Page 95 of The Scent of Happiness

“Triple,” Tim said.

“I told you,” Brooke said. “It’s not for sale.”

“Not even to me?” Ashley made puppy eyes. “We’re old friends.”

“Especially not to you.”

“What?” Ashley blinked in disbelief.

“I don’t have anything for you. I could help you choose something else on the table, but you won’t like it. I know you won’t, because you and I are too different, and we don’t make the same choices.”

Even though her mother tsked and Emma gave her a quizzical frown, Brooke didn’t regret the words. High school was over and Midwest politeness only went so far. She’d had enough of Ashley.

Brooke stowed Theo’s soap in her bag. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m quite busy, but it was so good to see you. Good luck with the kitchen remodel. Kiss the kids for me.”

She turned away from Ashley and gave a two-for-one deal on bath bombs to the other women who’d been waiting. They both made a point of taking Brooke’s business card from the stack on the table.

“Did you see their faces?” Mom asked after they left. “I could have sold that bodywash for fifty dollars. A hundred.”

“You will not,” Brooke snapped.

Mom and Dad laughed. But Mom stopped and looked out into the aisle. “It looks like I won’t have to.”

* * *

Theo paused in the aisle to catch his breath. When he’d first arrived, he hadn’t realized how big this show was, or how hard it would be to find the Mixed Suds table. He’d dashed through a warren of pottery and earrings and doll clothes, zig-zagging around strollers and slow-walking shoppers. He thought he could follow his nose, but he hit a dead end at a candlemaker and was derailed by someone selling essential oils. The oil seller took pity on him and handed him a map, which he followed through the maze of tables to Brooke.

Thanks to Dixie, Brooke had double the table space. She stood behind it with her parents and her friend Emma, but the others might as well have been ghosts. Their presence seemed dull and washed out compared to the bright shining light that was Brooke.

She wore a purple sweater that hugged her body and the glasses she’d worn on their first—and only—date. She looked too beautiful for this building. Hell, she looked too beautiful for this world. And when she caught sight of him, and her whole face lit up, he was transported to her, as if he’d floated there on pure desire.

“Can I talk to you?” he asked. He didn’t know where they’d go, but somewhere other than here.

Brooke cut her eyes to one side and bit her lower lip. “I can’t leave now, I—”

“Go ahead, hon,” Brooke’s dad said.

“I have customers,” Brooke tried.

“No, you don’t.” Brooke’s mom took her shoulders and practically shoved her out from behind the table.

“Well, okay then,” Brooke said. “But I can’t go far. We’re swamped.”

Shoppers swirled around them as they stood in the aisle, sometimes brushing uncomfortably close as they maneuvered their way to the Mixed Suds table. The aromas were irresistible, fruit and flower and spice, lemon and clove mingling with a pine forest and a gingerbread house.

But as Theo breathed in, the only scent filling him was the scent of Brooke. All he could see was her face, all he could hear was her voice. It was as if they were alone, and he was ready to open his heart and tell her the truth, no matter how many witnesses they had.

He gripped the journal in his left hand and held his right hand flat at chest height, palm down. No. He snatched it back and dropped it to his side. Forget his rehearsed words. He didn’t need them.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “For everything. I was wrong. You knew what was best for you, for your business, for your safety, and for us. And I acted as if I knew better than you did. But I didn’t know better. I can admit that now. I don’t know a damn thing. I’m a complete and utter fool.”

This was worse than first-year practice trials in law school, when he’d sweat so much he’d smell like a goat farm. It was terrifying to be this vulnerable and this unprepared. His head was screaming at him to stop, to choose his words, to prioritize and organize and make the perfect closing statement.

He told his head to shut up. It was time to speak from the heart. He focused on Brooke, who was smiling encouragement at him. He ignored the shoppers, the vendors, the sounds, and the smells. He lifted his voice to be heard above the babble surrounding them.

“I treated you—our relationship—as if they weren’t important. As if winning was somehow everything. I thought if did the right things in the right order, everything would fall into place. I pretended that feelings didn’t matter. They were too messy and too complicated. All that mattered was what I wanted.”

He took her hand. She let him. Her fingers curled around his and she tugged him away from the crowd, tucking the two of them into the tiny space between her display table and the wall.