Page 85 of The Scent of Happiness

“No,” Derek said. “What would that even be like? There isn’t any mistake I can make that’s going to ruin my day or anyone else’s. Somebody wanted skim no-whip and I made a soy latte instead? So what? I dump it and do it over. We get slammed with customers? I start working faster. Start making dumb jokes. Next thing I know, everyone in line is laughing, my tips go up, my day is made.”

Theo got a mental picture, but not of Derek pouring coffee into a to-go cup. He thought about Brooke pouring soap batter into a mold, wearing her mad scientist goggles, humming along with her music while creating something beautiful, something tangible, something she could be proud of.

“I’m guessing you don’t laugh a whole lot at work.” Derek’s voice dropped into the bass tones of mock seriousness. “You’re too busy winning.”

“No,” Theo said miserably. “It’s more like I’m too busy trying not to lose.”

Which was not the same thing. Because it meant that every victory was hollow. There was no pleasure in winning if it simply brought him up to baseline, and he spent every day terrified that he’d slip. And worse, the system was set up to make him lose. Working harder meant more money for the partners, and his only way out of the exploitation was to advance to the level where he could start exploiting others. He couldn’t even call it a trap because he’d run into it with arms wide open.

Derek stared at him with a deep crease between his eyebrows. “You all right?”

Theo grabbed his briefcase and started shoving papers into it. “I’m good.”

“I’m going over to Julio’s later. We’re going to play some Red Dead Redemption, smoke a little, eat leftover Halloween candy. You should come.”

“No, I’m um…” Theo cleared his throat. He continued to stuff his briefcase. “I’m going to shower. Go for a walk. Clear my head.”

“Cool. You know where we are if you change your mind.” Derek sauntered off to his room.

Theo closed his laptop and tried to fit it into the tiny space left in his briefcase. The cover caught on something and he removed the laptop to see what the problem was. He unearthed the manila envelope containing the photocopy of Brooke’s soap journal.

Theo swallowed through a pinched throat as if the last bite of muffin was stuck there. Time seemed to warp and then unfold as he opened the envelope and spread the pages on the table. It was all here, every recipe in her own handwriting. But it was more than how much coconut oil to use or which mixture of green and blue mica would mimic the color of Lake Michigan. She crossed out cocoa butter and replaced it with shea. Arrows pointed from one page to another, showing how her rosemary mint soap evolved into bergamot mint and then to bergamot cranberry. It included notes about the weather, her mood, music playing and her true thoughts about the results. Brooke’s emotions were raw on the page—joy, hope, sadness. The thrill of trying something new, the crush of disappointment when a color combination didn’t work or the fragrance in her soap was different from the fragrance she’d imagined.

Everything was on these pages—her experience, her intuition, her creativity and her passion. This wasn’t a journal. This was a map of Brooke’s soul.

He lifted the pages to his nose, expecting to smell Brooke’s soap, some strong fragrance he’d associate with her, but the pages only smelled of photocopy toner. It was better that way. His memories of Brooke were already too strong.

Being with her was a treat for all his senses. Her apartment smelled of dessert eaten at the beach next to an orchard. Her laugh sounded like the trill of the happiest chickadee in the nest. She danced like a curl of steam over a cup of cocoa. Her skin was as smooth as ancient river stones and the softest touch from her could make him hard.

She had a bubbly energy around her that made the most mundane things fun. He taught her how to use chopsticks. She taught him the newest TikTok dances. They had to pause movies at least fifteen times for Brooke’s funny asides, and every story she told him would spin in multiple directions, with digressions leading to tangents leading to wildly entertaining footnotes. He never knew where her mind would go, but he was thrilled to go along for the ride.

And he’d thrown it away. He’d told himself that he couldn’t afford to lose, that he had to have it all, that winning was more important than anything—even love.

Love.

He could admit it now. He’d fallen in love with Brooke. And all that he had left of her was this pile of photocopied papers.

Wait.

An idea hit him like a judge banging a gavel on his head. He sat so hard on the flimsy chair that it was a miracle it didn’t break under him. His legs bounced under the table as he realized what he had to do.

Maybe he and Brooke were finished. Maybe she never wanted to see him again, but maybe—just maybe—he had a chance to make things right.

Brooke had mentioned several times that she’d like to organize her journal. But as much as she wanted to, she didn’t have the skills to do it. Her mind didn’t work like that.

His did. He was trained for logic, organization, and document recovery. This was his unique skillset. He could give Brooke this gift, this part of himself.

He opened his laptop again, this time to a fresh document. He took out a pencil and a legal pad and covered the table with Brooke’s journal pages. He’d done enough research at this point to understand most of the abbreviations and soaping jargon.

And if he got stuck, he knew exactly who to call.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Brooke thought about her conversation with her mother all night, and by the time she got home from church the next morning, she knew what to do. First, she needed to return The Creative Business Professional to the library. Next, she needed to shut down her online storefront. Third, she needed to call Emma.

“I’ll be right over,” Emma said.

Brooke’s first batches of soap were made for fun. Then she started making it for gifts, and she made better soap by putting some consideration for her friends and family into it. Selling at craft shows gave her an outlet, and she adored that one-on-one relationship with her customers. But trying to turn it into a business meant she no longer asked herself what she wanted to make. Instead, she was constantly thinking, “What will sell?” Like she’d become a weird clone of her mother. Mom loved to sell for the sake of selling, while Brooke only wanted to sell enough to buy supplies so she could keep making soap.