“Since it doesn't.” I laugh. “And now, do tell.”
“Mum’s sister, Sophie, always bought me macarons for Christmas.”
“That’s rather sweet, and a little feminine, to be frank. Did she get you perfume, too?” I tease.
He pinches my nipple, and I pretend to yelp. “Speaking of perfume, you do know the way you smell is completely intoxicating, yeah?”
My heart dances a little flip-flop. Finally, a man who loves my perfume. “I’m not interested in living an unscented life,” I say. “And I’m so glad I can wear perfume again.”
He knits his brow. “You couldn’t before?”
I shake my head. “My ex hated it. He said anything scented gave him a headache. I didn’t want him to feel worse, so I stopped wearing it with him. I’m glad I don’t have to hold back who I am with you.”
“Did you have to hold back in other ways?”
I nod. “At times, yes. I was so consumed in his issues for the last year that I didn’t devote as much time and energy to work as I wanted to. I wanted to rise in my career, and even though there weren’t a ton of openings at my company at the time, I also didn’t pursue any. I was so concerned about him.”
“I don’t believe you should ever hold someone back, someone you care about.” There’s a faint note of worry in his voice. “I wouldn’t ever want to do that to you.”
“You don’t hold me back,” I say, since he seems to need the reassurance right now. “You’ve only helped me.”
“Good. It’s the same for me. Also, I think I’m addicted to your scented life. Every day, it’s like a discovery with you.” He drops his nose to my neck. “Some days you smell like candy. Sometimes like caramel. There are days when you’re a flower, or a garden. And sometimes you smell like sex.”
I crack up. “That’s probably just after you’ve fucked me.”
He grins wickedly. “Yes, but sometimes you smell like sex because I’m thinking about fucking you.” He taps his finger on his chin. “Maybe that’s all the time, then.”
“Oh, good. I want to walk around life smelling like a man’s dirty dream.”
He wraps his arms around my waist. “My dirty dream. And tonight, the way you smell has been driving me wild since I saw you in the garden.”
A thrill races through me. “Really?”
Burying his nose in my hair, he inhales deeply. “You smell like . . . jasmine.”
I freeze. “Shut up,” I whisper.
He pulls back. “No. I mean it.”
“That’s in my perfume.”
“So I was right.” His smile is electric.
“You are.” I tap his nose. “And you once said your sense of smell was wretched.”
“Maybe it’s come back because of you. Maybe you brought it back.”
My heart thumps a little harder. I try to tell myself it’s only the sense of smell. It’s the one deemed least important. It’s not as if he were blind or deaf and I magically returned those senses to him. But just as he’s taught me how to experience the world through new words, perhaps I’ve shown him how to savor what makes the world delicious.
“Maybe I did. By the way, the perfume I’m wearing tonight?” My pitch rises in excitement.
He meets my gaze, waits for me to say more.
“It’s a little something I cooked up myself.”
His smile widens. “You made it? You crafted your own perfume?”
“It’s something I’m playing around with,” I say, and I can’t mask a note of pride, not after the way he responded to it. “It’s not done yet, but I’m testing out some formulations.”
He growls sexily and kisses my neck. “My God, this has been my favorite. This can bring a man to his knees.”
“Well, you were pretty randy tonight,” I tease.
“I’ll be even randier in the middle of the night.”
I laugh and place a hand on his chest. “And you’re avoiding the macarons. I want the full story of Aunt Sophie and the macarons.”
He groans. “Sophie liked to give us things she thought we’d taken a liking to. Well, there was one time when she was babysitting us and she had her favorite lavender macarons with her, and since I have a sweet tooth, I gobbled them up. Ethan wouldn’t touch them. Too purple, he said. She had to rustle up some cheese and crackers for him. For Christmas that year, she gave me lavender macarons and he got a cheese board.”
“And he teased you about the macarons instead of you giving him a hard time about cheese?”
“Of course. He teased me relentlessly. Because they were girly. He thought lavender macarons was the height of having something on me.”
“Did you even like them?”
Dragging a hand through his hair, he laughs. “Actually, they were pretty tasty, and the cheese was quite bland. But in his mind, I was the poor sod who had to suffer through the pretty little lavender macarons. And so, he managed to take the piss out of me even on his deathbed,” Griffin says, and I tense for a second, thinking we’re heading into darker waters with that last word. But he’s smiling, and so I relax. He’s not sinking under. He’s laughing at the memory, and the sight of him like this feels like the sun warming my shoulders. He’s coming out on the other side of grief.
He takes my hand in his. “He always made me laugh. And you’re pretty funny, too, my gorgeous American beauty, who smells like sex and flowers and candy and everything I want in the world.”
Something inside my heart rattles loose, like a bird escaping its cage. Flying free.
He’s everything I want in the world, too.
I squeeze his fingers. “Hey, Archie.”
“Hi, Judy.”
With my free hand, I brush his hair away from his forehead. “I’m falling in love with you.”
It’s not hard to say. It doesn’t take a lot of courage. It’s just the truth, and I want him to know, no matter what comes next.
A smile
