The Scent of Rain (17 page)

The house was the proverbial last straw. “I don't think I can stay here.” She wanted to call Arnaud that very moment and beg her old boss to have mercy on her soul and bring her back to Paris. Even at the cost of working alongside Mark. “Where are the great bones?”

“They're here!” Jesse said with false enthusiasm. “Look, you can knock this wall down.” He looked up at the ceiling. “Well, not this one, it's load-bearing, but certainly that one over there.”

The room was a series of choppy smaller rooms with walls in the way of any path one would naturally take through a house.

“You know how Dickens got paid by the word? I think this architect got paid by the awkward barrier.” Daphne stared at the dingy gray carpet, the water-color walls, and the solid mahogany staircase that stood right in front of the entrance and wondered what on earth her father had been thinking. “That staircase belongs in a mansion. Not a house this size.”

“Maybe they got a deal on it.”

“Stop being so positive!” she snapped. “It's a dump, and you know it.”

“It's—it's got potential,” he said.

“Where? Where does it have potential?”

“Maybe the kitchen. Let's go see.”

They walked around the staircase and through the living room and came to what was supposed to be the kitchen.

“There's no refrigerator.”

“An easy fix.”

“Do you think that oven works?” She looked at the ancient stove.

“If not, you can probably sell it for a pretty penny. People love that style.”

“All these depressing ocean colors make me think Moby Dick is going to burst through that staircase at any moment and tell me he's won. Then he'll consume me for dinner.”

Jesse laughed. “You women are such drama queens. Is this the kind of emotion you create on? I'd hate to know what the male noses are like. I doubt I could take them.”

“If you mean to imply that I'm prone to histrionics, my best friend the psychologist could have told you that. If you didn't have an ulterior motive for keeping me here, you'd see this house just the way I do.”

“I don't need your best friend to sort you out. It's more fun to find out for myself.”

“The kitchen is depressing,” she said. “Let's see the rest.” She stepped back into the room and felt swallowed up by the solid dark-wood staircase with only a small octagon-shaped window, framed in the same wood, to provide light.

“It has some nice details,” he said. “Let's go see the upstairs.”

He held out his arm, and she thought how those simple niceties were worth a great deal. He should definitely get married again.

She climbed the steps into a loft-like room with original hardwood floors, scraped and degraded by a life without maintenance.

“Imagine these floors redone,” Jesse said, ignoring the filthy scarlet curtains against the chlorophyll-green walls and the air-conditioning unit hoisted lopsided in the window.

“Hmm,” was all she could think to say. “Let's go back and see the downstairs again.” She burst down the stairs with the best of hopes in her heart, and this time she noticed the tea-stained lace curtains against the brothel-red walls in the dining room.

“Jesse, it's a disaster. This isn't like my father at all. I mean, he's cheap, but he likes the good life. It's like there's been some kind of mistake. I can't believe he expected me to just move in like this.” She caught sight of the hall closet underneath the staircase and opened the door. Wrapped wedding gifts stood atop each other. There was a realtor's card on top of the pile.

“Open one,” Jesse said. “You'll feel better.”

She took a box from the top of the heap and tore open the white and silver wrapping paper. She opened the box and pulled out a crystal brandy snifter. “I don't drink,” she announced. “But I can't even keep milk here, because I have no refrigerator!”

He shook his head as if searching for something positive to say. “That's it. Get your stuff. You can't stay here. There's no furniture, for one thing. Didn't your father think you'd need at least a bed when the two of you arrived?”

“I doubt my father wanted to think about that,” she quipped.

“You're not staying here,” he said. “It's not habitable. Gibraltar will put you up in a hotel until you can rent a place.”

She cringed. “It really is that bad, isn't it? I thought maybe I was just acting spoiled. But my apartment in Paris was four hundred years old, and it was in a lot better shape.”

“I'll call the hotel,” he said. “Do you want to stay in the same place you did last night?”

She lifted a corner of the carpet up and saw real wood beneath. “These can be redone.”

Jesse didn't look convinced. “Not tonight, they can't.”

She'd done everything she was supposed to do her whole life. For once, she wanted to do something that wasn't expected of her. “I'm staying,” she announced.

His phone trilled again. “What is it, Abby? . . . I'm coming. I'm working, and you're buying dance shoes. A little perspective.” He clicked off the phone. “I can't think of a man in Dayton who would let you stay here alone tonight. Your father obviously hasn't been here. He must have counted on Mark to do some work.”

She smiled. “Jesse, go home. I'll be fine.”

“Do you smell gas?” he asked.

“No,” she said honestly. She didn't smell anything. But she imagined old houses had more than their fair share of scents, so at this moment not smelling might be a gift. “The house has been closed up for a long time.”

“I'm going to check around back and make sure it's turned off. Why don't you get back in the car?”

“Jesse, I'm not going anywhere. I'm fine. You're my boss, but I'm an adult. I assure you that when backpacking around Europe during my summer internship, I stayed in places a lot worse than this. We're winning, remember? This is the last stop on the loser train, that's all.”

He looked at her as if he didn't believe her. “I have to go.”

“I know. I'll be fine. I know how to check the gas. Go! Before Abby hates me like Kensie does.”

“Abby isn't the sort to hate. Put my cell number into yours, so I know you can call me if you need anything.” He took her cell phone from her and programmed his number into her contacts. Then he walked to the kitchen and fiddled with the stove knobs. “Everything's off.”

“Just go! I can take care of myself.”

“You'll check outside though? Just to be safe?”

She moved in front of the back door. “I will. Go!”

She felt paralyzed under his stern gaze. He stood by the door, and it was clear he didn't want to leave her there alone. She wondered if she didn't give off an air of incompetence. It felt strange to have someone she barely knew care more about her well-being than the man she'd been set to marry.

“You're good people, Jesse. I'll be fine.” She walked through the house and opened the front door. He walked out and left her alone.

She leapt into the air. “My first home!” No roommates. No surly fifty-year-old Greek man at the dinner table in an ambush blind date. And no Mark, a man who said all the right things but had no actions to back the words up.

As Jesse backed out of the driveway, she wondered what his whole story was. How had he lost the VP job at P&G? Had he been like her? Destined for greatness, only to have life give him a reality check?

“I wouldn't make your cologne dark and sensuous like Mark's,” she said, her breath fogging up the window as she pressed her forehead against the pane. “You're better than that.”

Maybe that was the key. Discovering someone's true scent nature.

When she was very small, Daphne's grandfather had lived with them. He was an invalid who rarely left his room, and she wasn't allowed to visit him without express permission from her mother. “Don't go bothering Grandfather” was the common refrain, but Daphne never felt as if her grandfather didn't want her there. He clung to her every word as if it were gold.

On summer mornings she'd be sent out to play to “give the house some peace.” But if she opened the door to the fresh scent of rain, playing outside wasn't possible. On those special days, Grandfather was all hers. The scent of rain meant puzzles, board games, and unbridled attention.

That's what Jesse's scent was like, she thought. Unexpected and redeeming, like a summer shower. Like a fresh start, with the freedom to be who she was meant to be. The scent of rain.

Or perhaps losing her sense of smell had addled her brain completely.

Chapter 10

W
hat a day
. Jesse's world was falling apart, but for some reason, he couldn't wipe the smile from his face. He thought about the ray of light that seemed to emanate from Daphne, and his worries seemed far away. At work he had so many balls in the air, and they were all in danger of coming down. New products, bigger budget, more expectations, and a beautiful young nose that he needed like a hole in his head. But the very thought of her made him grin. From her crazy archery bow to her putting salt in her coffee, there was something about her that mystified and warmed his heart.

He hurdled away from her house feeling the pressure of the time constraints on him. So much work. So little time and resources. And yet he felt drawn back to the house and guilty for leaving her there. Where was her father? Who would let his daughter move into that rattrap without so much as a stick of furniture or a refrigerator? How was she supposed to eat dinner? Breakfast? Suddenly her choice in husband material didn't seem so mysterious.

“I never should have left her in that house,” he said aloud. Anger rose within him and burned his throat. “God, I'm putting her in Your hands. That place is a nightmare!”

Hadn't that been Hannah's issue? Why couldn't women ask for help if they needed it? If a man stepped in without being asked, he got accused of being overbearing. He was convicted by his thoughts. It was too late to help Hannah. As for Daphne, she had her whole life spread out before her like an open road. For her, Gibraltar was just a short detour. He wanted to give her a solid foundation before he sent her on her way to success.

As he pulled up to his house, the sight of the front lawn littered with Ben's plastic toys warmed him. Ben made everything worthwhile. Jesse's inability to take household goods to the next level paled in comparison.

Abby sat in the porch swing with Ben at her feet. At the sight of Jesse's car, the little boy popped up to come running, but Abby was faster. She swept Ben off the ground while he waved.

“Daddy's home! Daddy's home!”

Jesse waved back and pulled into the driveway. He got out of the car as his son wiggled out of Abby's arms and bolted toward him. He raised Ben high into the air. “There's my boy!” He kissed his son's pudgy cheek. “What did you do today?”

“We went swimmin' and I had a waffle with lots and lots of serwup. I watched Thomas after lunch, but then Thomas got stuck in the tunnel.”

“Thomas got stuck in the tunnel?”

Ben nodded, and Abby walked toward them, picking up littered toys as she came. “That tunnel being the heater vent. Thomas is still stuck in the tunnel.”

“You dropped Thomas down the heater vent?”

“Thomas went into the tunnel.” Ben shrugged his rounded shoulders, as if the toy train had suddenly developed a mind of its own.

“That sounds like a fun one to try to retrieve.”

“Don't bother. Spike has already been here and tried. I think Thomas has officially parked himself in a tunnel of eternity.”

“Daddy.” Ben grabbed both of Jesse's cheeks and turned his head. “Daddy, I want Thomas back. He's scared in the tunnel. It's too dark. You can get him out.”

Abby shrugged. “Good luck with that. I've got to go get ready. Spike will be back soon.”

Abby was nearly twenty-nine. She'd always been slightly pudgy, but in that cute way that made her look as if she'd never lost her baby fat. She had a beautiful face, with deep-set sapphire-blue eyes and baby-doll red lips.

A caretaker by nature, she had a history of picking terrible boyfriends, ones who needed parenting more than the responsibility of a relationship. It was as though they came out of the oven half-baked, and she was determined to get them to rise correctly. A waste of time in his opinion, but like most little sisters, she didn't give much credence to his opinion. He wanted someone to take care of her the way she took care of others.

He followed her into the kitchen.

“Spike can barely afford gas for his hog right now. The shoes are a present because he did some handyman work at the shoe store and they couldn't afford to pay him. So I'm getting new dance shoes. Isn't that sweet?”

“The barter system is alive and well, I see. Abby, you're not getting engaged tonight, are you? That isn't what this is about, me coming home early? Can't you see you deserve better than this?”