Page 1 of The Scent of Happiness

Chapter One

Brooke Nesbitt never got used to the smell of books. She thought that after working as a circulation clerk for a few years, her nose would adjust and the scent of books would disappear. But it still hit her every day at her job in the Cannondale Public Library. The dusty vanilla fragrance of old paperbacks. The tang of colored ink on children’s books fresh from the publisher. The grassy, damp smell of hardcovers that had been left near a tub or outside in the rain. The reek of books returned by heavy smokers, or others that smelled like they’d only been read in a coffee shop.

In winter, newly returned books carried the chill with them, and their pages crackled with the sharpness of frozen air. In summer, books came back with the scents of the vacations they’d been on—sunscreen and ocean and margaritas. On those days, she would lift the books to her nose and inhale the fragrance of far-away places, imagining herself relaxing on a beach.

Brooke hadn’t had a vacation in years. When she had a day off from her library job, she used it for making artisan soap, or selling her soap at craft shows, or researching new soap recipes. And even if she could make time to travel, she didn’t have the money for it. Every time she got a little bit ahead, she’d upgrade her tools—new molds, a new scale, a better stick blender. Then she wanted new oils and new colors. And she always wanted new fragrances.

People had been making cold process soap the same way for thousands of years. One twenty-eight-year-old woman from Ohio wasn’t going to shake up the industry. The process didn’t change much from batch to batch. What changed was the color, the shape, and especially the scent. That’s what Brooke found fascinating. That was why she spent all her off hours making soap. Fragrance was her palette, soap was her medium, and the result was art.

Art that, unfortunately, didn’t pay the bills. For that, she needed her day job, and at this moment, her co-worker Lauren was pushing an overflowing return bin toward her. Picture books spilled out of the top, the way they did every Thursday after preschool storytime. Lauren walked faster than usual, and her expression—half amused, half disgusted—spelled trouble.

Brooke was immediately on guard. She stopped the bin with one hand. “How did storytime go?”

“Great,” Lauren said, her voice like sugar. “Nobody cried this week.”

“That’s where we’re setting the bar?”

“Setting it any higher would only lead to disappointment.”

“Did you…” Brooke pointed a finger and waved it over the books—their shorthand for checking the bin. People put all kinds of objects into the library return slot. They’d found random things used for bookmarks, like dollar bills and photos and mail. They’d also found fast food wrappers and plastic water bottles. Once, they’d found a live frog.

“I’ll let you do it.” Lauren patted her shoulder and walked away. The shoulder pat was a dead giveaway. Brooke didn’t even have to give the bin the sniff test to know it was going to be something bad.

Please not poop. Please not poop. Please not poop. That was why she’d quit her last job as a professional dog walker. Picking up after dogs was hell for someone with a sensitive nose. She’d foolishly thought the library would smell better. It didn’t. Patrons breathed garlic breath on her, or came in sweaty after a workout, or simply didn’t—or couldn’t—bathe. And for some reason, the mystery section always smelled like powdery perfume and farts.

Brooke picked up the flashlight that hung from one corner of the return bin and shone it inside. The bin smelled musty, the way it usually did on rainy days, but under that was something sour and funky. Definitely spoiled food of some kind.

She headed for the breakroom, where a box of rubber gloves sat on the counter. She pulled on a pair, and wished she could add a nose plug. She’d tried that once, using a small clip she’d bought at a swim shop. Her boss had objected. “We’re here to serve the public,” Otis had said. “What kind of message does that send?”

The public doesn’t have to empty a return bin that’s been used as a garbage pail, Brooke wanted to respond. But that day, like today, she held her breath and dove in.

She found the culprit at the bottom of the bin. A child’s sippy cup half filled with spoiled milk. She tried not to gag as she pitched it into the trash. The milk curdles had plugged the hole, so very little of it had leaked out, but a couple of the books would have to be cleaned. Thank goodness that wasn’t her job. Book restoration was a job for a real librarian, not a clerk. She ziplocked the damp volumes and threw away her gloves, then bundled up the trash and took it out to the dumpster so her co-workers wouldn’t have to deal with it.

Things got easier after that. Brooke pushed her glasses up her nose and put the books, CDs, and DVDs onto a small rolling cart so she could return them to the shelves.

The whole library was a single floor, which made things easier for shelving, but didn’t do much to cut down the noise. Kids shrieked in the children’s section, someone yelled into their phone in the study area, and the printer near the public computers spat out pages. Brooke tried her best to tune it out, even though her brain would happily lead her down any path of distraction it could find.

She started with nonfiction since she had fewer of those and that section was always quieter. One of the books on her cart was an old friend. She ran her fingers over The Step by Step Soap Book, which she’d checked out numerous times when she was still learning. She wondered who had borrowed it this time.

Her mind drifted to the soap she’d invented last night, which she’d named Unicorn Party. She’d started with a white base and then swirled gold, orange, and purple through it, with a sprinkle of biodegradable glitter on top. The scent was a honey citrus blend with notes of apple and brown sugar. Was it hardening okay? Was the scent sweet and fun without smelling like Fruit Loops? She couldn’t wait to cut the loaf into proper bars, to see how the colors came together and inhale its fragrance.

She buried her nose in the pages of The Step by Step Soap Book, hoping she could detect a whiff of scented oil, a clue to tell her what her cousin-in-the-trade had made for her first batch of soap. She caught a faint fragrance. Lavender, maybe?

“Do you smell all the books before you shelve them?”

Brooke snatched the book away from her face and shoved it back onto the cart. She turned toward the voice. “Hi, Ashley.”

Ashley gave her a one-armed hug since her other arm was full of her son. Brooke got a hit of talcum powder and baby newness before Ashley pulled away. Her preschool-age daughter stood nearby. “I couldn’t resist teasing you a little bit,” Ashley said. “You’re still working here, huh?”

“Yep, still working here.” Just like the last three times you asked me that question. “How have you been?”

“Good. Busy.” Ashley jiggled the baby and touched her daughter’s head. “Keeping up with these two is a full-time job, you know? Well, I guess you wouldn’t know, but anyway, you will. Someday.”

Brooke was amazed at the way Ashley could roll so much shade into one sentence. Her friend didn’t look like some of the frazzled moms who came to storytime. Ashley’s hair was shiny, her blowout fresh, and she always wore perfectly winged eyeliner and a neat manicure. She had the same slim build she’d had in high school, emphasized by the kind of expensive workout clothes that were more for going out to lunch than exercising. Her daughter looked equally put-together in a cute pink dress and matching pink sneakers.

Ashley handed Brooke a sticky note where she’d jotted a title and author. “While I’ve got you here, can you help me find this book? It’s supposed to be in the Home and Garden section. The computer says it’s on the shelf, but it’s not there.”

“Let’s take a look.” The sticky note said Decor for the Farmhouse Kitchen. Brooke started toward the Home and Garden section, but she could tell by Ashley’s annoyed huffing that the book wouldn’t be there.