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My father’s piano. It was a little scuffed but well-loved and well-played. The mere sight of it—out of place and not jammed against the wall in my family dining room with my father’s papers and books piled high on top—brought tears to my eyes. I used my sleeve to dash them away.

No. No crying. Not now.

By some miracle, my emotions obeyed and the overwhelming need to cry subsided into the knot in my throat.

Dylan signed a delivery note and tipped the men before they departed. He turned to me. “All the furniture is in stock at Wembley. If you’ve finished breakfast, we can go. Are you up to a trip?”

I agreed but was annoyed he’d checked the list. I’d told him it was all in stock! But I was eager to be outside, and I needed to escape, both my birthday and my father’s piano. They were too much to bear.

Dylan headed back into the kitchen and returned holding my plate of toast. “Emily, you have to eat,” he said with exasperation.

“I’m not hungry.”

“We’re not going anywhere until you’ve eaten this.”

His angered tone surprised me, but I couldn’t bring myself to react. He sounded like he was addressing a child.

But I wasn’t a child.

And he wasn’t my father.

“Eat it!” His eyes frosted with determination and his voice rose.

We stared at each other for a moment, but I didn’t want to anger him, so I grabbed the toast and took a large bite. My stomach threatened to mutiny. However, for Dylan’s sake, I ignored it and swallowed past the lump lodged in my throat and took another bite.

“Happy?” I mouthed.

A half smile tugged at his lips. “It’ll do for now.”

He took the plate from me and returned to the kitchen, leaving me in the hallway, struggling to keep my food down.

Suddenly, the fragrance was back. I hadn’t noticed it downstairs before. I breathed it in, my roiling stomach forgotten.

What is it?

It was delectable.

Why is it so appealing?

Closing my eyes, I tried to identify it, giving myself over to it, feeling it course through my lungs and into my veins. It was stronger than before. I now detected a floral, earthy quality too. It was incomparable, becoming familiar. Comforting, even.

When I opened my eyes, Dylan was standing on the kitchen threshold staring at me, his eyes clouding. I felt… dazed. He frowned and looked both uncomfortable and confused as he glanced down at his hands.

“What’s wrong?” we asked in unison.

“Nothing,” Dylan replied. He sounded weird.

“The smell again,” I muttered.

He raked his hand through his hair, making it spiky, and scowled.

“You can’t smell it?” I asked.

“No, Emily, I can’t,” he snapped, irritated. “Let’s go.”

I wondered what was up with him, but he opened the front door and stood aside to let me out.

The sun was blazing down, even though it was early, and I squinted in the light, feeling more dazed than ever. Dylan retreated to set the alarm, which urged me toward the car to avoid the horrible beeping. He reemerged and pointed his remote at the car, unlocking the doors. I scrambled into the passenger seat.