“Silly stuff. Like ‘Orange you glad it’s Friday?’ Sometimes he writes a joke. On Halloween he wrote ‘What is a ghost’s favorite fruit? A boo-nana.’ Get it?”

I found that very interesting. I wouldn’t have envisioned Hudson doing something goofy like that.

“Can I smell some more?” Charlie asked.

“Of course.”

I opened another jar. This one smelled like sandalwood—oil from the Indian sandal tree.

She scrunched up her little nose. “That smells like a bellyache.”

I had no idea what that meant. I brought it to my nose to try to figure it out. “Really? Does it make your belly hurt just by smelling it?”

She giggled. “No. Sour ice cream does. That smells like the man at the ice cream store around the corner from my dad. We don’t go there anymore because the ice cream might have been bad.”

Ohhh, well, that made more sense. Sandalwood was in a lot of popular men’s colognes. Charlie had a knack for this. She was also apparently really into ice cream. “You know…” I said. “That’s the second answer you’ve mentioned with ice cream. I’m sensing a pattern.”

A deep voice from behind me chimed in, “Figured that out already, huh?”

I turned to find Hudson leaning against the doorframe to my office. It looked like he might have been eavesdropping for a while.

“Charlie here has a great sense of smell.”

Hudson nodded. “She also hears things from a mile away, especially the freezer door. If I so much as crack it open, she comes running, thinking ice cream might be involved.”

Charlie scrunched up her nose again. “He likes strawberry ice cream.”

“I take it you don’t?” I asked.

She shook her head. “It’s gross. All lumpy.”

“I’ll have to side with your dad on this one. Strawberry is one of my favorites.”

Hudson smiled, and I realized it might’ve been the first genuine smile I’d seen on his handsome face since the night of the wedding.

“You ready to go, Charlie?” He looked over at me. “We’re going to dinner.”

“I know. You’re taking the subway.”

Hudson’s lip twitched. “The subway, Dolly Parton, and ice cream. She’s not hard to please…yet.”

“And notes written on fruit and the color purple.” I motioned to my office. “Charlie suggested I paint my office purple. I told her I’d think about it.”

Hudson smiled. “I wouldn’t put it past you.”

Charlie surprised me by jumping out of her chair to give me a hug. “Thank you for showing me your smelly things.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. Enjoy your dinner.”

She skipped across my office and grabbed her father’s hand. “Let’s go, Dad.”

He shook his head like her being the boss of him was a bother, but I could tell she was probably the only person in the world he enjoyed being bossed by.

Nodding at me, he said, “Don’t stay too late.”

“I won’t.”

After they disappeared, I could hear Charlie talking all the way down the hall.

“Stella’s going to come to dinner with us next time,” she said.

“Charlie, what did I tell you about inviting people you just met to things?”

“Doesn’t she smell good?”

There was a pause, and I thought maybe they’d gone so far that I couldn’t hear them anymore. But then Hudson grumbled, “Yes, Stella smells good.”

“And she’s pretty, too, right?”

Again there was a long pause. I moved closer to my door so I could be sure to hear the answer.

“Yes, she’s pretty, but that’s not how you decide who to invite to dinner, Charlie. We work together.”

“But last month when Mommy dropped me off early at your house on Saturday morning there was a woman there, and she was pretty and smelled good. You’d said she was someone you had business with, and she’d come back in the morning because she’d forgotten her umbrella. I asked if she could come to lunch with us, and you said another time. But you never brought her.”

Oh boy. I put my hand over my mouth. That Charlie was a whip, and I was curious how Hudson was going to talk his way out of this one. Unfortunately, instead of hearing his answer, I heard the lobby door open and close, and that was the end of the show.

I sighed and walked back to my desk—where it quickly became apparent that I could no longer concentrate. Today had been a whirlwind. Being introduced to so many people here at Rothschild Investments, a half dozen different meetings, new systems for accounting, inventory, orders, and an all-new, high-speed website interface. It was pretty overwhelming. But none of it was half as exciting as three little words Hudson had said earlier today.

“To be continued…”

CHAPTER 11

Stella

I might’ve been a bit overeager the next morning.

Olivia had told me to meet her in the office at 8AM so we could start working with her team on the Signature Scent marketing plan. Yet the sun was barely up when I arrived at the offices of Rothschild Investments. Since I was so early, I went a few doors down to a twenty-four-hour deli and figured I’d get a cup of coffee and a muffin. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who’d gotten a head start on today. The line was ten deep with suit-clad men and women, every one of them with their noses buried in their phones as they waited.

When I finally arrived at the register, a kid who looked like he should be getting ready for high school instead of working took my order.

“What can I get you?” As he spoke, he took out his phone and stared down at it. I thought perhaps he had to type my order in for someone else to make it in the back.

“I’ll have a coffee, light and sweet, and one of those crumb-cake muffins, please.”

He held up one finger and texted into his phone. When he was done, he punched something into the register. “One coffee, light and sweet, and one blueberry muffin. That’ll be six seventy-five. What’s your name?”

“Well, my name is Stella, but I wanted a crumb-cake muffin, not a blueberry muffin.”

The kid frowned as if I were annoying him. He hit some more buttons on the register, but then his phone buzzed, so his attention shifted there again. I took a ten out of my wallet and extended it to him, but he ignored my waiting hand. When a solid two minutes had passed and he still hadn’t looked up from his phone, I leaned in and peered over at what he was doing.

Texting.

The kid wasn’t putting my order in on his phone, he was texting someone named Kiara.

I flicked my wrist in an attempt to catch his eye. “Umm… Here you go.”

Again, he held up a finger.

Unbelievable.

Eventually, he plucked the bill out of my hand and gave me change. Then he picked up a tall coffee cup, opened a marker, and scribbled a name on it. Simone.

My brows drew together. “Is that supposed to be mine?”

He huffed. “It’s got your name on it, doesn’t it?”

Rather than argue, I smiled. “Sure. You have a wonderful day.”

“Next!”