I held the shop door open for her.
She gave me a weak smile. “What’s this?”
“I thought you needed a nice break from my condo.”
“You talk about it like it’s not a castle in the air.”
“It can be stuffy if one sits in it too long.”
She smiled at me. This one real and hopeful. “You’re worried about me?”
“I want to take care of you.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll always be there, but you know that.” I guided her through the store. “Today we’re going to create some scents. One for you and one for me. So, when we’re not around each other, we’ll have the bottles to keep us company.”
“I love it. I’m also glad you didn’t think something was wrong with me for wearing your shirt.”
“Never. I’m not one to judge another over obsession.”
She laughed. It was low and soft. It made my heart melt because she’d cried this morning in the shower. She probably thought I didn’t hear her, but there’d been so much pain and suffering in her voice as she sobbed within the drumming of the water. Not knowing what to do, I’d opened the door a little and stood there powerless, wishing I knew who’d done it.
Who killed Leo and Vibrato?
This afternoon, I hoped to give her a few minutes of joy.
One small laugh. Ninety-nine more to go.
“Our sense of smell is the most powerful of all,” I said.
“That’s a powerful statement.”
“What’s better than your nose? You get a whiff of something, and suddenly you’ve traveled back to a memory where you’d smelled that same thing. The sense of smell triggers more than a reaction. Water can be hot. A bad song can hurt the ears. A wall can be blue. But would any of those things give you a memory?”
“Your words are the only other thing I can think of.”
I blushed for the first time in a long time. A silly grin hit my face. I pushed it away, not needing my men to see it.
“Your words are so beautiful. I can see them. Feel them.” She kissed me. “Taste them.”
I licked my lips, loving the sweetness of her.
We walked forward, and lucky for her, because I’d been ready to take her back in the limo and fuck her.
Calm down. This is about helping her mourn, not getting your cock wet.
She scanned the space. “This place looks magical.”
Various sized bottles stacked all the shelves. Crystal. Glass. Metal and so on. Some were filled. Others were empty, and for sale to customers who wanted a personalized scent. And the bottles were different colors—pink, blue, silver, and gold.
Large vases of flowers had been scattered throughout the place. And so many fragrances filled the air. Some fruity. Others different varieties of musk and pine. The further we walked the scents became flowery—rose and lavender.
A short woman stepped into the room. Her skin was a dark brown. Her hair a long silky gray. She looked to be of East Indian descent, but I wasn’t sure. “Hello. You must be Mr. Laurent.”
“I am.”
“My name is Penelope.” Her gaze brightened. “I’m not used to anyone renting out the store. Thank you for your…exuberant investment.”
“You’re welcome.”
Penelope gestured towards a small table covered in fine china. Tiny sandwiches and sweet treats topped the dishes. “I’m not used to this level of client. . .so, I…put some things together, but if you want more I can go out and—”
“No. No.” I shook my head. “The spread is lovely.”
She nervously skittered around the table, moving the napkins an inch to the right and then an inch to the left. “My friend told me I should have food for the amount of money you’re spending. And music. But what do I know? My music would probably bore you kids.”
I chuckled. “Penelope, you’ve provided everything we need. This is lovely.”
She beamed. “Thank you.”
“And we’re easy customers,” Eden added. “We go with the flow.”
“And we’re more excited about the perfume than the ambiance.” I looked at the shelves. “You’ve come highly recommended. My Aunt Delphine told me—”
“Oh, Delphine! You’re her nephew. Oh. This will be fun.” Penelope giggled. “I’ll get the champagne later.” She rubbed her hands together. “Let’s get to the perfume. What’s the occasion?”
I smiled. “New lovers.”
Eden blushed.
“Hmmm.” The woman’s face brightened more. “New love. How beautiful? Smell is directly related to love.”
I winked. “I was just saying that.”
Eden snorted.
Penelope led us to the back.
A long glass table sat in the center. Tons of glass flasks stood in silver holders. Labels covered each one, identifying the scent within.
Penelope gestured for us to sit in the cushioned seats behind the glass table. “Our sense of smell is the only one of our senses that’s biologically linked to our brain.”
I pulled out Eden’s seat and she sat down. “Interesting.”
Penelope slid several trays over to us. “It’s why when some people smell a particular pie, they think of their grandmother and how she would make them pies on rainy Sunday mornings. If they inhale deeper, they may even be transported to that old rainy, Sunday, embracing their grandmother and tasting her pie on their tongue.”