Page 22 of The Scent of Happiness

Brooke shrugged. “Come in, then.”

Theo looked inside. She’d partitioned off part of the two-car garage by building a wall and putting up wire shelves, which were half full of soap bars and some supplies he couldn’t identify. She must have insulated the room, because it was warm and dry, with a dehumidifier running in one corner.

He didn’t have time to take in much more than that. With his first breath, the mixture of perfumes punched him in the face and he stumbled right back out the door and onto the lawn, gasping.

The last time he’d been assaulted with that much scent at once was in eighth grade, when Keith Cavanaugh—doused in Axe Body Spray—had cornered him in the locker room before track practice. It wasn’t their first skirmish. Keith hated Theo’s quick comebacks. Theo hated Keith’s stupidity. They both liked the same girl.

Keith was bigger and more popular, so it didn’t take much for him to overpower Theo and didn’t take much more for him to get the rest of the guys on his side. Next thing Theo knew, he was face down on a locker room bench, Keith’s body weight holding him in place while the rest of the team took turns slapping his ass with rat-tailed towels.

The coach put a stop to it. Keith was kicked off the track team and the rest of the guys were put on probation. Theo went on to run his best times that year, which didn’t do anything to erase the blame that the other guys put on him for ruining their season.

And he’d never erased the stench of Axe from his nostrils.

“Are you okay?” Brooke asked.

“Give me a minute.” Theo put his hands on his knees and sucked in lungfuls of cool air until his heart slowed to normal and he felt confident enough to speak. “I haven’t smelled anything that intense in quite a while.”

“I figured,” Brooke said. “It’s time travel.”

Theo lifted his head. “What?”

“Smell is the sense most closely tied to memory.” She said it with good cheer, as if it was terrific news. “It’ll take you right back there. And once it does? You have to share it. People tell me all kinds of things. They can’t help themselves. So if you need to share, go ahead.”

Theo straightened and looked down his nose at her. “I don’t need to share anything.”

“You sure?”

“I was just thinking about Axe.” Dammit. I wasn’t going to say anything. But Brooke was right. Once the scent connected to words, they tumbled out.

“Axe, ugh.” Brooke’s eyes were wide behind her glasses, her eyebrows raised above the frames. “I don’t want to go back to middle school.”

A chill raced across Theo’s shoulders. He didn’t want to go back to middle school either. He’d blocked those years out for a reason.

Brooke pointed to the garage door. “And also? I’ve never been so insulted in my life. Axe? Please.”

“It wasn’t…” Theo took in another breath of fresh, outdoor air, and chose his words carefully. “It wasn’t the quality of the scents. It was the strength of them.”

“Ha. Spoken like a true lawyer.” Brooke closed and locked the garage door. “My journal is inside. Gallop in, centaurs. Gallop in.”

Theo had to laugh. Cannondale High’s mascot was the centaur and their principal used to stand at the entrance and say that every morning.

“Remember Mrs. Hudson?” Brooke asked. “Do you think she still says that to kids?”

“Probably.”

“Well, gallop in.” She stood on the brick stoop and opened the door.

Based on Brooke’s librarian persona, and the way her craft show table was so meticulously arranged, he expected to see something like the final shot of a home makeover show, girl edition. He was sure there would be lots of mirrors, pink throw pillows, inspirational quotes, and mood lighting.

And maybe there was some of that. It was hard to see under the clutter. He stepped over a mountain of shoes in the entryway to stand in the kitchen. Beyond that was a living room/dining room combo.

The dining table was being used as a desk, with a computer and printer on its small surface, along with boxes and labels. Laundry was piled on the couch, junk mail sat on the coffee table, and bottles of nail polish littered the end tables along with three pairs of glasses. An open door on the back wall gave him a glimpse into the bedroom with its unmade bed.

But what stood out most were the post-it notes. None of them had inspirational quotes on them. They were all reminders. Tuesday, trade shifts with Doug, said a note on the door. Quarter full was stuck to the fridge. Emma here, Sunday 6:00 sat on top of the printer. A wall calendar had every square filled with more reminders.

Brooke noticed him reading the notes. “I call them my paper brains,” she said. “My real brain isn’t so great at organizing, so I write everything down.”

“Looks like I caught you on a bad day.” Theo gestured to the mess. He wanted to give her an out. She could tell him how she’d been busy making soap as well as working her day job, and how her apartment was usually neater.