Page 91 of The Scent of Happiness

Brooke whirled in place. Theo?

Not Theo. Dixie. And she looked terrible.

Dixie’s take-charge gait had been replaced with slower steps and hunched shoulders. She was dressed in board-meeting clothes, but she wasn’t wearing any makeup, revealing uneven skin and pale lips. Her eyes all but disappeared on her face. A strip of white at the part in her hair showed that she was overdue for a salon visit. There was nothing wrong with going natural, but this wasn’t Dixie’s usual look.

She’d arrived empty handed without a vendor’s badge. She walked right up to Brooke. “Good morning.”

Brooke instinctively backed up a step. “Hello?”

Dixie held out a hand for her to shake. “It’s good to see you, Brooke.”

“Uh-huh.” Brooke folded her hands at her chest. “Aren’t you going to set up? The show starts in ten minutes.”

“I’m here to speak to you.” Dixie realized that she was going to be left hanging and dropped her hand to her side. “Like everyone else, I registered for the show six months ago. They won’t refund my table rent, but they honored my request to be put next to Mixed Suds.”

Brooke exchanged a look with Emma. Could this get any weirder? “Why?” Brooke asked.

“Because I’m not selling today,” Dixie said. “So I’m donating my space to you.”

Without a word, Emma removed the divider, pushed the tables together, and got to work on a new arrangement in the larger space.

“Wait, stop,” Brooke said. Emma didn’t stop. Brooke turned to Dixie. “What’s the catch? Are you going to sue me for taking your business?”

“I don’t have a business,” Dixie said. “Not anymore. What I have is a diagnosis. I have multiple chemical sensitivity.”

“That’s actually a thing?” Brooke blurted. “Sorry, I didn’t know that was a real thing. Like you have to live in a bubble or something?”

“No, but I do have to be careful.” Dixie coughed into her elbow. “In fact, I can only stay here a few more minutes. And making soap is out of the question. Even if I used all natural ingredients, there are too many unknowns. Any number of things could cause a flare-up.”

Brooke had a flash of sympathy for Dixie, followed by a wave of anger. Dixie’s craft had been taken from her, and that was sad, but that wasn’t Brooke’s fault. “So when you got a rash…”

“I was angry.” Dixie ducked her head. “So angry. My first doctor gave me antihistamines and Prozac and hinted that it was all in my head. I thought surely he must be wrong, and I took it out on you.”

“Because I’m a flake,” Brooke said flatly. “So of course my soaps must be bad.”

Emma moved to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Brooke. She didn’t say anything. Words were precious to Emma and she wouldn’t waste them on Dixie, but Brooke loved knowing that her bestie had her back.

“The lawsuit was a mistake,” Dixie said. “And breaking into your garage—I don’t know what I was thinking that night. Perhaps I thought I could prove something, even if only to myself. But then I saw your soaps lined up so perfectly, with scents like heaven, and I thought about the hours of work… When I began to cough, I grabbed a shelf to steady myself. I didn’t mean to pull it over.”

“Seriously?” Brooke didn’t know whether to punch a fist in the air or punch Dixie in the throat. “I thought you were trying to ruin me.”

Dixie put a hand on her heart and looked Brooke in the eye. “I’m sorry. That’s what I came here to say. I want you to know how sorry I am. I was wrong, and an apology doesn’t fix things, but for what it’s worth, I regret my behavior.”

Brooke regarded Dixie’s wan appearance, the way she clasped her hands and leaned forward, desperate for forgiveness. The last bit of Brooke’s resentment evaporated into the air.

Because Dixie actually meant it. She was truly sorry. She didn’t have to apologize. They’d already reached a deal, and Dixie could have avoided Brooke and her family for the rest of her life. But instead, she’d gone out of her way to come here and admit her fault.

“You made a mistake,” Brooke said. “I’ve made a lot of those.”

“So you forgive me?”

“Hold out your hand.”

Dixie did, and this time, Brooke shook it. Dixie’s posture softened and she smiled at Brooke while Emma moved to the second table and arranged the bubble bars.

“You and I could have been friends,” Brooke told Dixie. “There aren’t many local soapers, and I would have liked having you as a mentor instead of learning things on my own.”

“Oh, the class,” Dixie said. “If it helps, I’m discontinuing it. I suppose it doesn’t matter. Everyone learns online now anyway.”