by Ines Saint
The silence that followed filled the space between them more than any words could.
“There’s your answer,” Sam said, before turning back to the TV, but his posture was rigid.
Marianne shot up. “Neither of them gave Holly my number because they knew you wouldn’t have let me take care of you. And now here you are, making your brothers uncomfortable, as if they don’t have enough on their plates, when all I was trying to do was check on you.” She shook her head, as if none of it surprised her, and wiped invisible tears from her eyes.
Dan tried not to roll his own eyes. He’d already pushed her too far. Marianne kissed Johnny’s cheek and then Sam’s, saying, “I’ll call you later and you can let me know how your brother is doing. I’m sorry for the outburst, but I tried. I thought he’d changed.” With that, she walked to the door.
“Maybe you should’ve tried sooner,” Johnny said right before she turned the knob. That horrible silence again.
“Excuse me?” Marianne asked, her voice trembling. This time, Dan knew it wasn’t an act. She looked at Dan. “You—”
“Dan didn’t put him up to anything.” Sam sighed. “Don’t blame him, Ma.”
“I’m not blaming him. You’re all blaming me!” She threw her handbag back on the chair and crossed her arms. “You’re ganging up on me, like you all used to.”
Dan went cold. This argument was on him. He’d purposefully gotten between his brothers and their mom, the very thing he’d always gone to great lengths to avoid.
“Explain to me how this is my fault, tell me what I said to . . .” Marianne’s voice became shrill and her tears flowed freely.
The pressure in his chest mounted and his ears began to ring. He shot up and was out the door in two strides.
CHAPTER 8
It was inevitable. The moment walls came down, old houses revealed their surprises. The next few days were full of tough calls. Between the Craftsman and Sam’s properties, Dan had his hands full and was falling behind on his day job.
But the marked difference between feeling crappy and feeling fine made him appreciate the little things, like normal breathing patterns and working limbs. He longed to be outside and moving, but he was stuck at the library doing a write-up of his research on a tough legal case.
“Hey, Dan, are you feeling better? You look better.” It took him a moment to clear his head. It was Holly and she wasn’t running away, like the last time she’d seen him in the library.
“I’m getting some work done here while plumbing work is done at the house. Sam’s projects are running along nicely.” He smiled back.
“Well, I’m using my lunch break to get a head start on my upcoming spring house-hunting. I’m going to research the history of a few homes that I happen to know are going up for sale.” She turned, books and papers in her arms, to find another table.
“Wait. Sit here. Show me what you’ve found. I could use a break.” He’d meant for her to sit in front of him, but she sat next to him instead, and he watched as she slipped a few wayward locks behind her ear. Her perfume was familiar to him by now, but the jolt it gave his senses still surprised him.
It reminded him that she made her own perfumes. And damn if she wasn’t talented at it. It wasn’t a profitable business, judging from her empty shop and the fact that she couldn’t afford a house unless it was nearly condemned, but the woman had her skills.
She showed him a few details she’d discovered, and he bent over her books and papers with her, as interested in the information as she was. Two of the houses brought up memories.
He told her stories about him and his brothers getting up to no good at their father’s work sites when they were younger, and at a particular house on the list where Cassidy McGillicuddy, their best friend growing up, used to spend her afternoons and summers. She laughed a few times, and it earned her dirty looks from other patrons.
“Are you ever going to tell me why you’re so set on helping with the house?” he asked when talk turned to their little road trip.
“I told you—”
“Right. I’m the last person who’d understand.” He tapped his pen on his legal pad. “You forget that a soft spot for that house is the one thing we have in common. Why don’t you try me? I might surprise you.”
Holly looked down and sighed. Her soft breath tickled his neck, making him realize they were sitting too close. He didn’t move. “Grandma always had stories to tell about Spinning Hills, and it seemed like the perfect place to start a unique business and grow some roots. I saw the Craftsman the very first day I came here, and, I don’t know, it called to me. It was neglected . . . but it had all this potential. I knew it could shine.” She looked up then, her eyes searching his. “So . . . I made it part of my long-term goals. Ella took to it, too, when she was old enough. The house was Cinderella and we were its rescuers. It fueled our dreams.”
Dan made a few circles on his legal pad, unsure of what to say. The house had held her dreams for the future. For Dan it held a duty to the past.
“Dan?” she said, her voice low. He looked up and met her eyes. “Why do you move so much?” she asked. Much as he wanted to, he couldn’t look away. Even when she was serious, there were sparks in her eyes.
Dan stretched his legs out in front of him, widening the distance between them. She’d been honest with her answer, and he figured he owed her the same. “When I was younger and had too much time on my hands, I’d wander around the city and visit old buildings, trying to find out what they’d been built for or if anything important had happened in them. People were down on Dayton, but Dad saw a place that had changed the world. I liked looking it at that way, too. Anyway, I always enjoyed myself, so discovering a city’s history by living in it seemed like a good way to live, except now that I’m an adult, I can leave during the honeymoon phase.” He winked.
She grinned. “Are you sure you even make it to the honeymoon phase?”
It was his turn to laugh and earn dirty looks.
She lowered her voice to a whisper. “So, when do you know the honeymoon phase is over?”
“When it gets tiring.” It usually got tiring the moment someone tried to suck him into their drama.
Holly frowned at his answer, but she must’ve noticed his mounting irritation because she nodded and looked away. Her eyes strayed to the clock and she gasped. “I’ve been here for over an hour, and I only allow myself a half-hour break!”
“Right. Remember to stop by Friday morning.”
“Uh-huh.” She gathered her things and left. He stared after her, his mind foggy.
A knock at the door told him Holly had arrived. “I’m here. What is it you want to show me?” She sipped coffee out of her red thermos, faking nonchalance. He led her up the stairs and to the master bathroom. It wasn’t finished, but the floor and shower were tiled in the tiles she’d chosen, and he’d purchased two gallons of the mossy green she’d showed him, even though he was nowhere near painting, just so she could see it. Her eyes widened. “You took my advice?”
“You convinced me.”
“Oh. I see where this is going. I convinced you of something, so now you want to convince me.”
Dan leaned against the piece of wood covering the hole where the stained-glass window used to be. “Just imagine it, Holly. It would go right here.”
She turned to look around the room, and he caught a glimpse of a bright smile. “I love it. It’s exactly the way I dreamed it would be.”
It was obvious she did love it, and for the first time since they’d met, he felt bad she’d lost it. He still didn’t think she would’ve been able to take it on, but she’d been a good sport about helping him get the house right. “Hey.” He came up behind her. “Maybe if your business picks up, you can afford it when I’m done.”
Holly shook her head, took a sip of coffee, and studied him. “Do you really want the stained-glass window?”
It was Dan’s turn to fake nonchalance. He merely nodded.
“Y
ou know the old funeral shop on McPherson Street, right behind my studio?”
Dan nodded again, wondering if she was about to suggest he buy the stained-glass windows on the old funeral home.
“If you stop by it today, I’ll consider letting you buy the window.”
“What does the window have to do with the old funeral home?”
“Stop by and find out.”
After working on the house a few hours and checking on the crews working in the other four properties he was supervising, Dan stopped by the old funeral home on the off chance it would help Holly decide to let him buy the window. He maneuvered onto McPherson, slowed, and looked for the old stone structure. His mouth formed an O when he read the attractive beige and green sign surrounded by artistic leaves. The words UNCOMMON SCENTS MICROPERFUMERY were written in an interesting font.
He breathed out on a laugh. He had no doubt he was about to get pie in his face.
Emily answered the door, fist on hip. “Holly didn’t think you’d come.” The grin on her face stretched from ear to ear.
“I’m here.” He stuck his hands deep into his pockets and looked around. Antique shelves lined the walls and held vials and bottles in two different sizes. A workbench and three long tables were in the middle. On top of the workbench were droppers and different measuring tools, and on one of the long tables there were small, pink bottles, and another woman was transferring what he guessed was perfume into them.
“Candy Pike,” the older woman called when she caught Dan watching her. Dan smiled and nodded.
A man who looked to be in his fifties stood up from behind one of two large, comfortable cubicles in the back, and said, “Greg Jeffries, office manager.”
“So, you all work for Holly.”
“Yes. I’m the sales and marketing exec,” Emily explained. “And Candy has been trained to handle a variety of duties. Holly has both individual and private label clients all over the country. She comes up with the formulas and bottle designs in the cottage out front, with her clients’ help, and the fragrance is produced back here. I arrange for new clients, preferably small retail outfits with five to ten stores who want their own brand of perfume, or who need their own brand, but don’t know it yet.” Emily winked.
“Looks like business is good.” Dan knew Holly wanted to rub her success in his face, and he was definitely curious, but he didn’t want anyone reporting back to her just how curious.
“We’re up to ten thousand dollars a week in sales.” She smiled then, and he could tell she was proud of her job.
Candy washed her hands in a laundry tub in a corner, walked up to him, and said, “Holly offers fair pay, a great health insurance plan, and she matches what we put into our 401(k)s,” as if she was reciting it from memory.
“Someone’s been coached.” He raised his eyebrows at the older woman.
She lifted her chin. “Well, it’s true, and that’s what matters.”
Dan took his hands out of his pockets. “I’ll leave you to your work. Thanks for having me, and make sure you tell Holly I stopped by.”
“Are you impressed?” Emily beamed.
“Yes, but if you tell Holly I said that, I’ll tell Leo about the new handbag hiding in your closet,” he warned her.
“Hey, how do you know about that?”
“Heather told me you two had gone shopping and she let that detail slip.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” Emily teased back. “I’m going to tell Holly all about how your eyes bugged out when you looked around.”
At 6 a.m. the next morning, Holly opened her door, nursing her red thermos, her curls astray and her eyes hooded. “Someone isn’t an early morning person,” Dan observed.
Holly grunted.
“So, you run a successful business,” he said when she climbed into the pickup.
“Yeah, scratch your head over that.” She peered over at him and he laughed.
“Over ten thousand a week in sales and loyal employees. Not bad.” He hesitated. “Why can’t you buy the house from me when I’m through?”
Holly sighed. “Because contrary to what you may think, I do think and plan for the future and Ella does come before my whimsies .”
Dan glanced over at her, eyes narrowing. Hadn’t they gotten past all that? She placed a hand over her eyes and took a deep breath. “Sorry. That came out wrong.” When she spoke again, her voice was softer. “Buying the cottage and the funeral home and completely rehabbing and outfitting them cost money I didn’t have at the time. I’m making a good living now, but I have priorities. As much as I want the house, your flipping it will tack on too much, too soon. That’s money that should go toward business loan repayments, Ella’s college education, and my retirement. I was also going to put twenty percent down on a rehab loan with a great rate, and I can’t put twenty percent down on anything above that. But I’m okay, I’ve made my peace with it, and I’ll be happy if you find the right buyer.”
“You’ll buy one of those houses on the list you showed me?” If she’d handled the renovations for the old funeral home and turned it into what he’d seen, she could more than handle a house, which, of course, meant he’d been wrong. Again.
“I’m ready to move out of the basement, that’s for sure. I’ll miss Emily and Leo, though. They’ve been great. They’ve let me use the yard for gardening and for Ella’s toys, and Emily’s my best friend. Her daughter, Gracie, is Ella’s best friend, too.”
“Leo told me you renovated the basement. Why didn’t you tell me it was you when I complimented it?”
“I promised myself a long time ago I’d never try to prove anything to anyone ever again,” she said, straightening in her seat. “I let my success speak for itself.”
“Then why did you want me to see your microperfumery?”
“Because it was taking you too long to find out about my success on your own.” She grinned. “And it was about you learning your lesson, buddy, not about me needing to prove anything to you. Plus I needed a way to make you earn the window. It belongs where it belongs.”
Dan wanted to ask whom she’d felt the need to prove herself to in the past, but they weren’t friends yet. Or were they?
Holly pulled her MP3 player out of her handbag and reached to plug it in, but he covered the adapter with his hand before she could. “I’ve heard the music you listen to and there’s no way I’m listening to eighties pop-crap for the next three hours.”
“It’s not eighties pop-crap, it’s fun, feel-good music from the decade that brought us Pretty in Pink, The Breakfast Club, The Princess Bride, and me. We both know you don’t like me, but how can you not like John Hughes and the likes of Cary Elwes and Mandy Patinkin?”
“Why don’t we go with a different side of the eighties?” He took his iPhone out of his pocket. “Metallica, Black Sabbath, and Jane’s Addiction—”
“Oh. So you like hard rock, like Poison and Whitesnake. I’ve got a few of those here.”
Dan looked as if he was about to have a conniption. “Those bands aren’t hard rock, woman! Ever heard the term bubblegum rock?” He took a moment to calm down. “We can take turns and you can play anything except power ballads. Agreed?”
“Agreed. Why does it seem we’re always making a deal?”
“Because you’re too opinionated.”
“I could say the same thing about you.”
“You could, and you’d be right. So, who goes first?”
Holly plugged her MP3 player in and searched for one of her favorite car songs, “Africa,” by Toto. The song started, Holly settled into her seat, her feel-good vibe coming on, despite the long, hard sigh coming from her left. She began singing along, infusing the verse just before the chorus with special emotion.
“Someone’s not shy,” Dan muttered.
“I feel at home in Johnny’s pickup.” She ran her hands over the dirty, old cloth seat.
“Except I’m not Johnny.”
“Nope. You most definitely are not.” His gaze
was on her, as if he was trying to determine how she meant that. She ignored him and continued to sing. The truth was, she no longer knew how she felt about Dan Amador. He was a wanderer, just like she’d been until she’d put her foot down and ended her marriage. The difference was, she’d never chosen to wander.
Was Dan a wanderer or a runaway? It was obvious he cared about his brothers. But having to deal with someone as passive-aggressive as Marianne had to be draining.
“Out of all the songs you could’ve chosen, you chose the one song I truly can’t stand,” Dan cut into her thoughts.
“Seriously? That’s funny, ’cause this is one of my favorite songs. What don’t you like about it?”
“It isn’t literal and it isn’t poetic, it just doesn’t make sense. Why is he babbling about wild dogs and rains in Africa? What does the rain have to do with him not leaving her?”
“It is poetic, and it’s not so much what he sings, it’s how he sings it.” She rewound the song and he groaned. “See, she’s coming to see him, and it’s momentous. Listen to the emotion in his voice. He wants her to the point of anxiety. Listen to that chorus. I believe him when he says he’d never let anything take her away from him.” The chorus over, Holly breathed out a content sigh, as if she’d just been kissed by a knight from a fairy tale. “Who wouldn’t want to be that woman? Who wouldn’t want to be that wanted and that loved?”
Dan shook his head as he tamped down a smile. “You want to be wanted and loved by Toto?”
She glared at him.
“My turn.” He chose Ozzy Ozbourne’s “Crazy Train.” At first, Holly clucked her tongue and looked out the window. By the time the chorus came along, she began tapping her fingers along to the music. He sang along, not at all embarrassed, knowing his singing voice was good.
“That wasn’t bad,” Holly conceded when the song was over. “I don’t think I ever gave that song a fair shot. And you sounded pretty good over there. Did you pull an Ozzy and eat a dove for breakfast?”