Page 50 of It Happened Again

But later, long after Brooks had fallen asleep, I laid awake staring at the ceiling. That tiny seed of doubt sprouted in the dark.

What if I wasn’t good enough? And worse... what if I failed?

18

DON’T DO THIS

MAISY

The first timeI walked into a custom aromatherapy shop, I was not expecting a man like Brooks Bellamy in a tuxedo to be the one holding the door for me.

“Well, thank you, kind sir,” I teased, fluttering my lashes at him. “When you asked me to meet you here, I didn’t realize there was a dress code.”

With his usual tall, broad-shouldered confidence and intensity, he ushered me into a boutique that smelled like a meadow at sunrise. Ambient music floated overhead, and shelves lined the walls—filled with tiny glass vials, softly glowing candles, and little apothecary jars of dried herbs.

“It’s come as you are. I just enjoyed putting in extra effort for you.” He caught my look. “What?”

“You’re amazing to bring me here. I’ve always wanted to do something like this.” I could not express how much this truly meant to me. I’d wanted to create my own perfume or fragrance, but never had the money or time to do it. “I just figured you’d be more of a bourbon and sawdust guy than lavender and bergamot.”

He stepped close, brushing a knuckle over my cheek. “You’d be surprised what a man will do when his neuroscientist girlfriend has been working herself into burnout.”

I rolled my eyes at the argument we’d been dancing around lately, about the extra hours I’d been putting in at work, but my heart squeezed in my chest.

The aromatherapist—Rhea, soft-spoken and earthy, wearing moon and star earrings—walked us through a sensory test. Brooks sat beside me, watching intently as we inhaled sample after sample, commenting with his usual wit.

“This one smells like a forest made out with a lemon grove. Makes me want a slice of Flora’s lemon meringue pie.”

I playfully slapped his arm.

“That one smells like my grandmother’s linen closet. Definitely not the scent we want around during sex.”

I nearly snorted, grinning. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here I am, designing your signature scent. Lucky you.”

“I am very lucky to have you, Brooks,” I purred, and kissed him for good measure.

In the end, we mixed a blend together that felt like us—like breathing under starlight, with the scents of bergamot, cedarwood, a whisper of lavender, a touch of neroli for brightness, and a soft base of vanilla and frankincense, all of it intended to soothe and ground.

Rhea bottled it up into a pulse-point roller and matched it with a linen mist, a candle, and a hoodie so soft I practically died and went to Heaven when I slipped it on in the shop.

“I could be buried in this hoodie in the middle of this shop and be happy,” I breathed, hugging Brooks for these extravagant gifts. “It’s like being a scientist, but without all the stress. And making customers happy with their signature scent.”

“If you ever want to start your own shop like this, I’d invest in you.”

That shocked me. We never really talked about money, only that I knew he had a lot, as in millions, and I did not. He liked to spend his money on things that had meaning and significance or on experiences, rather than being wasteful with it.

Compared to Rex and Richard, Brooks was more laid back and about his riches. I’d never be spoiled with Brooks, but I’d have plenty and he’d take care of my every need without a question—wow, this shop must have calmed me down a ton because here I was thinking about something like forever with him, which was probably our destiny anyway, but we only recently admitted we loved each other; we hadn’t really talked in depth about the future. Not with the crazy schedule I’d been keeping.

Rhea popped out from behind the curtain and presented us with the custom candle. She let us sniff it and read the label for the name of the candle:For Nights You’re Overthinking.

“Very appropriate for me.” I laughed. “Did you make that up?”

“Guilty,” Brooks said, and leaned in. “Because I know what happens when the world gets too loud for you. So, I wanted to give you something that helps soothe when I can’t be there.”

Can’t be there...?I didn’t like hearing that. But with concerted effort, I attempted not to overthink it.

We stopped at a tiny ramen place afterward and sat at the bar, shoulder to shoulder, slurping noodles and taking turns feeding each other dumplings. He asked me about the symposium, about Patterson, and about what else I needed in order to feel ready.

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