smell of pine, crisp and fresh but somehow sweet. Gin, it smelled of gin, and for a second Henry thought that maybe Patience had dropped her package.
âFunny thing about Patience Sparrow,â Pete said. âItâs like sheâs part of that Nursery, she smells of it and when her moods change, so does her smell. Once she gives you a remedy, sheâs connected to you soââhe sniffed againââsometimes we guess at how sheâs feeling.â
âOh, come on,â Henry groaned. But he remembered the scent of chamomile in his waiting room, the eucalyptus at Nettieâs throat, the aroma that rested on the air in front of Ivy House.
âYouâll find out if you last,â Pete said.
Henry ran out the door. Patience was sitting in her truck, her head back on the seat, eyes closed, an ice cube to her cheek. If she responded to her own gift, Patience would have prescribed arnica and comfrey-root tincture and a cool bath. But she had never reacted to a single remedy. Not even when she needed one.
When Henry came up to her window, he was so relieved she was still there that he laughed.
âWhat now?â Patience asked. She didnât open her eyes or turn her head.
âI came to apologize,â Henry said. âAlthough, to be fair, I donât know why.â
âMaybe because all youâve done is judge me. You raise your eyebrow at me. You think I donât get that?â
Henry brought his hand to his face. âItâs not raised now.â
Patience opened her eyes. âGive it a second.â
âListen,â Henry said, putting his hand on the door. âI donât mean to come off like an asshole.â Now Patience raised an eyebrow. âIâve had a day, well, itâs been a long one.â
âYeah? Me, too.â Patience sat up. âAre we done?â
âNo,â Henry said. âI donât think this is how we should be.â
Both Henry and Patience heard the truth in his words. Neither of them acknowledged it.
âTell me what you do. Show me why the people in this town trust you almost more than they trust me. Help me trust you.â Henry willed his voice to settle. It sounded too low, too intimate, and he cleared his throat.
â Almost more?â Patience asked.
Henry shrugged and waggled his hand. âAlmost,â he said.
âSay I cared to explain myself, which Iâm not saying I do,â Patience said. âWould you want to come to the Nursery?â
âYes.â Henry held very still. What if she reconsidered? What if she bolted?
âNow?â
âYes.â
Patience held up the bottle. âThere could be drinking involved.â
Henry laughed. âNot for me. Iâm going to see Ben at the hospital later.â The thought of it, the loosening that came with a drink and some soft summer air, was enough to make Henry want to close his eyes and hold out a glass.
âThatâs good.â Patience nodded. âI guess you really do make house calls.â She gestured at the passenger door. âWell, get in, Dr. Carlyle.â
âItâs Henry.â
âDonât make me regret this, Henry. Iâm not entirely sure why I invited you in the first place.â
Patience did know why and she didnât regret it, yet. For starters, she wanted to sit beside Henry Carlyle. Embracing the heat that had settled in her stomach, Patience grabbed her bag off the passenger seat and threw it onto the floor at his feet. She wanted to be next to him, she wanted to talk to him, to listen to his growly voice, watch to see if he pushed his hair off his forehead as they jounced down Calumet Landing. She wanted to get close enough to find out what Henry smelled of.
As for the doctor, he might have run after the truck if Patience hadnât invited him. He was almost sure that as they talked inside the liquor store, theyâd leaned toward each other, even as she