CHAPTER 1

Summary: Sam meets Mercedes for the first time in her perfume shop.

Rating: Teen

Author's Note: This is a new story that is AU. None of the characters will behave as they normally do. This will alternate in first person between Sam, Mercedes' and Quinn's point of view though this may change as other characters are introduced.

AND SO WE MEET

As perfume doth remain, In the folds where it hath lain, So the thought of you, remaining Deeply folded in my brain, Will not leave me: all things leave me: You remain – Arthur Symons

I clutched my travel mug filled with black coffee as I walked through the snowy streets of North Star, my motorcycle boots clicked against the gray, cobblestone sidewalk. The snowfall was mild compared to what we had last week, a good two feet nearly buried this town and I spent a hell of a long time shoveling out my red pickup truck. I would've busted my back in the process if the kid next door hadn't helped me. But now I could walk without limping, so I decided to leave my tiny house and get some exercise even though it was snowing again and the cold air burned my lungs, I needed to be outside, away from the blank computer screen that constantly taunted me.

The air smelled like burning leaves and caramel. All year round you could smell the sweet, sugary scent of melted butter, brown sugar and cream wafting through the air, just from that aroma alone, a blind man would know he was in North Star; the delicious scent came from the Queen Bee Caramel Factory that kept almost everyone in this town employed except for me, I didn't work at the factory. On a good day I was a writer and on a bad day I was smoking too many cigarettes and posing as a tortured artist: today was one of those days. Queen Bee Caramels were North Star's claim to fame, that and the weeping Virgin Mary at the Sacred Heart Catholic Church on Wilmont Avenue.

I kept walking and nodding my head at the passerby. People were distantly polite the way I was with the homeless men who hung around outside of my apartment building, back when I lived in the big city and thought I was important. I sipped my coffee and looked up at the sky, it was peachy orange and the snowflakes danced around in the wind like tiny crystals. I watched a little girl, who was bundled up in a bright pink coat; try to catch snowflakes on her tongue. She closed her eyes, opened her mouth, and held up her arms toward the sky. Her mother was smoking a cigarette and talking on her cell phone, barely paying attention to her child. The little girl finally opened her eyes and her mother was halfway down the street, cursing into the phone, she ran after her mother, dropping one of her pink mittens in the snow. I picked up the mitten, it had little red hearts scattered over it and a tiny satin bow on the wrist. I called out to the little girl.

"Hey!"

She stopped and looked at me. Her eyes fearful. I knew those eyes. Big and blue. Shining in the summer sun.

"Isabel?"

The little girl shook her head; her nose was bright red from the cold. It wasn't Isabel, not even close, but a flash of those blue eyes reminded me… I bit the inside of my cheek to find a different pain, one that drew blood, a physical pain that was easy to feel and taste, not like the pain in my heart. I wanted the blood on my tongue and the flesh between my teeth. This was easier. I handed her the mitten.

"You dropped this."

She took the mitten and ran away. A few times she almost slipped on the icy sidewalk as she caught up to her mother, who was still engrossed in a conversation about bald men and tequila, her obnoxious, shrill voice echoed through the empty streets. I sighed and kept going. I felt a chill and drank some more coffee. Most of the shops were closed for the evening except for the new shop at the far end of the street. I saw its bright yellow light in the darkness. I followed the light. When I got to the shop, I peered into the window and saw a full figured black woman wiping down a glass counter. She had waist length dreadlocks and a nose ring; suddenly, she looked up from the counter and her eyes met mine. She smiled and waved at me. Her round body moved gracefully as she walked toward the door, and it was then I noticed what this place was called. I read the words painted on the door: Scents and Sensibility. As soon as the door opened, I felt the warmth of a wood burning stove. It made me think of my grandmother knitting socks. But the woman standing before me sure as hell wasn't my grandma, not even close; she was all curves wrapped in a plum colored sweater and long black skirt that touched the floor, holding open the door open she said:

"My second customer! Welcome to Scents and Sensibility!"

I laughed because she was so damn happy.

"Congratulations," I said.

Then she pulled me inside like we were old friends, gripping my elbow. Her hands were so small, like a child's hands. I looked around her shop. Perfume bottles crowded the shelves. Bars of soap were stacked in the display case along with bags of potpourri and bottles of oil. The hardwood floors were covered with Persian rugs. A tabby kitten was curled up on a black velvet chair in the corner next to the wood stove. The place smelled like the inside of Bath and Body Works only better. She pointed to my mug.

"I'm making ginger tea, would you like some?"

"No, thanks, I'm a coffee drinker."

Walking over to the stove, she hummed to herself. I watched her as she made her tea.

"So what do you sell here?"

"A little bit of everything. Bath stuff. New age trinkets. But what people really want to buy is my perfume. I customize it."

"Customize?"

"Yes. It's your own personal fragrance that nobody else has, made just for you," she turned around and looked at me.

"So why are you here? Buying something for your girlfriend?"

I wondered if she was flirting with me. It's been so long since I flirted with anyone. It felt foreign like trying to put your shoes on the wrong feet. Then I said the first thing to come to mind:

"Make a scent for me."

She tilted her head and smiled.

"Really? You want cologne?"

"Yeah, why not?"

"I don't know. You don't seem like the type."

"We've known each other five minutes."

She nodded. "True."

"So I could be any type."

"Well, if you're serious…"

"I am."

"Ok, come closer."

I walked toward her and stood in front of her. The stove's heat made my cheeks tingle.

"Um, is this ok?"

"Lean down, I'm short."

"What is it you're trying to do?"

She smiled and touched my arm.

"I have to smell you."

I backed away from her. This was weird.

"You know, I changed my mind. I think I better go."

Instead of being offended, she laughed, throwing back her head and holding her stomach, she shook a little as she tried to suppress the onset of giggles taking over her body.

"Don't be such a prude. I have to get your natural scent. Everyone has one."

"So you just go around sniffing people?"

"No, don't be silly. I ask first. Alright, give me your scarf. I'll smell that instead."

I unwound my bright red wool scarf from around my neck and handed it to her.

"I think asking for a piece of clothing is more appropriate."

She took the scarf from me and held it to her nose, closing her eyes she inhaled its scent, and a sad smile spread across her face.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Your loss. Grief is never easy."

I almost dropped my mug. I felt light-headed. She shooed the kitten out of the velvet chair and helped me sit down.

"I hope I didn't upset you. Mama always told me not to say too much and here I go running my mouth you would think –"

A creaking door interrupted her. It was the door at the far end of the shop; I knew that on the other side was an apartment, because the people who rented this place before, an older couple, who sold Civil War memorabilia, lived back there until they died. A thin, blonde woman walked in, her eyes were blue, but not a blue I had ever seen, they were dark like storm clouds. She wore a long, green velvet skirt and an oversized black sweater, her feet were in pink slippers; her beauty was the kind only found in fairy tales: she was a medieval princess locked in a tower waiting for her prince. Her long hair reached her waist, it was tangled up in knots and it needed to be combed. She glanced at me and looked away.

"Mercedes, I can't find my toothbrush."

So the shop owner's name was Mercedes.

"In a minute Quinn, I have a customer."

Quinn pointed at me.

"Him?"

"Do you see anybody else here?"

"No."

"Well?"

Quinn stared at me and turned back to Mercedes.

"I couldn't find the fresh rosemary either."

"We'll use sage. Don't worry."

"I'm Sam," I said to Quinn. I wanted her to know my name. I held out my hand, but she only stared at it as if I had offered her something foul, like a dead mouse.

"I don't touch people's hands that I don't know."

Mercedes looked at us and her eyes grew suspicious.

"I need to close up. Start boiling the water and I'll be back in a minute," She said to Quinn, who continued to frown at me.

"Ok, don't be long."

Then she shuffled out of the shop, closing the door behind her. Mercedes sat down next to me.

"I'm really sorry about what I said."

"It's alright. How did you know?"

"Scent tells a lot about people," she picked a few lint balls off of the scarf, and said, "I can make you cologne, but I need some time, do you need it right away?"

"No, take your time. I have to go. How much do I owe you?"

"We figure that part out later."

I didn't argue with her. I had something more pressing on my mind.

"So is Quinn your roommate?"

"No, she's my sister."

I decided not to ask any more questions. The sister thing threw me for a loop. I stood up and stretched.

"It was nice meeting you."

She stood up too and held out her hand to me.

"You too, Sam. Come back in a week."

I felt like a giant as I enveloped her tiny hand in mine. I had a feeling my life was about to change.