Page 89 of The Scent of Happiness

“You’re kidding.”

“No.”

“Wow,” Theo said. “It’s the thing that makes Brooke the most happy.”

“I know,” Dixie said. “I didn’t before, but I know that now.”

“So you’ll help me?” Theo asked.

Dixie hesitated, and Theo paced a tight circle in his apartment while she deliberated. He could sense her weighing the options and mixing alternatives before making up her mind.

“Oh, why not.”

Which is how they ended up at Buckets of Bows. Theo didn’t know why they were in a store that sold craft supplies, but if he wanted Dixie’s help, he had to meet her on her turf. So he wheeled out one of the undersized pink carts, ignored the jingle of Christmas music and the scents of cinnamon and peppermint, and followed Dixie past displays of silk flowers and knitting needles, beyond the candle wax and acrylic paint, to the aisle that sold paper.

“You’re looking better,” Theo said. Dixie looked about the same as the last time he’d seen her, but he wanted to stay on her good side. She was dressed in red, with slim pants and a blazer over a turtleneck. It wasn’t a flattering color on her. Her skin looked pale and her hair dull.

“This is one of my good days,” Dixie said. “But I don’t want to push it.”

“Have you been sick?” Theo asked.

“Very.” Dixie tugged at the sleeves of her blazer. “I have multiple chemical sensitivity, so I’m allergic to nearly everything in this store.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Theo ran his palms down the side of his pants. Multiple chemical sensitivity? Hadn’t that been debunked a few years ago? Or maybe not. Maybe it was real. Dixie seemed to think so. She held her arms close to her body as she walked, as if she was scared to even brush up against the yarn or the modeling clay.

“It took me a long time to get a correct diagnosis,” Dixie said. “Multiple doctors. So much medical trauma. It wasn’t until last week that I found a doctor who would listen to me.”

Theo remained silent, gripping the handles of the little shopping cart. He moved it a few inches away from him, then pulled it back. Out and back. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

“My new doctor is excellent,” Dixie said. “One of the best. But I do have to be careful. I can stay here fifteen minutes at the most. We’d better be quick.”

Theo tilted his head to one side. “If this is so bad for you, why did you insist on coming here?”

“Because you’re doing this all wrong.”

“I knew it. I should have made a tab to sort by the amount of lye in a recipe. That’s one of the things I wanted to ask you. I can add that to the spreadsheet by—”

“No.” Dixie held up a hand to stop him. “I read through the spreadsheet you emailed me. There is nothing wrong with it. In fact, you’ve gone above and beyond what any soaper would expect.”

“So what’s the problem?” Theo trailed out the cart to the end of his fingertips.

“The problem is that it’s a spreadsheet.”

“So?” He yanked the cart toward himself.

“It’s clinical. Sterile.”

“It’s searchable. Cross-referenced and—”

“And she’ll hate it.” Dixie pulled an eight-by-ten journal off the shelf. She opened it, checked the thickness of the paper, and added it to his shopping cart. “This will get you started.”

“Started what?”

Dixie moved down the aisle adding stencils, a pack of colored pens, four kinds of stickers, and tabs for the page edges. “There are tutorials online that will show you how to do this. Look up bullet journaling. You’ll be able to adapt those techniques to what you’re trying to do here.”

Theo eyed the alarming pile of pastel materials in his cart. “You think I should copy it by hand? But the point was to—”

“Do it by hand,” Dixie said. She crossed her arms and waited for him to catch up.