Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
PAIGE
“Holy shit, dude, I think I’m a genius. Smell this.” Skye skips over to the register and shoves a beaker under my nose before I can blink. “Okay, so I woke up with this song in my head, right? You know the one. It goes du-du-du-dum-dum.”
I don’t know it. It doesn’t stop her.
“Anyway, it kept going on and on, and I was like, What is this song? Right? And I kind of remember it being from that show I watched last week, the one with the guy from that thing we liked?”
Amazingly, this I do know.
“And, like, he’s so tall—like he was stretched as a baby. Who knows? But then I’m thinking, Huh, I wonder if the air is different for tall people, like how it is on mountains—you know, where there’s more oxygen and stuff. And what would that smell like?”
For the record, the oil mix smells incredible. Potent because it’s concentrated right now, but I can already tell it’s going to linger in the best way. Calm and soft, like lying on fresh sheets after a hot shower.
She leaves the beaker in my hands to pull herself up onto the counter. “So, yeah, I just started fucking around, and I think I’m actually a genius. It’s okay; you can say it.”
I nod a greeting to the customer walking in. He slips off his hat and fans himself as he walks around.
“I hope that huge brain of yours remembered to write down how you made it so we can actually sell it.”
“My dear,” she croons, “geniuses don’t have time to take notes. That’s why they have assistants.”
If she thinks this assistant is going to do her work for her, she’s been smelling too much of her own concoctions.
I hand the beaker back to her. “Well, then you can assist yourself with the recipe while I take care of business.”
“I’m completely unappreciated.”
“Uh-huh.”
Over her shoulder, the guy stifles a laugh.
“Ooh, what’s this?” she asks, reaching for the chicken salad I’ve been shielding from her.
I pull it back. “My lunch.”
“That’s really funny actually,” she says gleefully. “Because I didn’t hear you leave and I know you didn’t have it earlier.”
There’s no point in hiding my blush. “Benji brought it for me.”
“Oh, he did, did he?”
I start pushing her toward the storeroom. “Yes.”
“Is this part of his apology tour?”
I snort. “You could say that.”
Skye pulls herself up onto the counter next to the register and steals a piece of chicken.
“Oh my God! I never told you about the punk I kicked out of here. This little snot bag had the nerve to spit his gum out on the floor and giggle. So gross. Little chipmunk-looking punk. Like, Hello, no one wants your germy, halitosis-soaked wad, broski. Save that for your nightly wet sesh.”
Not a term I’ve ever heard before or one I ever want to hear again.
“Ew, Skye, I’m trying to eat.”
I push my salad away, my appetite gone, and Skye happily takes it from me.
“That’s what I mean! It’s gross.”
I brave a look at the shop floor, as if the remnants of his gum were in hiding somewhere, but it’s pristine. We already mop twice a week. I mean, you’d be horrified at the amount of gunk on people’s shoes. Or maybe you wouldn’t; I don’t know.
“Wait, when did this happen?”
There’s no way Skye didn’t yell at the kid, but if it happened while I was here, I missed it.
“Yesterday, while you were having your wet—”
I slap a hand over her mouth and feel her grin under my palm.
“I regret telling you anything.”
She kisses my hand and then holds it to her chest. “Hey, before you ran, it was good, right?”
My cheeks flood with heat, but I can only nod.
“Well, I’m glad to see you having some fun. You earned it after last year.”
She’s not wrong.
“What happened to hating him?”
She shrugs.
Skye’s always been quick to anger and quick to forgiveness. It’s mine that takes longer.
“I still hate that he hurt you.”
“I told him that I want to give us another chance.”
She chews while she thinks it over. “Then I’ll need him to sign over the deed of his balls to me, to be collected in the event of him hurting you again.”
There’s the answer I expected.
“Is that all?”
She smiles through her next bite. “It’s a start.”
* * *
An hour later, the shop door opens, and two kids clamber inside in a storm of giggles and excitement. Benji steps in after them—no flannel to be seen, in shorts and a graphic tee, a cap slung backward over his head.
Yep, still hopelessly in love with him.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he says. “They wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
The young boy has his hands shoved in his pockets in a mirror image of his uncle. “I like your rainbow shelves.”
“Thank you. I like your hat.” I recognize it as Benji’s, and it’s clearly too big for him, drooping to one side of his head.
Benji introduces us. “This is Dominic and Daphne.”
“Hello,” I say.
“What’s a tequila sunrise?” Daphne asks, pulling a candle down off the shelf and burying her nose in it.
“Ask me again when you’re twenty-one,” Benji says.
I kneel down beside her. “Can I show you something?”
She nods.
“Close your eyes.” When she does, I continue, “Now breathe in, nice and slow.”
Her tiny chest rises on an inhale, and then her nose furrows. It’s adorable and so much like Benji that I bite back a laugh.
“Smells like fruit,” she says.
“What does it make you think of?”
She shrugs and puts the candle back. Okay then. I survey the shelves, looking for something she might like, then pull down one called Gossamer Wings, but I keep the label facing away from her.
“Okay, try this one. Don’t think so much about what it smells like, but what it makes you feel.”
Daphne closes her eyes and takes another long, dramatic breath in. In my peripheral vision, Benji and Dominic are standing still. Watching. Waiting.
I could tell her that the notes are filled with musk and rose and lily of the valley.
I could tell her that the name came from my favorite song or that it always makes me think of sleepovers, where Skye and I would hide under the covers and whisper to each other until we were in a fit of giggles and one of our moms would come in and remind us it was past our bedtime.
I could say that it wasn’t the first candle we made, but it was the first one I knew was special.
But it’s not about me.
“Smells like Daddy,” she says.
“Oh?”
She shrugs again. “He’s always outside. He likes the-the bushes—”
“Garden,” Benji supplies.
“And he gets the dirt off, but he still smells like flowers.”
This. This is why I love my job.
Curious, I let my eyes fall closed and breathe in. I’ve never met Isaac, but Benji’s mentioned him before, so I try to picture him—fingers dark with soil, shears in hand, dirt on his knees.
I like him, I decide.
Daphne is watching me when I open my eyes.
“My daddy always smelled like flour,” I tell her as I slip the candle back onto the shelf.
Her nose wrinkles again. “Why?”
“He spent a lot of time in the kitchen, cooking for us. On Sundays, he’d wake up real early and make pancakes with lots of toppings.” My favorite is lemon and sugar, which no one ever understands.
“Why?”
A laugh bubbles up my throat, but I swallow it down. “Because he wanted to.”
“Do you have anything that smells like farts?” Dominic asks, prompting Daphne to groan.
“You know what? Not yet,” I say. “But I’ll put it on the list.” Hey, maybe it can be an April Fools’ special. Skye will love it. “What else you got?”
“Nothing,” he says.
Okay then.
“Uncle Benji is taking us to the beach today,” Daphne announces, pulling a jar as big as her head from the counter.
Benji rushes forward to help her with it. “Two hands there, kiddo.”
She grabs at it with both hands, elbowing him away in the process with a huff. Wow. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she was his.
“I love the beach. Are you going to swim?” I look at Benji. “Is your swimsuit hiding under those shorts?”
His lips curl just so, and it’s the exact same look he wore when he was on his knees. “Want to find out?”
Yes, please.
Daphne saves me from answering by pressing herself to Benji’s leg before tugging on his shirt. He looks adorable as he folds himself in half to let her whisper in his ear.
I’ve met a few different Benjis now—the funny stranger, the deep thinker, the persistent suitor. This one—this guy who is sweet and oh-so soft with his niece—he’s dangerous for my heart.
He straightens. “Daphne wants to know if you’d like to come with us.”
“She would love to,” Skye announces, like she’s been waiting for her chance to butt in, which … of course she has. Her smile is wide enough that it could brighten the entire street during a blackout.
“I can’t leave the shop,” I say.
“What are you talking about? Go. Have fun.” She emphasizes fun as if I forgot our earlier conversation.
“But I don’t have my swimsuit.”
I don’t know why I’m still stalling. We all know I’m going to say yes.
“That’s okay,” Daphne says, grabbing Benji’s hand. “We don’t have ours either.”
I raise an eyebrow at Benji, who explains, “There’s some turtle conservation event happening over at The Belle today, and I promised the kids we’d take a look and get ice cream.”
The voice in my head is telling me to go, and my heart is jumping for joy that he asked, so why am I hesitating? Is it nerves or something else?
“Hey, Dom, buddy, what did you say to me this morning?”
The kid scuffs his shoes on the floor. “This is the first time we’ll see the ocean.”
Oh, that cruel son of a bitch. He knows exactly how to pull my heartstrings.
Benji smiles, knowing he’s won. “Come on. They’ve been so excited.”
“Please?” Daphne adds.
And with four sets of eyes pleading at me, there’s only one answer I can give.
* * *
“Where are the turtles?” Dominic asks, kicking at the sand. “I thought you said they’d be here.”
It’s a beautiful day. While not shoulder to shoulder, the beach is busy. I mean, it’s Playa de Oro. If the tourists aren’t here for The Belle, they’re here for the ocean, and right now, it’s practically begging me to come play. What isn’t here is the event Benji mentioned.
He squats down, his shoes sinking into the sand. “Sorry, bud, I must have gotten the date wrong.”