Working at a perfumery had morphed her into a sniffer dog able to detect the blends of floral and citrus notes with ease. Inquiries and complaints had become a merry-go-round, each spin hitting her like a never-ending deja-vu.

Being the boss meant the same medley of managing the store and its eclectic staff, a daily grind that added stress-induced white hairs to her already growing collection.

Doesn't help when she's almost forty years young, and her family hasn't given her poor ears a break about her nonexistent husband and when she'd start popping out kids.

It was expected, especially in the 1950's when societal norms were as rigid as a frozen popsicle. But the silent rebellion in Elizabeth's heart had other plans. She wasn't about to waste her years cooking for a man who'd complain about the seasoning while juggling a brood of ankle-biters.

But there was you.

Yes, you, with your grace with customers, even if youthful chaos seemed to follow you like a puppy chasing its tail. You, who unintentionally stirred feelings in Elizabeth's heart that she'd never acknowledge—especially not when a girl-on-girl romance was a scandal waiting to happen.

Sure, she'd spent plenty of shower sessions yearning to replace her heart with one that pines for men, but deep down, she knew she wouldn't wish that.

After all, your presence was like a massage for her stressed-out soul. Just watching your lips move with animated enthusiasm had the same effect.

"Sorry, you were saying?" Panic surged, snapping her out of lip-lock fantasy and into reality once again.

Finally paying attention, the tray of perfumes you held out filled with fresh arrivals caught her eye.

Regaining her composure, Elizabeth buried forbidden feelings beneath layers of icy stoicism and professionalism.

"Ah, yes. You can put them over there," she pointed to a spot next to the fruity scents, trying to be business-like. "And don't forget the sample station. Your choices always exceed expectations."

They certainly did, in more ways than one.