Page 58 of The Scent of Happiness

Brooke pulled Theo’s t-shirt from the bag at her feet and held it out. “What does this smell like?”

Lauren showed her palms. “Is this revenge for the return bin last week? I swear, I didn’t know there was anything gross in there.”

“What?” She remembered the sippy cup. “Oh that. No, this is just a regular t-shirt. What does it smell like?”

Lauren held it at arm’s length. It was a plain white t-shirt, soft and broken in, but not threadbare, size large to accommodate Theo’s broad shoulders and strong arms. Brooke hadn’t planned on bringing it to work, but it had somehow found its way into her bag.

“Looks like a shirt,” Lauren said.

“Not what I asked,” Brooke said. “Smell it.”

“Seriously?” Lauren held it about six inches from her face and inhaled a shallow breath, shook her head, and then brought it closer. She handed it back. “It smells nice I guess.”

Brooke didn’t want to lead her friend to conclusions, but it was obvious, wasn’t it? She buried her face in the fabric. It smelled even better than it had yesterday, as if all the top notes had evaporated, leaving the true essence. It was probably a mistake waving it in front of a co-worker, but she had to see if she was the only one affected by it. She pushed it toward Lauren “Does it smell like a person, maybe?”

Lauren backed away. “Are you trying to get me to smell a dirty shirt?”

“No, it’s not. I mean, yes, it’s been worn, but—”

“By whom?”

Brooke thrust out her chin. “I just want to know what it smells like.”

Lauren gave her an epic side-eye but they’d been friends long enough to trust each other. She snatched the shirt out of Brooke’s hands and gave it a good whiff. “I don’t know, hon. There might be a bit of cologne or deodorant. It’s very faint.”

“Faint? If it were a color, it would be screaming neon orange.”

“What’s going on in here?” Their co-worker Melanie entered the office holding a flyer for the children’s Halloween party. Melanie was one of the senior staff, and liked to boss around the younger clerks and librarians.

“I wish I knew,” Lauren said. She held out Theo’s shirt. “What does this smell like?”

“Was this in the return bin?”

“No,” Brooke and Lauren chorused.

“All right. Hand it over.” She held the shirt and took a thoughtful, patient sniff. “Manly.”

“Ah, so you know it’s a man,” Brooke said triumphantly. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“Brooke, it’s a man’s shirt.”

“Yes, but what kind of man?”

Melanie sniffed again. “Exotic. This belongs to a motorcycle riding pirate captain, who is also a test pilot, rock star, super spy, who will sail the high seas and chase down assassins before chasing down your heart.”

“Really?” Brooke asked. That was exactly what she’d smelled.

“No, not really.” Melanie balled up the shirt and tossed it back. “It smells like a shirt. It smells like laundry. What are you playing at?”

“I wasn’t playing.” Brooke folded the shirt and stuffed it back into her bag. She got this a lot. Everyone with a sensitive nose did. She was always smelling things other people couldn’t. And since it wasn’t something they could see, or something they could point to, they assumed she was imagining things. Or worse, that she was inventing things out of thin air, simply because she was sensing things they couldn’t.

“I hope you’re not playing,” Melanie said. “Because Doug is alone at the front desk while you two are in here.” She opened the cover to the copier and picked up Brooke’s journal. “Whose is this?”

“Ope, that’s mine.” Brooke wasn’t done yet, but she pulled the finished pages out of the slot and put her finger in her journal to mark her place. “Please don’t tell Otis I was copying personal stuff.”

“Keep it to a minimum and it’s fine.” Melanie set the flyer down and started the machine. “Lauren, how about that desk?”

“On it,” Lauren said.