Page 7 of Forget me Knot
She waits, her eyes wide, clearly expecting me to pry and ask her a thousand and one questions why, but I don’t care. It’s none of my beeswax. I’m here to provide a service, not interrogate customers about their orders. “How soon do you need it, and are you allergic to anything?”
She glances around nervously before whispering, “As soon as possible. And no, no allergies.”
“Well, lucky for you, I’ve got just the thing for a quick fix.” I step towards the shelves filled with various herbs and essential oils. I quickly grab a few jars and mix them in a small pouch. My speciality is a scent-masking blend of eucalyptus, lavender, and mint that neutralises unwanted pheromones.
I hand her the pouch. “Sprinkle a bit of this in your bath or dab some on your wrists. It should help mask your scent forabout twenty-four hours. It’s not foolproof, but it’s a start. If you want, I can work on a perfume blend that will be more?—”
“Yes!” she interrupts and then gives me an apologetic half-smile. “Please. How long will that take?”
“A few days.”
She nods and accepts the pouch, clutching it like it’s a lifeline. “Thank you.”
“That’s ten for the pouch, and it’ll be fifty for the perfume.”
She hands over the cash in rumpled bills and I watch her as I straighten them and place them in the till. “Day after tomorrow around noon?”
“I’ll be here,” she says, and makes her way out of the shop. The bell jingles again as the door closes behind her, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the lingering scent of smoke.
I take a deep breath and sip my chamomile tea. It’s calming, but not enough. It’s always the nervous ones who get to me. I can feel their anxiety seeping into me like a sponge. But helping them is why I do this. For them and for me and to do my bit. I’m no Fireman Sam, but I know I help people.
Finishing off the tea, I head back out to the garden for fresh ingredients to make the perfume. It needs to steep, so I need to get to work on it right away. Smiling at Jack, who appears to be packing up for the day, he pauses briefly before continuing. “Whose garden are you off to now?” I ask lightly.
“The Town Hall,” he says with a chuckle. “A quick mow and tidy up.”
“Fun,” I giggle. “Say hi to Councilman Reed for me.”
We share a smile as I pull on my gloves and look around for a basket.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he murmurs and heads out.
I watch his cute backside as he leaves through the side gate and sigh, turning back to the garden and focusing on what I need.
As I begin gathering some lavender and a bit of eucalyptus, my mind drifts back to the events of the day. Councilman Reed has been pestering me about making the arrangements for the annual town fete, but he wants something “truly spectacular” this year. I’ve been mulling over ideas that would both wow the crowd and be cost-effective. It’s not an easy task with Keeley’s budget constraints.
After finishing up in the garden, I enter the shop and get to work, making the infusion for the scent-masking perfume.
As I work, the familiar motions and scents help soothe my frazzled nerves a bit. The thought of the town fete nags at me, though. Councilman Reed means well, but his idea of spectacular usually involves something akin to a circus act—minus the clowns, thank god.
The day slows down in the afternoon lull, and around three o’clock, I decide to shut up for the day. Checking on the infusion, I nod with satisfaction and head upstairs, catching the lingering scent of sex and Jack Thorne coming from the bedroom. Passing by the rumpled bed, I cross over to the window and throw it open to disperse the tempting scents. I catch sight of Sam Knightly and some other firefighters still milling around Fred’s bakery, and I lean my elbows on the windowsill as I watch him taking notes. He has his uniform half off, hanging around his waist to show off a truly well-built bod that I’m sure must rival Jack’s. Both are in the business of strenuous outdoorsy work, and neither one seems to own a t-shirt that fits properly, judging by the way their muscles are busting out of them. Smiling to myself, I shake off the thoughts and close the window again before I head to the small kitchen area to start dinner. The scent of fresh vegetables soon fills the space as I chop them for a stir-fry. Cooking always helps clear my mind, and after today’s encounters, I need it.
Chapter 5
Lily
Having spent the night rolling around the bed trying to get my nose as close to Jack’s fading scent as possible, I eventually get up in a huff and storm to the bathroom in a foul mood.
“Why?” I ask my reflection, glaring at my wavy hair that looks like I was dragged through a hedge backwards. “Why can’t you tell me what you want?” When there is no reply, I growl, scaring myself at the vehemence. I’m leaving this all up to him when maybe I should be taking the bull by the horns. Or the alpha by his huge dick, as it were.
Sighing, I freshen up, still in a foul mood.
By the time the kettle is boiling for my tea, I feel marginally better and go to the window in the living room to open the window. It’s another glorious summer day, and it cheers me up. Perfect blue sky, a slight breeze, warm sun already, and it’s only seven o’clock.
Smiling, I lean out the window to catch the scent of summer in the air and then frown. A figure is directly below me, dressed like it’s the dead of winter. I freeze, not even breathing, as they post something through the door, the letterbox clanging as itslams shut. The figure, a woman, I think, scampers off, leaving me curious but full of anxiety about what they’ve posted to me that is full of cloak and dagger.
Slowly retreating back into the flat, I close the window carefully, glad the stench of smoke is gone from the incident at Fred’s bakery yesterday. Stumbling back, I chew my lip. Part of me wants to race downstairs and see what it is. The other half wants to build a nest real quick and hide in it until doomsday.
Eventually, knowing I have to open up the shop, I slip my flip-flops on and creep downstairs through the shop to see a large manilla envelope lying on the floor. With shaking hands, I bend to snatch it up and sprint back to the stairs, taking them two at a time. When I reach my flat, I close the door and lean against it, my heart racing like a horse at Ascot. Pushing off from the door, I cross over to the couch and sit down. Opening the envelope, I pull out a piece of paper with a typed note on it and a wad of cash that makes my mouth go dry.
