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Someone had taken off my shoes. Someone? Dylan. It can only be Dylan. Still dressed in my jeans, my hair was braided but loose and scruffy and that probably wasn’t helping my headache. I needed water—something, anything, to drink. Rising unsteadily to my feet, I stumbled out of my room and downstairs to the kitchen in search of water.

Dylan was sitting at the breakfast bar nursing a cup of coffee. He looked up when I entered. His tentative smile turned south before he managed to control his expression.

“Morning, Emily. You’re up early.” He kept his tone soft. “You look like you had a rough night. Can I get you anything?”

I shook my head, not trusting my voice. I found a glass tumbler above the sink and was soon gulping down water.

“You passed out last night. I didn’t have the heart to wake you for supper.”

I heard his barstool scrape across the floor and felt his eyes on me, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at him.

“Oh, Emily,” he muttered and I knew he was behind me. I flinched at the sorrow in his voice, but I was much too raw to handle his concern. Glancing at him, I shook my head and recoiled.

Please. Leave me alone.

I knew I would fall apart if he said anything or touched me. He ran his hand through his hair and, picking up the kettle, he stood beside me at the sink and filled it.

“I’ll make you some tea,” he said and sighed.

Sanding helped. Wearing our goggles and masks, Dylan and I sanded and vacuumed every surface in that bedroom. At around eleven, Dylan headed to the kitchen to make tea, and I stepped back to admire the smooth surfaces.

I don’t think I’d ever worked this hard in my life.

My body ached.

But I didn’t care.

Dylan was still tiptoeing around me, and I felt guilty. We needed to have a conversation about how my arrival in his life was too disruptive. But I didn’t know how to broach the subject with him, or where I’d go if he agreed with me. The thought was depressing, so I returned to the simple and soothing act of sanding the window frames.

I was striving to recover some detachment. Numb had disappeared and left me alone with my gaping, wounded soul.

As I got back to sanding, I caught a hint of the magical fragrance. I whipped off my mask so I could breathe it in.

And I started to cough.

Damn this dust.

“You’ll be okay. Hang in there,” a gossamer-thin voice whispered from somewhere in the room.

Stunned, I stilled.

Did someone speak?

I cleared my throat and glanced around, uncertain, but there was no one there. I opened the door to check the landing for Doctor Dyl, but he was nowhere to be seen.

I could have sworn I heard something.

I scanned the room again, but there were just several cans of paint waiting to be used, our ladders, and the delicious fragrance.

Scowling, I berated myself.

Now I’m hearing things. What next? Maybe I’ll be seeing things too?

I inhaled deeply once more, and mid-breath, the smell disappeared.

Again?

Dylan entered the room carrying two cups of tea, stopped, and scrutinized me. “What’s happened?”