An older woman settled across the aisle—sixties, maybe, with oversized sunglasses and a floral dress that matched the heavy cloud of perfume surrounding her. The scent preceded her like a toxic fog. Jasmine and gardenia and something cloying underneath, the kind of fragrance that coated the inside of your throat.
Jayden’s sinuses tightened. No. Not now.
“Oh no,” she muttered.
“What?” Dakota glanced at her.
“Nothing. It’s fine.”
The train lurched into motion with a gentle shudder.
Her eyes started watering.
Then burning.
Then she sneezed so hard that Dakota flinched and their wineglasses rattled against the table.
“Bless you!” The woman across the aisle said.
Jayden sneezed again. And again. Her eyes streamed. Her throat tightened.
No, no . . .
“Are you okay?” Dakota said.
“No—I have terrible fragrance allergies,” she said in a low voice. “And my meds are in my suitcase.”
Stupid, stupid. She blamed the quick turnaround in Hawaii.
“I’ll find some Benadryl,” said Dakota and got up.
Howard Brennan appeared in the aisle, holding a cup of coffee from the dining car. “Are you all right? You look terrible.”
“Yes. Just an allergy attack. My husband is handling it,” she wheezed, the word husband strange on her tongue.
He shuffled back to his seat, laptop already open on the table in front of him.
Dakota appeared. “No pharmacy onboard. We’re getting off at the next stop.”
“I’m fine?—”
“Your eyes are swelling shut.”
“Slight exaggeration.”
“I can barely see your pupils. Stay here. For once in your life, don’t argue.”
She watched him disappear at the front of the car, too miserable to protest. Her throat was tightening. Not dangerous—she’d had anaphylaxis before, and this wasn’t it—but enough to turn her voice into a wheeze.
Dakota returned with a conductor in tow. “There’s a village in ten minutes. They’re radioing ahead for transport to our accommodation.”
“I can make it?—”
“I know you can.” He crouched beside her, took her hand. His thumb traced circles on her palm. “But you don’t have to.”
She wanted to argue. Instead, she let herself lean into him and tried not to think about how good it felt to be taken care of.
Twenty minutes later, she could barely see through her swollen eyes, even as the rental car pulled up to the winery cottage. Stone walls, exposed wooden beams across the ceiling, dark with age. French doors opened onto a private terrace overlooking row after row of grapevines marching down the hillside.
