Perfect Scents

by Virginia Taylor

  His eyebrows lifted, as if in amusement. “Do you want a next time?”

  “That wasn’t an invitation. It was simply friendly advice.”

  “Yeah, we better get going.” Trent rose to his feet. “I want to finish cutting the wood for my new screen before the light fades.”

  “You’d better not let our neighbor know you’ll be using a power tool at this time of night. She expects visits from the neighborhood watch when you empty bottles into your bin at night.” Kell’s sideways glance stayed firm. “I don’t know what she would do about real noise.”

  She frowned at him. “She would probably ignore it. How do you cut out your screens, Trent?”

  “Mainly with a band saw these days. It’s kinda noisy.” He glanced at his feet.

  “What materials do you use?”

  His eyes refocused on her and brightened with enthusiasm. “Lately I’ve been using recycled wood because that’s trending now.”

  “Trending,” Kell repeated in a deliberate voice. “He used to do leaf patterns, but all the hardware shops are selling those in cut metal. So, now he does arty wood screens.”

  “I like the look of the weathered wood in gardens,” Trent said, his tone lofty. “I’m no good at drawing anyway. But I could charge more if I could add a few new floral designs.”

  Kell slowly shook his head, his expression resigned. “I never thought any of my guys would mention floral designs.”

  Trent ignored him and glanced at Calli. “You know about gardens. Can you draw flowers?”

  She moistened her lips. “Botanically or artistically?”

  “I wouldn’t know the difference. If you could give me some ideas, I could shift your rocks for free.”

  “The way you guys bargain, you’ll be broke in a month,” she said, exasperated.

  Kell sighed and tried to usher Trent out the door.

  “Come and see my screens tomorrow, Calli,” Trent called as he was dragged away. “You might be able to advise me, who knows?”

  She laughed. She liked Trent, who reminded her of a bouncing puppy. He had energy and enthusiasm, and a sort of innocence. Although he was nice looking, he didn’t have the cut and polish of mind and body that so attracted her to Kell. She could be friendly with him without being in any danger of falling for him. And that was what she needed at this stage of her life—a friend who wanted nothing from her but the drawing of a flower.

  Kell? Well, she didn’t know what he wanted from her, but she suspected that he was used to full-on admiration, the like of which Emily had displayed. He would treat the other woman as badly as he had yesterday when he had sent her off without a second glance to see Trent’s screens. He would treat most women that way—easy come, easy go, and if they chased him long enough and hard enough, he would give them a tumble.

  She breathed out slowly. She wouldn’t mind a quick and uncomplicated tumble herself. But, no. Not with a tradesman who lived next door. Any distraction in her life right now should be with someone more her type. Aside from that, Kell was probably a man whose supersonic looks let him think that any woman was easy prey. Although handsome men attracted her, male preening annoyed the heck out of her. The new Calli wasn’t about to be impressed by anyone because of the way he looked. One lingering heartfelt sigh about how Kell’s behind neatly packed his jeans, and she squared her shoulders. Time to get to work.

  In her special accounts’ book, she had ruled up columns, heading the top of the page with the amount of money she had been paid for the job. She had already entered the prices of her paving, sand, and stone. She added the quote for the delivery and the work. The plants she ordered would not be sent for some weeks, but she bargained for a good price, which she had also recorded.

  The judge had banked the total she quoted him for the full job, materials, and labor. Who did the labor was immaterial. She estimated the work would be finished in one month but she had the cottage for three months on a house-sitting basis, which would save her a small amount of money on rent during that time. In the deal, she was expected to drive each of the judge’s cars once a week. No punishment, that, and she planned to take the Jaguar out the next time she needed a trip to the shops.

  So, after she had finished the judge’s garden, she would still have free accommodation for two months. With luck, she would find other work in the meantime, and she would earn more money. If she could manage to live on fifty dollars a week during her stay, she would be able to pay her father back for the amount he had paid in her name to the garden supplies’ wholesaler, to the tradesmen who had laid her concrete, to the bricklayers who had worked on her garden edgings, and to the suppliers of sand and bricks, bills that had never been paid by Grayson from her funds. In time, she would grant herself permission to use her accounts again. At this stage, she bought at retail prices, where her money had the same value as any other customer, but as soon as she deserved credit again, she could quote for new design jobs. Because of her debts, she would be a laborer for another three months.

  Already she had gained enough positive thoughts to see her life turning around. Whereas before she could only focus on her hurt and humiliation, she could now see her way ahead. Her parents had been disappointed in her, not for losing her money, but for losing her mind. Neither could believe that a daughter of theirs would be so unbusinesslike as to put all her money into a partnership with a man who had not contributed a single dollar.

  “You thought he had some special knowledge that you lacked?” her mother had asked, showing the frown lines on her forehead.

  Yes, Calli had. She thought Grayson had the charm she lacked to run a business, and the ability to sell her ideas. Of course, she could design whatever a client wanted, but sometimes she thought she could do better, given the right persuasive words. She had lately realized that the right words stemmed from enthusiasm, but he faked that as well. He had charmed her right out of her money and she had let her parents down the same way she had let down her tradesmen, suppliers, and contacts. She hadn’t seen Grayson for the person he was, a user. She had only seen his dimpled smile and heard his weasel words. Never again would she accept anyone at face value. A person would have to prove him or herself before she offered her trust.

  Reminded of her mother, she clicked on her phone and sent a text. Love you. You might be proud of me yet. Love to Far. XX

  Her mother had accepted that she would return as soon as she had her head on straight. Far had growled and said he would send out a search party if he didn’t regularly hear from her. Since she had sent her first text before the carrier had arrived for her excess baggage, her father would be placated by this next message only three days later, which she thought was very regular and also smart. If he decided to find her, she would be found, without a doubt.

  Her phone tinkled and a message from her mother lit up the screen. Love you, too. Far wants your address. She turned off the phone; she had to fix her problems without the help of her parents, which they had offered and would continue to offer until she had proved self-sufficient, moneywise. A daughter of two such wonderful people would naturally want to be independent and correct her own mistakes. She decided they knew this as she cupped her chin in her hand, staring at her accounting, which to her looked balanced.

  Her figures would remain healthy if she did something she had never done before, not previously having to worry about money. For a change, she had listened to the hype and decided to shop at the Central Market in the city once a week to buy the ingredients for her meals at little more than wholesale prices. She had wasted fifteen dollars this week already on food, including the meal at the hotel, therefore she would need to list exactly the items she needed for the week and no more. She sighed. From now on, she would be cooking the basics.

  She cheered a little when she remembered the blue-vein cheese. The judge had spinach in his garden. Blue-vein and spinach would be a treat with gnocchi. One meal down and only thousands more to plan. Although she had never b
een quite so organized before, she plotted her meals for the week.

  In the morning, she would drive into the city at around seven, be back home by eight, and working in the garden by nine. An early night would be in order. The day had been full, and certainly enlightening. Kell, who had apparently been employed to renovate a house on one of the most exclusive streets in one of the most exclusive suburbs in the state, planned to get rid of bricks he ought to be using for the renovations, if only for a few interesting paved paths outside.

  His employer didn’t appear to be at all cluey. Whoever he was, he had no styling sense whatsoever. If she had a scrap of generosity, she would share some of hers with Kell. Then again, a man with his confidence wouldn’t listen to a woman anyway.

  * * * *

  Using the last of the daylight, Kell hefted and squared two pallets of reclaimed bricks in the main driveway. He stood back, his eyes narrowed, staring at fruits of his and Trent’s labors. They had knocked down the old garage and the old laundry. The old-fashioned bricks were smallish, pale, and battered, but had a more attractive low-key appearance than the larger, knife-edged, more aggressively red modern clay bricks.

  Perhaps, as Calli had hinted, he ought to reuse more of the originals than he had planned, maybe as fire surrounds or even a feature wall, both suitable for that vintage look he wanted. He slowly rubbed his chin for inspiration. Yes, he would keep them, but he couldn’t use them all. He would end up with enough to build a small house, far more than he wanted.

  Jamming his hands into his pockets, he strolled past the shed where the band saw still intermittently whined. Trent would work all night if not reminded to stop. The man had a need to create. In a way, Kell shared the passion, though he was a craftsman rather than an artisan and he suspected Trent was the same. After working on theater sets, the other man preferred the word artisan, though.

  Kell moved into the doorway, watching his companion pile his lengths of cut wood against the wall. “Finished?”

  “I guess I could do with a meal. So, you want me on demolitions again tomorrow?” Trent raised his gaze to Kell’s.

  Kell read Trent’s ultra-sneaky expression. “I don’t think Calli is your type.”

  “Ah. You want to keep me away from her for my own protection?”

  “You need to make a decision. Do you want to run after a gardener or are you interested in a nurse?”

  “The nurse being Emily?”

  “Or Amber.”

  “Do you think they would be interested in a threesome?”

  Kell leaned against the doorway, trying to give the impression of man seriously considering this idea. “Nope,” he said eventually. “Emily seems to have a bit of class.”

  “Do you think she’s my type?”

  “Did you impress her with your attempt to fix the leadlight window?”

  Trent laughed wryly. “I think I puzzled her with my screens. She had made a decision about me, and I wasn’t fitting into the right box.”

  “You like to play the dumb tradesman.”

  “I always thought I was one.” Trent narrowed his eyes at Kell. “Are you planning on further contact with her?”

  “Well, there’s Amber to consider, too,” Kell said, keeping his tone casual.

  Trent clamped his jaw. “Which one do you want?”

  “I haven’t decided, but Amber hasn’t turned up since the barbeque.”

  “You know, most men contact women they’re interested in.” Trent still looked tense.

  Kell shrugged. “Did you get Emily’s phone number?”

  “I’d look like a real jerk if I did, wouldn’t I? She came to see you, not me. Don’t you have her number?”

  Kell gave Trent a look of incomprehension. “Why would I keep her number? Do you know which hospital she works at?”

  “So, you don’t share, huh? Yeah, right. I could call and ask to speak to Emily, a nurse,” Trent said in a sarcastic voice. “I’m sure the reception desk would be happy to page her.”

  Kell relaxed in the doorway, leaning against the frame. “Good luck.”

  “I can’t tell you how much you piss me off. You can pick and choose women, except of course Calli. You’ve thrown all your best lines at her, and she has thrown them all back.”

  Kell decided not to answer. He didn’t have lines. He barely had a coherent thought stream when he spoke to her. Straightening, he prepared to return to the house.

  “What would you want with a woman who looks like man and gets her hands dirty?” Trent said as a parting shot. “You like them in heels so high they totter instead of walking.”

  Kell frowned. “She doesn’t look like a man. Did you see her eyelashes?”

  “You can’t have every woman, you know. She would naturally prefer me. I’m arty. She’s arty.”

  “You’re about as arty as a plank of wood.”

  “That’s where you don’t understand art. A plank of wood is arty.”

  Realizing he had almost shown his feelings, Kell forced himself to relax. “You’re right. You two have plenty in common. I’ll stick with Emily and Amber, who can totter along with the best of them.” He stalked off.

  Calli. Who said he wanted Calli? The woman was nothing but skin and bones. When she had opened her fridge, he had been shocked. She had nothing there but long-life milk. Perhaps she had anorexia? No. Every time he had seen her lately, she had been stuffing her face. He couldn’t imagine her in heels, though last night she had looked smart in casuals. Of course he didn’t want Calli. She had short dark hair. He preferred blondes with long swinging hair a man could wrap around his wrist while he pulled her toward him for a steamy kiss.

  Emily, or Amber, was more his type. Maybe he should call Emily. She had taken the trouble to put her number on his phone, and she had brought lunch. Nice girl. Pretty, too. And he would make Trent happy if he could double date with Amber. No, Trent wanted Emily. Kell had noted his expression. The man had a crush. Kell would have Amber. That was if he called Emily, which would be complicated if he was planning on asking to arrange a date with her and Amber and Trent.

  He skimmed through his phone numbers. He found Emily’s, selected her name, and she answered almost instantly.

  “Hi. Kell Dee. The man you treated to lunch yesterday. What do you say to a trip to the wineries with Amber and Trent sometime on the weekend?”

  “Sounds lovely. I could do Saturday afternoon. I don’t know Amber’s roster. Can I call you back tomorrow?”

  “Sure thing.” He switched off his phone. Yup. Complicated. If Amber couldn’t make it, he could hardly take back the invitation. Damn. Next time, Trent could get his own date. Disgruntled, he found the design he had mocked up for the kitchen.

  With nowhere else to work, he sat at the card table and examined his plan. Calli had insisted that everyone wanted butler’s pantries. He already knew the pantries were growing more popular because he had two orders in progress at the workshop, but he intended to construct a regular kitchen here, needing the extra space for the entertaining area. After he had taken off the old cabinet doors and drawer fronts, he would get his carpenter to build the carcasses to fit.

  He had planned nothing flashy for this house, all simple and expensive-looking. A butler’s pantry, aside from taking up much needed space, would need extra cash and possibly be a fad that would soon pass. He had borrowed as little as possible for this house, but maybe… He rubbed the back of his neck while he thought.

  What would a gardener know about kitchens, anyway? Why would he listen to her when he had ignored Vix’s advice?

  And why did he want to bed that damned pest? She made his skin itch. He must be working too hard. His brain had dropped into his pants, and he could only think about shiny short dark hair, a slim square-shouldered body, and a soft sassy mouth. And she smelled like peanut butter, which was a rare turn-on. He laughed.

  Nothing would cause more of a problem than dabbling in sex with the woman who lived next
door.

  Chapter 6

  When she awoke, Calli realized she hadn’t made a formal plan about the use of the shower in the morning. She had no idea what time Trent would drop by. She would have hers right then, which would give him an hour before she left for the market at seven.

  She hurried through her shower, ate her staple of cornflakes, dressed, and by the time she had fed the cat and let her out for an ablution’s break, Calli remembered she had packed her shopping bags in one of the boxes she had sent to her parents. Although frustrated with her lack of forethought, she beat the peak-hour traffic to the city. However, without a nice big bag or nana trolley, she first had to spend a few precious dollars on a plastic carry-all from the nearby supermarket.

  Her total haul took her two trips to the car. She had noted the price of a trolley and decided to buy one the next week, having calculated that she would be feeding herself very nicely for less than thirty dollars, saving twenty of the thirty she would need for the trolley. In the meantime, she had bought packaged gnocchi at fifty cents a serving, fruit for under two dollars a kilo, and seasonal vegetables—leeks, cauliflower, green beans, and fresh mushrooms—almost all with her loose change.

  When she arrived home, the cat awaited her on the doorstep, and took a keen interest in the unpacking of the food. By leaping onto the countertop and trying to open the brown paper bag, Hobo indicated she would be interested in a mushroom or two, but when Calli presented her with one, Hobo blinked in astonishment that anyone would have imagined she would eat a raw vegetable.

  As Calli cleared up, someone knocked on the door.

  “Am I too early for a shower?” Trent asked as she opened the door. The cat sprang up onto the couch and studied him, her expression aloof.

  “Your timing is perfect. Good, you brought a towel.”

  “I thought you might charge me ten minutes extra if I didn’t.” He wriggled his eyebrows. “I brought my own soap, too.”