Page 8 of Perfume Girl

Turning, I studied her awed expression.

“I like that one,” she said as she studied the delicate bottle in my hand. “It’s different, it’s…”

“It’s not finished. I need more time with it.”

“What?”

“This is too sophisticated for you,” I shot back. “You’ve not gotten to the age where you can appreciate the profoundness of being.”

Because that’s exactly what this scent elicited…a profound aliveness.

She hurried after me and rose on her toes to whisper, “There’s a name for men like you.”

I smiled. “Yes, and it probably describes me perfectly.”

I walked away from her.

“Sure you don’t want my number?” she called after me.

The fresh sea air hit me when I stepped outside and myJesus, take the wheelmoment was answered as Skye’s bubblegum scent released its claws.

Yet this one…

The same one kissing my skin, the same one Penelope had a hand in was absorbed into my being. This scent was a goddamned miracle. My mind reeled over the fact that it had been my sister who had developed this masterpiece.

Climbing into my Mercedes, I drew in a luxurious, serene breath, reluctant to let this experience dissipate.

I could finish this…refine its chemistry and take it all the way to perfection.

DESPITE FEELINGS OF HUMILIATION,I held my head high as I navigated the tables of Dunedin’s La Traviata, all the while ignoring the glances from staff who knew I was the ex of their head chef.

Standing in the doorway, staring across the sleek kitchen, my gaze fell on the man who I had once found mesmerizing. Even now—after the carnage of our divorce—I still understood why I had fallen so hard.

Though that love had been shattered the moment I saw Damien withher.

The memories flashed real and raw as I watched him preparing a signature dish…

“Happy Birthday!” The masseuse’s forceful fingertips found all the right places, forcing the tension out of my tired limbs.

“Thank you,” I replied, grateful for it all.

“What a terrific husband.”

“He is,” I managed to say, despite the pressure of her elbow between my shoulder blades. “He’s spoiling me.”

Everything about this spa was heavenly, from the classical music to the hypnotic massage oil that had me nearly drifting off.

Afterward, I showered and prepared for my next treatment. A manicure and pedicure that I needed after spending the last three weeks tackling Christmas season in Dunedin. Though it had been hard work, I had seen my sales soar and my brands becoming more popular.

The interview published inVoguehad made a big difference to my online sales too, and this had been my best year yet.

Waiting in the private spa to be called for my next treatment, I was met by an associate.

“Mrs. Silver,” she greeted me. “I’m sorry. Kristen was supposed to do your nails, but she had to leave. Everyone else is booked up. I understand it’s your birthday, and we want to bring you back to make up for this.”

I’d been looking forward to this treat—my nails were almost badger-esk.

I let out a sigh. “That’s fine. I hope everything works out with Kristen.”