Page 86 of The Scent of Happiness

Starting today, she would only create things she was passionate about. Which is why, by the time Emma arrived, Brooke had already put a fresh batch of Chateau Clair into the garage and had mixed the oils for a brand-new recipe.

“Come in,” she called to Emma’s knock on the door. She stopped her music player. “But stay out of the kitchen. I’m about to pour the lye.”

Emma came through and stood in the dining nook, watching Brooke blend the batter. “That smells unbelievably good. Is that a new one?”

“It is,” Brooke said proudly. “Three fragrance oils. That’s it. Vetiver, balsam, toffee. I’m getting back to basics. Like my Citrus Ginger soap. Why is it so popular? Because it’s straightforward. Those fragrances love each other, so people love the soap.”

“What are you going to call this one?” Emma asked.

“Not sure yet.” Brooke poured it into the mold and breathed deep. “It smells like a man with a perfectly groomed hipster beard baking you cookies. Hipster Cookies? Is that a good name?” She jotted it down before she forgot it.

“New journal?” Emma asked.

“I can’t find my old one. But maybe it’s better this way. I’m going to keep complete notes and finally get organized.”

“Mmm hmm,” Emma said with wide-eyes and pinched lips.

“What? You can say it.”

“I give you two batches of soap, maybe three, before you’re crossing things out and scribbling in the margins.”

“No, I won’t.” Brooke crossed out Hipster Cookies and wrote Hot Buns in its place. “Okay, maybe I will, but only until I get a handle on my new system.”

“Fair.” Emma clapped her hands together. “How can I help?”

Brooke lifted her safety goggles and put them on top of her head. “Next week is the Logan County Handcrafts Expo.”

“Right,” Emma said. “The biggie.”

It was the final show of the year, and usually accounted for the majority of Brooke’s fall sales. “I need to bring everything I’ve got,” she said. “Including those Coconut Beach bars that discolored so badly. The vanilla in the fragrance oil turned them brown. I’m battling it all the time. Even fragrances that you wouldn’t expect, like lilac or sandalwood, can really do a number on your colors. I remember one time, I was trying to make a gingersnap soap and—”

“Brooke?” Emma held up a hand to stop her. “The Coconut Beach bars?”

“Right. Sorry.” Brooke backtracked to where her brain had gone on a side-quest. “It’s good soap, and it smells terrific, so why not lean into the color change? I’m going to give those bars new labels and rebrand them as Toasted Coconut.”

Emma tilted her head from one side to the other as if weighing options. “How badly did they discolor?”

“I haven’t looked at them lately. They’re in the garage. Follow your nose. When you find the ones that smell like summer, you’re in the right place.”

Emma lifted the keys from the hook and went out the door. That reminded Brooke that she’d have to talk to Emma about holding her spare house key. She whispered the words “house key, house key” over and over while she cleaned up her work area.

But she immediately forgot when Emma came back with more than one soap. “Found it,” she said, holding up the tan coconut bar. In her other hand, she held a sunshine yellow one. “What’s this one called? I’ve never seen it for sale.”

“That’s because it’s not.” Brooke plucked it from her hand. As soon as she caught the scent, it all came back in a single burst. Showing Theo how to measure oil and lye, blending the fragrance, his look of concentration as he stirred the batter, the way the scent seemed to open up the room, and open up the two of them. Once they made this soap, it was inevitable that they’d end up in bed together.

But wait. Something was missing. She closed her eyes and breathed in again, searching for the answer. She thought this soap would remind her of Theo, but it didn’t. How strange.

“Brooke?” Emma asked.

She held up her index finger to signal Emma to wait. She almost had it. She even remembered what she’d put in this recipe. She grabbed her journal and scribbled down all the components she smelled. Champagne, gardenia. There was a measure of white musk and she’d added something green too. Patchouli? Also something sparkly. And something warm.

She still loved the scent. Who wouldn’t love something this sexy? But the combination was ever-so-slightly not right. It felt incomplete somehow, like a gear with a missing cog.

She dropped her pen. What did it matter? She would never repeat this recipe. She’d made a clean break with Theo and what better way to symbolize it than to get this soap out of her life?

“We can sell it Saturday,” Brooke said. “What have I got, ten bars?”

“Not that soap,” Emma said.