Page 5 of The Scent of Happiness

He pushed it aside and addressed the mounds of paper messages that Ellen had placed on his desk throughout the day. He also had a full email inbox, but the messages in the receptionist’s neat handwriting seemed easier to tackle.

He shuffled through the pages, landing on one from Ron Nesbitt. He knew that name. How did he know that name? Ah, yes. He was the father of Brooke Nesbitt, prom queen.

Brooke had been part of the “golden trio” of his high school. Three gorgeous airheads who basically ruled the social life of Cannondale High. They were the officers of the student council, ran the pep club, and their positions on the dance committees meant they took turns being queen—homecoming queen, prom queen, and the queen of the winter ball.

Theo was never popular like that, and he hadn’t seen Queen B since graduation. He’d landed back in Cannondale after law school, and his mom knew her parents from church, but he didn’t keep up with the family.

Well, he had to start on this pile of paper somewhere, and this was as good as any. He picked up the phone and dialed.

“Hello, Mr. Nesbitt? This is Theo Chambers. What can I do for you today?”

Chapter Three

One of Brooke’s favorite soapmaking techniques was the swirl. There were two ways of doing it. The first was to lay down layers of color in the mold, then use a bent wire to swirl the color in a precise design that would make each bar the same. The second was the drop swirl—make a light base color, a few accent colors, and pour them into the mold quickly to create ribbons and whorls that flowed organically through the soap.

Drop swirls were harder than they seemed. If the batter was too thin, the colors ran into each other in a muddy mess. Too thick, and the colors made sticky globs instead of pretty swirls. Brooke was never sure which way it went until she removed her soap from the mold, and waiting through the drying time was always torture.

As she half walked, half jogged the six blocks to Riverside Gifts, Brooke’s thoughts felt like a drop swirl gone bad. She was furious about Dixie Dawson, worried about her business, and upset at herself for getting her parents involved in it. Each thought melted into the next, and her head felt goopy and overmixed.

She had to admit, Dixie’s scheme was brilliant. If she wanted to hurt a rival and point a finger at her rival’s most important sales outlet at the same time, legal threats were a good way to do it. It didn’t matter what the facts were. Dixie had money to buy lawyers and time to get the job done. Brooke had neither.

Riverside Gifts was wedged between a hair salon and a Starbucks in a strip mall on the edge of the Cannondale University campus. Brooke burst through the door and practically tripped over a basket of soft fabric pumpkins with cartoon faces. It wasn’t even October yet, but Mom’s shop was ready for Halloween. Brooke slid the basket out of the way so the next customer wouldn’t knock into them, and looked for her parents.

Her mother was talking to a young woman carrying a backpack and wearing a CU sweatshirt. Brooke didn’t want to interrupt Mom while she was making a sale, so she wove past a row of keychains that praised the virtues of coffee and wine, past the housewares department with dishtowels and trivets and mugs, to the section of the store ambitiously named “home spa.” It featured bath pillows, trays to hold a wine glass in the tub, calming lotions, and nail polish gift sets. The centerpiece of the department was a selection of scented soap from Mixed Suds Soap Company.

Brooke checked the shelf. The Citrus Ginger bars were almost gone. She was also doing a brisk business in autumn-themed soaps. Mom’s customers loved pumpkin spice anything.

Mom’s voice drifted Brooke’s way. “If your sister doesn’t like this little windowsill garden, I’ll take it back. No questions asked. But I think this is a much better present for her than the bracelet.”

“I think so too,” the customer said. “She’s going to love this.”

“That bracelet is pretty, though,” Mom said. “You have good taste.”

“Now I’m wondering if I want it myself.”

“I could tell that you were drawn to it. Do you want to try it on?”

Brooke poked her head above the displays and watched her mother upselling like a pro—although Mom herself would never think of it that way. She loved people and had an instant bond with her customers. Five minutes in Riverside Gifts and someone would feel like Sharon Nesbitt was their new best friend.

Brooke liked people, but she’d never have her mother’s genius for small talk. Either she would latch onto one detail and talk it to death, or her mind would race ahead of her mouth, leaving her tongue-tied. It was easier when her hands were busy. Fidgeting with something or making something by hand occupied her mind just enough so that she could concentrate on spoken words.

Having ADHD was such a bitch sometimes.

Brooke had good medication and a lot of scheduling tricks. She’d downloaded every helpful app and had learned to always write things down. But nothing was going to rewire her brain, and nothing would teach her to handle conversations with her mother’s good-natured charm.

The customer bought the planter, the bracelet, and a handful of greeting cards. Mom rang it all up and placed it in a shopping bag while continuing the conversation. The young woman gave a cheerful goodbye and ran her fingers over the basket of plush pumpkins on her way out the door.

There was no one else in the store, so Brooke walked behind the counter and let her mom pull her into a hug.

Mom was average height and average build, but she hugged big. She enveloped people and held them close, and was never the first to let go. Brooke usually found it comforting, but today, she felt like she couldn’t breathe.

She patted Mom on the back a few times and stepped out of her hold. She adjusted her glasses. “Sorry I yelled at you on the phone.”

“This is all my fault,” Mom said. “I should have turned Dixie away.”

“No, Mom. I know you couldn’t do that.” Mom had paid Dixie’s doctor bill because that’s the kind of person she was. She wasn’t stupid or naïve, but she saw the best in people, and that meant other people took advantage of her sometimes. “Dixie gave you the bill, you paid it, we need to move past that.”

“I mean, before that.” Mom looked out over the shelves. “I never should have let her in the store. Even at the time, I wondered, what was a soapmaker doing, buying soaps? I never should have sold them to her.”