Page 94 of The Scent of Happiness

The girl’s face fell. “Do you have anything like it?”

Brooke thought about the bottle of liquid soap in her bag. “Not for sale, no. But FYI, soap can be cut in half. Maybe your friend will split her bar with you.”

“Doubt it,” the goth girl said. “She’s going to give it to her boyfriend.”

“Told you,” Emma muttered as the girl walked away.

“Hush,” Brooke said.

Emma picked out the biggest cookie. “Anyway, it’s probably best that you got rid of all the Legal Trouble before Theo gets here.”

“Theo’s coming?” Mom asked.

“Yes,” Emma said at the same time that Brooke said, “No.”

Brooke took a cookie of her own and bit into it. “I invited him, but he didn’t reply. I don’t think he’s interested.”

“Aw, that’s too bad.” Dad patted her on the shoulder.

“It’s fine.” Brooke shook him off. “When I get home, I’ll pour his soap down the drain.”

“You made him a soap?” Mom asked.

Brooke shoved the rest of the cookie into her mouth and retrieved the liquid bodywash from her bag. She’d colored it pale yellow and tied a blue-green ribbon—Theo’s favorite color—around the bottle. She hadn’t named it. Just making the soap seemed like a huge leap. And now she was glad she hadn’t. She had too much of herself in it already. Too many expectations. Too much hope.

“It’s pretty.” Mom held out her hands. “May I?”

Brooke handed over the bottle. What did it matter anyway?

Mom twisted off the cap and breathed deep. “Oh,” she said and sniffed again. She touched the corner of her eye. She held it out to Dad. He inhaled. A soft smile bloomed on his lips and then blossomed into a grin.

Mom fingered the delicate necklace she wore. Dad put a hand on his belt. Mom took a step toward him and made a purring sound. Dad cupped her chin and held her gaze. The whole thing was uncomfortably intimate. It wasn’t desire. It was beyond that, like they were seeing soul to soul. Brooke had never before seen a real-life version of the emoji with heart eyes but she was seeing it now. “Can I have that back, please?”

“Have what back?” Dad asked, never taking his eyes off Mom.

Brooke turned to Emma. “Am I the only one bothered by this?”

“Your fault,” Emma said. “You’re the one who made a love potion.”

“It’s not a—”

“What is that?” A tall woman with long box braids leaned over the table.

The woman next to her had space buns and huge eyes. “That is incredible.”

A familiar voice rang out from the middle of the aisle. “I need that!”

Brooke’s friend Ashley raced to the table, her husband in tow. Tim was dressed in weekend dad attire—polo shirt, cargo pants, with round glasses and a neat gray beard to match his thick gray hair. Ashley, as usual, was flawlessly assembled, but her mouth hung open, twisted to the side like a hungry zombie. She pointed a finger as if she’d poke out the eye of anyone who came between her and the soap. “Whatever is in that bottle, I need it.”

“How much?” Tim asked.

“Wait, wait, wait. No.” Brooke took it from her dad and capped the bottle. “It’s not for sale. Everything on the table? That’s what you can buy.”

“I’ll pay you double.” Ashley pushed her way in front of the two women who were waiting and stretched toward the bodywash. Brooke turned her shoulders, keeping it out of reach.

“Excuse me,” the woman with braids said. “We were here first.”

Ashley ignored her, focusing on Brooke. “Well, how about it?”