending these doors off to the salvage yard, he would keep the lot. He could certainly make use of the designs one way or another, though not in the new bedrooms. The old house needed to be brightened up and he planned white cabinetry upstairs. He had a look in mind for the kitchen: the old reclaimed oak cupboard fronts with cream floor tiles, and light quartz countertops, a combination that generally appealed.

  When he finally wandered back indoors, Trent was already snoring in one of the two camping beds Kell had deposited in the old sitting room at the front of the house. He sighed. A male roommate didn’t have the same appeal as a female, but wasting two rooms in an about-to-be-renovated house seemed ludicrous. He switched off the overhead light and dropped his clothes onto the floor, slipping naked into his sleeping bag.

  The next thing he knew, Trent was standing over him, shaking his short wet hair in a spray of droplets over Kell’s face. “The hot water’s off. You’ll get a cold shower.”

  “You don’t need to sound so cheery about it,” Kell said, squinting at the daylight. “I’ll get Luke around to see what the problem is.” Yawning, he stretched his aching body, and glanced at his watch. “Has Jogger Girl been by yet?”

  “Half an hour ago. Like clockwork.” Trent pulled on his work shirt. “I found a place online where I can buy lead strips for the window. I might drive over sometime today.”

  “Good idea, but let’s not get into the habit of a chat before coffee, huh?”

  Trent grinned and disappeared, leaving Kell to grab his clothes and head off for a cold shower, not that he needed one. Jogger Girl was interesting, but he hadn’t yet seen her in the daylight. She could be as rough as sandpaper for all he knew.

  He and Trent cleaned and stacked bricks all morning and he almost forgot about the lunch date until Trent reminded him. “Get out the tablecloth, too,” Trent said, waggling his pale eyebrows. “Women like that.”

  Kell had barely walked into the kitchen when he heard, “Yoo-hoo,” from the open front door. One step out the doorway, and he glanced along the passage. The black silhouette against the daylight was shapely with long hair.

  “Hi, Kell. I knew you two would be working hard. I brought you some lunch.” A pretty blonde wearing tight jeans and a brownish top walked through the hall toward him, her long scarf floating along behind. She wore a big multi-colored bag slung over one shoulder.

  He searched into the distracted fog of his mind for her name. “Emily,” he said, finally.

  She reached for his shoulders and gave him a lingering kiss on the lips. “Hi, Kell.” She had attended his barbeque on Sunday with the other nurse. He must have said he was taking part of the week off.

  He had met both the women while he had been standing with Trent in a queue outside a nightclub last week. One started up a flirtatious conversation and had asked for his phone number. He obliged, she entered her number in his phone, but being female, they were invited inside the venue by the bouncer first.

  “Before you go,” Trent had said, “Kell will give you his address. We’re having a barbeque next week, if you’re interested.”

  Kell duly handed over a business card, to which someone with a pen had added his address. The queue looked never-ending and he normally worked seven days a week and so he decided to leave. Trent left with him, but he was sure the women would turn up at the barbeque. They had.

  She smiled up at Kell. “The food is a belated host gift for you. I didn’t bring a thing on Sunday.”

  Apparently, she had decided to make a move, either on Trent or him. He hoped she was interested in Trent because he had shown interest in her at the barbeque. Aside from that, Kell had invited Calli to lunch when he never made a play for a woman. At this stage of his life, a woman was only a momentary distraction. Glancing away for a second or two, he remembered why he had acted out of character. Calli intrigued him. “Where’s your friend?” He ought to remember the name of the other woman.

  “Working.” Emily made a face. “We do shifts. I have the day off.”

  “So, you often work on weekends?”

  She nodded. “Where should I put lunch?”

  Even had Trent not been interested, Kell knew he couldn’t tell her to leave the food and skedaddle. “As it happens, we were about to sit down for a meal. The gardener from next door is coming over. You’re welcome to join us.”

  She looked taken aback. Naturally, she expected to stay with her lunch. “So, shall I help in the kitchen?”

  “Sure thing.” He led the way. “I’ve done the tablecloth. I’ll set out a few plates.”

  She put her bag on the countertop
and pulled out two long baguettes filled with meat, cheese, and salad. He passed her a knife and she cut the bread into sections and placed them on a large plate. “Four,” she said. “Right?”

  “Four.” He sliced a plate of ham and glanced ruefully at the salad ingredients.

  She took the hint and put a mixed salad together, placing the bowl in the center of the table with a fork and a spoon he handed her.

  He glanced at his watch. “I’ll call Trent.” He moved toward the back door, which opened.

  Trent walked in. He glanced at Emily and his eyes widened. Then he gave his goofy grin. “Emily. Did you bring Amber?”

  She smiled back. “She’s working. I thought I would bring lunch instead for you workers, but you seem to have plenty.”

  “But we don’t have plenty of women to look at, so it’s good you came. Should we start without next door?” Trent asked Kell.

  “You think I do lunches often enough to know the etiquette?” Kell asked with an amount of attitude. He didn’t mind Trent being so pleased to see Emily, but he didn’t want this lunch to be a date with two women, eating healthy baguettes like the poncy types who lived around here. He had asked a gardener to eat with him and his tradesman mate. This wasn’t happening as he thought, a casual sit-down with fellow workers.

  “Knock, knock,” he heard from outside.

  “Come straight through,” he called, and in walked Tag Artist wearing a thick work-shirt, jeans, and work boots, like on Monday. He placed his fists on his hips, frowning. He had asked Jogger Girl for lunch, and her alter ego had arrived.

  Her mid brown hair, cut short at the back and longer at the front, framed her well-defined cheekbones and jaw line. With a clear-skinned face, a slim elegant nose, gleaming silver-gray eyes, and thick dark eyelashes, she shortened his breath. Pure class. He could look at her for half an hour and still enjoy the view.

  She glanced at Trent, Emily, the table, the food, and back at him. The expression on her face didn’t change from mildly interested. “Hi,” she said to all. Like last night, her voice sounded husky. Sexy.

  He made a blank of his expression. Long ago he had learned to do that; a lifetime ago. Indicating the other two, he said, “Emily dropped by for lunch, too, and I keep Trent around to take care of the marijuana crop.”

  She faced him. “You told me he is in charge of the meth lab,” she said with a mock-innocent widening of her eyes.

  “Me? Oh, no,” Trent said, pulling out a chair for Emily. Impressive. Impressive, also, that he had remembered the name of her friend. “I’m an artisan, not a druggie. My normal job is to build theater sets, but I’m helping here for a couple of months before I whip off to Sydney to build another.” He said this to the back of Emily’s neck.

  Kell used his head to indicate a place at the table for Calli. He pondered pulling out her seat but was saved the trouble when she moved around him and sat. Then she smiled at Emily. “I’m Calli from next door. I don’t know if Kellen remembered my name so this is a tactful reminder.”

  “Thank you.” Kell sat. “She’s a member of the drug squad,” he also said to Emily. “She heard the party on Sunday night and deduced we were all on drugs—a logical assumption.”

  Emily glanced at Trent. He shrugged. She looked back at Calli and smiled. “Hi, Calli. I’m a nurse. I don’t want to know drug dealers, either. I deal in drugs all day. That’s enough for me.”

  Tag Artist smiled at Emily and then turned her gaze to Trent. “Theater sets. That sounds interesting,” she said, and that started Trent off.

  During Trent’s spiel, Kell resisted adding that he also built sets when needed. Instead, he acted the waiter, kept passing food and pouring glasses of water. He also discovered that Calli had a scratch along the back of her hand and a callus on her middle finger. She ate like a starving poodle, which in a lot of ways she resembled, being elegantly shorn, long limbed, and graceful. Also, largely silent. She absorbed other people and kept conversations going with interested questions.

  “You look familiar,” Emily said to her while she passed the salad.

  Calli smiled politely. “I hear that a lot. I must have that sort of face. I’ve been told I look like Hilary Swank, for example.”

  Emily laughed. “It must be the short hair.”

  “Ellen DeGeneres, also a woman with short hair,” Trent said, with a look of concentration. “You don’t look like her.”

  “Interesting to know.” She picked at the scratch on her hand nervously, which intrigued him.

  “I also make decorative screens,” Trent said to Emily, trying to get her attention back again.

  “How interesting,” she said, still staring at Calli.

  “I’ve got one outside I could show you. You might want to see some of the leadlight I’m thinking of repairing.”

  “Leadlight? Like in churches?”

  “Like in old houses. We’re going to put in plain glass here. Nobody likes the old stuff anymore.” Trent rose to his feet and Emily slowly rose to hers.

  “Lead on,” she said, with a puzzled shrug at Kell.

  He smiled at her, pleased that for once Trent had used his initiative. If he exerted himself, he might get a date.

  “Nice lunch. Thanks. I must get back to work.” Calli rose to her feet. “And I’m not nobody.”

  He rose, too, strangely put out that she didn’t to want to stay longer. “I didn’t think you were. Or do you mean you like leadlight?”

  “I can’t imagine why anyone would tell you to remove the original windows from this house.”

  He rubbed the side of his neck. “People these days like clear views.”

  “Some people like a few interesting elements kept in the older houses. Not everything, of course. The whole update doesn’t need to be vintage but in this kitchen, if it was renovated properly instead of rebuilding, you could have a real butler’s pantry and larder. Everybody wants those.”

  “There’s not enough room.”

  “That,” she said, pointing at the side-by-side laundry and bathroom, “is the old larder and the old pantry. They only need to be re-incorporated.”

  “Those two rooms are going to be the new modern kitchen and the rest of this room will be a casual living space,” he said annoyed that, yet again, his plan was being questioned.

  She started toying with the top button of her shirt as if stalling. “Maybe you ought to get the owner of this place to talk to a few land agents before he makes that decision.”

  “Maybe I ought to look over the judge’s plants and give you my advice on gardens.”

  “That would be a waste of time.” She laughed. “I can already see you don’t know a thing about horticulture.”

  “We haven’t started on the garden here, yet. But I can tell you, those shady trees out the front are staying.” He crossed his arms, knowing he sounded riled.

  “That’s what I thought.” A dimple appeared just below the curve of her cheek. “I also thought I was invited here to look over the place.”

  “You should have gone with Trent,” he said, his voice a growl.

  “I don’t want to be the third wheel. Anyway, I have to get back to work. But I can see now that you are both renovators and not drug dealers. The tattooed man was a red herring.” The dimple came and went again.

  “Steve?” He frowned. “He doesn’t even live here. He’s a respectable married man with a child.”

  She lifted her shoulders. “Well, he shouldn’t wander around looking like a gangster.”

  “You’ll be pleased to hear that his wife doesn’t like his tattoos, either.” He gave her a superior smile. “If she had noticed him earlier, he might not have them.”

  “So, it’s her fault?”

  “It’s always the woman’s fault.”

  Instead of laughing, clocking him one, or giving him a smart-arse comment, she pressed her lips together as if censoring herself. He couldn’t imagine why. Although he didn’t necessaril
y want to argue with her, he enjoyed a bit of give and take.

  “What did you mean when you said ‘that’s what I thought’ about the garden?” He ushered her toward the front door.

  “You people don’t know a weed from a plant,” she said over her shoulder. “You don’t have a real tree in the garden, though I suppose those feral olives almost count as trees. But the councils around here want them gone.”

  “What about the tree with the shiny leaves?”

  “That’s also feral—the blowfly bush. It used to be planted as a hedge and it’s a good strong plant, but it produces berries that birds eat and now the seeds have been scattered far and wide. When it grows into the bushland, it’s a real menace, like the olives, and like that lantana you are also growing. The seeds from that are dire.”

  He considered the earnest expression on her face. “Perhaps you could give us advice about the garden.”

  She stared at him, worrying at her bottom lip with her teeth while she considered. “I’ll help you if you help me,” she finally said.

  “What do you need help with?”

  “Lifting, mainly. A bit of digging.” She inclined her head to the side, watching his face.

  “So, you give me an hour, and I give you an hour?”

  “My time is more valuable than yours.”

  “Says who?”

  “I have a degree. Therefore I’m paid at professional rates.” She tilted up her elegant nose.

  “I have muscles.” He smiled, crossed his arms and pumped up two biceps with his thumbs.

  She blushed a bright pink, turned on her heel, and said as she walked through the door, “Deal.”

  * * * *

  Calli went straight back to work in the garden again, trying not to let Kellen’s unexpected smile shift her focus.

  Having overeaten, she experienced a certain amount of sluggishness—but a great amount of satisfaction because of the best meal she had eaten in a week. Tasty baguettes, fresh and crisp. Wonderful salad and lush plump ham. Nothing but the best for Kellen, and that included pretty Emily.

  Two months ago, Calli had been an Emily. She had looked like Emily, with long stylishly colored hair. She had worn the same makeup as Emily, with the same thick black eyelashes, the same careful eyebrows, and probably the same brand of lipstick. She could make a checklist of Emily’s clothes: caramel high heels, check; Zara jeans, check; loose knit cashmere top, check; designer scarf, check-check-check.