Page 29 of The Scent of Happiness

Emma regarded her silently.

“I had friends. But everyone has friends, don’t they?” Brooke turned on the hot water at the sink. Doing dishes was her least favorite part of soapmaking, but she’d learned that the longer she put it off, the worse it got.

As she waited for the water to warm, she thought back to high school. Who did Theo hang out with? She couldn’t picture anybody. She thought he was tight with the chess club, but did she ever see them together in the cafeteria or the library or the bus stop? Theo had been one of the smart kids, but he was the very definition of “too smart for his own good,” especially since he didn’t seem to know when to pick his battles. Brooke didn’t know if the rumors of fights had been true, but there had been something off about Theo’s high school experience. Why didn’t she ever see it?

She rinsed her lye bowl and measuring spoons, then wiped soap residue out of her mixing containers and shoved them under the tap. Why had she goaded Theo last night, poking at him about the need to win? He had been nothing but nice to her. He’d sent Dixie packing at the craft show, he was giving her a break on legal fees, and he was totally in her corner. But she’d acted like his drive to win was a character flaw. She’d called him a high school loser and hinted that he was compensating for something. No wonder he’d left so quickly.

She finished the dishes and moved the finished soap loaf to the back of the countertop. She inhaled deeply, but its sweet chamomile scent did nothing to calm her nerves.

She thought about trying to help Emma with photographs, but she’d be in the way. She could spend her restless energy doing her final accounting from yesterday’s show. She could go on Pinterest and add things to her inspiration boards. She could check YouTube to see if her favorite soapmakers had posted any new demo videos.

But none of those things would quiet her churning thoughts. There was only one thing to do. When in doubt, make more soap.

Brooke spent so much of her life feeling one step behind, like she’d always have to scramble to catch up. She wasn’t smart, wasn’t good at things, she lacked focus and follow-through. All through school, her teachers had said, “Brooke has so much potential. If she’d only apply herself.” Even her best friend didn’t think she knew how to adult. But making soap? That was one thing she could do well.

She flipped to a new page of her journal, then got out oils and bowls. “Be right back,” she told Emma. “I need more lye.”

Emma’s eyes darted to the finished baby soap on the countertop. “Are you making another batch?”

“I know you wanted to eat, but I don’t feel like I’m done soaping.”

Emma reached for one of the shopping bags. “And you wonder why I bring snacks.”

Brooke grabbed her keys and went to the garage. She unlocked the door and took a moment to savor the air. She’d been doing more food scents lately—coffee, chocolate, and a soap that smelled like apple pie. For her own personal use, she liked floral and spicy fragrances, but the mouthwatering ones always sold well.

The practical thing would be to make more of those. Emma was inside, trying to make her look professional. Brooke needed to pay Theo. Her customers wanted foodie soaps. She had the fragrances on hand. Maybe a green tea lemon soap? Or a honey almond milk one? Those would be safe, sensible choices.

But Brooke wasn’t feeling safe or sensible. She was feeling vulnerable. On the defensive. A little bit sad.

She bristled at that thought, feeling her shoulders tense up and her fists tighten. No, screw that. She wouldn’t let Dixie—or anyone—take away what she loved most. Soaping angry was never a wise idea, but she’d moved past being angry at Dixie. She was defiant.

She liked that idea better. She was already thinking about a fragrance blend. Grapefruit, sharp and bitter. Eucalyptus, volatile and unpredictable. Perhaps some bergamot or cedarwood to keep it grounded. Surround the whole thing with an innocent floral to hide its true intent. In fact, she’d under-scent this batch, so the fragrance would sneak up on people, and only reveal itself in the lather, when it was too late.

She’d color it with a dark purple mica, adding streaks of blinding white and a cold, icy blue. She’d name it something bold and uncompromising like Rebel Boss or Dare Me.

She uncovered her bucket of lye flakes and stabbed her measuring cup into it. She weighed it on the scale she kept out here. As she sprinkled the extra grains back into the bucket, she noticed that she was getting low. Time to go online and order more. She typically ordered ten or twenty pounds at a time, enough to last a few months.

She replaced the lid and left the garage, locking the door behind her. Some soapmakers secured their lye in a padlocked cabinet, but Brooke thought that was overkill. She didn’t have children or pets, so the garage was safe enough.

She went back inside, reset her equipment for a new batch, and consulted her checklist. She cracked open the window before mixing the lye and water. While it cooled, she could play with fragrances until she got the combination she wanted.

Emma sat at Brooke’s computer, dipping pita chips into a container of hummus. Her camera was already plugged into the port, ready to upload photos. “Password?” she asked.

“Honeysuckle,” Brooke answered.

“What about for your website?”

“Jasmine4711.”

Emma nodded and touched keys. “I’m glad you’re taking your soap more seriously now.”

Brooke tried to give her a side-eye but with glasses plus goggles, that was impossible. “I always take soaping seriously.”

“The process? Yes,” Emma said. “The product? Not so much.”

“Please don’t call my soaps products.”

Emma put down the bag of chips. “Would you be working on your website like this if Dixie hadn’t threatened you? Would you be making more baby soap before you ran out? You’re asking yourself—maybe for the first time—how much you want this. Dixie is a horrible person, but at least she’s forcing you to grow your business.”