Page 3 of The Scent of Happiness

“Shakley, Leach, Fishers, and Wolfe, attorneys at law.” Mom’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Is this about Dixie?”

Brooke’s heart sank under a layer of cold pressure. “Who else?”

Dixie Dawson had come into her Mom’s shop a few months ago, insisting that one of Brooke’s soaps had given her a rash, which was ridiculous. Brooke used safe, approved ingredients, which Dixie knew full well, since she was a soapmaker herself.

Dixie had always been jealous that Brooke had a retail outlet for her soap, while the other soapmakers in town had to rely on craft fairs or the internet. She loved to whine about how unfair it was that Riverside Gifts wouldn’t sell any competing soaps, as if Brooke’s mom owed her shelf space. Dixie had tried charm, threats, and boycotts. It was only a matter of time before she’d try legal action.

“Welp,” Mom said. “We’d better see what it says.”

“No!” Brooke didn’t need her mother opening her mail. She pressed her phone to her ear and stood. Her mouth tasted sour, and she was already regretting her lunch. “It’s bad enough that you tried to pay Dixie off.”

Mom sucked in a breath. “I did no such thing.”

“You paid her doctor’s bill.”

“I didn’t give Dixie any money, did I?”

“You may as well have.” Irritation came from every one of Brooke’s pores, as if steam was leaking from her body. “Now she knows you’re an open wallet.”

“I was trying to help.” Mom’s voice sounded small. “And now this letter.”

Brooke looked through the library window. Her lunch hour was over and Lauren was trying to wave her back into the building. She had about thirty seconds before Otis reprimanded her for clocking in late. “I’ll come over after work and we’ll figure this out. Are you going to be at the store? Dad too?”

“It’s Thursday,” Mom said. “You have choir practice.”

“I know my own schedule, Mom.” But Brooke had forgotten about choir practice. More accurately, she’d forgotten it was Thursday. She relied on her phone’s calendar app, but she couldn’t access it while talking to her mother. “I’m only working until five,” she said. “I’ll come to the store and read the letter then.”

Chapter Two

Theo Chambers hated the stereotypes. He hated the jokes. He hated the television commercials, the 800 numbers, and the billboards plastered with smirking faces. He hated the way people assumed that every attorney was a sleazy guy chasing ambulances while wearing a cheap suit.

Nothing could be further from the truth. Theo wore expensive suits.

And if people thought he was sleazy, that was their problem. He was proud of what he did. His job was to level the playing field a little bit, to help people navigate a system more powerful than they were. He used high-level skills—reading, writing, thinking, persuading—to get people to see things his way, all in the interest of getting justice for his clients.

At least, that’s how it was supposed to work.

That’s the way it would work, eventually. When he moved up the ladder at his firm, finally making partner. When he was no longer the youngest associate and the newest hire, when he could pick his own cases and be in charge of his own schedule.

Today was not that day.

Both of the firm’s paralegals were out sick, and the senior partners had tasked Theo with doing their work. He’d spent the entire day researching, prepping contracts, summarizing documents, and coordinating court schedules. He even brought Mr. Blue and his clients their coffee when the receptionist got behind.

Theo thought about dumping all of the finished paperwork on the paralegals’ desks in giant piles for them to deal with when they got back, but that wouldn’t be fair to them, so he got a crash course in filing from the front desk staff and spent an hour shoveling paper into drawers.

At the end of the day, he poured himself a fresh cup of coffee and collapsed into his desk chair, ready to tackle his own mountain of work. While the partners went home to spouses and children, television and hobbies, he’d be working at least three more hours.

He left his office door open a crack, half-listening to the building grow quieter. Walker Blue and Associates rented space in a one-story office park at the edge of town, and the sub-prime location meant they got more square footage for less. Theo had a spacious office, with room for a large desk, guest chairs, and all the bookshelves he could ever want. He even had a window, although the view was of the parking lot and the optometrist’s office across the street. His chess set stood on a small table in the corner, a game in progress.

He held his coffee under his nose and took a moment to breathe it in. The office used better beans than he did at home, and this coffee smelled velvety and a bit like caramel.

A knock at the door was followed by it swinging open. Mr. Blue stood in the doorway.

A giant in many senses of the word, the founding partner was over six feet tall, with a wild puff of gray hair adding another inch. He always wore a dark suit, cut big for his girth, and a crisply knotted tie. He was a respected figure in the community, and held in such regard at the law firm that no one ever called him by his first name. He was always, always, Mr. Blue.

Theo rose from his chair as Mr. Blue held out a hand. “I want to thank you for your help today, Chambers.”

Theo shook his hand across the desk. “My pleasure, sir.”