“That’s good news. Where?”
Pippa closes her eyes and squishes up her face. “In my underwear drawer. The water heater is on the other side of the wall, so it was probably warm there.”
The air wafts with something sweet. “Smells good. Are you baking something? Are the cookies overkill?”
“I was making something, but you can’t eat it. It’s a cinnamon roll candle.”
“You make candles?”
“It’s my hobby side hustle. I love playing with scents. My favorite is a fragrance for introverts. It’s called Eau de Alone.”
I thumb over my shoulder, wondering if that’s a hint that she’d rather not have company. “Should I go?”
“Oh, you wanted to—? No, come on up. I wasn’t expecting anyone, but—” She bites her lip, which is no longer swollen. Feeling awkward, I shift from foot to foot.
Then, realizing she’s blocking the doorway, she turns and gestures for me to follow her upstairs.
Pippa’s apartment is an elegantly feminine extension of herself—gauzy curtains, light colors, and weathered wood that reminds me of the ocean in the late spring. It’s a breath of fresh air.
She gives me a tour of her candle-making station.
“While the wax is setting, I’m making the labels and watching Ted Lasso. Have you ever watched it?” she asks.
I shake my head. “I love that you’re doing this. So unique.” I browse a shelf with a variety of glass containers containing candles with cutesy names likeIt takes two to mangowhich I gather is a mango and coconut combo andvanilla pine(apple)conewith an ice cream cone topped with a pineapple on the label.
“I’ll admit that candle-making is my dream. I love the science of scent. I know, nerdy.” Pippa adjusts her glasses on her nose.
“No, it’s cool. What’s the name of your candle company?”
“Candle Gram. Gram, like a telegram, but also like my grandmother who taught me candle making.” She goes on to tell me that they’re great gifts and she can custom-make fragrance combinations.
I listen intently, enjoying seeing her comfortable, in her element.
Biting her lip, she says, “I started it after the whole Poo-pa thing. Kind of helped me cope, and I was obsessed with smelling good, so no one got the wrong idea. I started with little solid perfume formulations made from wax and oils.”
Ted Lasso is paused on the television and Pippa’s computer sits open on a loveseat. “So you’re working on the label for this new one?” I ask, taking a seat.
She sucks in her lip. “Do you want some cookies and milk?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
I have to admit, things are not as smooth as they were the night we went to the fair. I trace through my memory, wondering if I did or said something wrong. Maybe it’s just a matter of her being professional insofar that technically, I’m her student, which means I shouldn’t be here.
Pippa brings us both cookies and milk on a vintage plate and glasses.
“Tell me about Ted Lasso. I’ve never watched,” I say, dunking my cookie.
“You dunk?”
“Of course. You don’t?”
“I do. I didn’t expect you to.”
“That’s how I roll.” I wink, pointing to the laptop. “So, what’s the name of the new candle? I noticed the others had unique names.”
“Um, it’s Cinnamon Bunderful. Like wonderful, butbun.”
“Like bum?”
