Page 87 of The Scent of Happiness

“Why not?” Brooke asked. She didn’t have her journal to double check, but she remembered making it the last day of September, so it was now fully cured and ready to go.

“Brooke, listen to me.” Emma jabbed a finger. “This soap is dangerous. It smells like lust personified.”

“I know.”

“I thought your Midnight Essence soap was over the top, but this one will have people ripping off their clothes in the aisles. This will get you kicked out of every craft show in Ohio. This doesn’t belong in a church basement or community center.”

“You don’t think I should spice up the life of the Karens?”

“I’m serious. Your customers are not coming to you looking for sexy soap. This isn’t on-brand for you.”

“It’s a one-off,” Brooke said. “I’m not making it again. I didn’t write down the exact formula anyway. I was going on instinct. I was soaping with Theo and—oh.”

The truth hit her all at once.

Of course.

This soap was the perfect blend of exciting and carnal. It represented the heightened sensations at the beginning of a relationship. It held promise and possibility, but nothing beyond that.

It no longer reminded her of Theo because their relationship had developed into something more than simple lust. They had the heart notes of true compatibility. Shared experiences. Shared values. Shared time and space and air.

She turned the yellow bar over and over in her hands. This scent was too new, too fresh. It could never represent anything deep and lasting and true. It couldn’t represent singing in the car at the top of their lungs or laughing together over Chinese fortune cookies. It could never represent the way Theo made sure she had milk in the fridge and her favorite cereal in the cupboard, or the soul-filling comfort of crawling into bed together after a sixteen-hour workday, too tired to do anything but mumble endearments before nodding off.

All those weeks that Theo had made coffee for her, driven her places, listened to her, supported her, showed he cared in ways big and small.

She missed him. She could admit that now. His smile, his laugh, his confidence, his sense of humor, and his whole way of seeing the world.

She removed her gloves and goggles and sat at the dining table, surrounded by paper and shipping labels. She thought about that day, about Dixie in her garage, about what Theo planned to do about it. She thought she’d sniffed him out, had seen him for what he truly was, but she’d barely let him get a word in edgewise. Why didn’t she even try to understand his point of view?

“Brooke?” Emma touched her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“It was my fault,” Brooke said, still staring at the soap.

“What was?” Emma asked gently.

“Why couldn’t I wait for him?”

“He shouldn’t have asked you to.” Emma didn’t have to ask who Brooke was talking about. They’d dissected the whole thing over many glasses of wine. “But you know how men are.”

“I know how some men are.” Brooke finally turned to Emma. “And I also know Theo. I know his heart. I wish I could rewind time and unsay the things I said to him.”

“That’s called an apology,” Emma said. “That’s how you undo it. You talk to him and say you’re sorry.”

Brooke slumped onto the table and closed her eyes. “I was so awful.”

“So was he.”

“Yeah.” But an apology wouldn’t be enough. Words would be spoken and then disappear into thin air. Theo was a man who lived on facts and logic. He needed something he could see and touch. He needed tangible proof that she still cared for him.

She breathed in, taking in the scents around her. The newness of the Hot Buns soap. The fixing-her-mistake of the coconut soap. The nameless yellow soap. And under that, the scent of Theo that still lingered in her apartment no matter how she aired it out.

She gasped and sat up straight. Yes. Like all her best ideas, this one came to her fully formed.

Would Theo forgive her? Take her back? She didn’t know, but she knew she had to try. And she knew how to do it.

“Uh-oh,” Emma said. “I know that look.”

“I need to make Theo a soap.” Brooke’s words rushed out. “Not cold process. There’s no time for curing. I’m going to have to make something quick. A bubble bath. No, wait. Does he even have a bathtub? Or just a shower? I’ve never been in his apartment so I don’t know.”