4. Lily

Chapter 4

Lily

F anning myself as I try to forget about Sam Knightly and his fireman's hose, I hurry back into my shop and shut the door to block out the smell of the smoke and to give myself a few minutes to calm down. That fire in the bakery has scared me. Nothing like this ever happens here in Keeley. It's a small town, it's safe and charming and there are so many reasons why I moved here in the first place. The dark cloud that hangs over my head can't help but wonder if this is deliberate or if Fred just left his croissants in the oven too long.

I head to the back room, where I keep my stash of calming teas. Pulling down a tin of chamomile blend, I start boiling some water. The rhythmic task helps settle my nerves a bit. But the echo of sirens and the smell of smoke stick in my mind like burrs.

The jangle of the doorbell breaks me out of my thoughts. I plaster the smile on my face, which is well-practiced by now, and greet the customer cheerfully. "Hey there. Can I help, or do you know what you're after?"

The omega, blonde and petite, gives me a petrified stare, as if I've jumped out at her wearing a clown outfit and brandishing a knife. I shudder. Clowns scare the shit out of me. Even hypothetical ones.

"I heard…" she starts and then gulps, looking around nervously.

Frowning slightly at her skittishness, I stay where I am, hands visible, trying to appear as unclownlike as possible as I ask, "What do you need, love?"

She purses her lips and comes closer, slowly and a bit reluctantly. "You're Lily Bloom?" she whispers.

"I am."

"You do the scent masking things?" Her voice goes up several thousand octaves until it's a squeak that I can barely make out.

"I'm your girl," I say quietly, with a more genuine smile. This poor creature is terrified. "How can I help?"

She comes even closer. "I need you to get rid of this." She gestures around her, indicating her scent, presumably.

Leaning forward over the counter, I sniff, drawing in her scent of pineapple. Sharp and sweet. "Okay, I can do that."

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 for about 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.