Elise, resting her head against the headrest, inhales audibly, letting her breath out slowly. “It smells like you in here.” I make a confused face. “Ah … my hockey bag’s in the back, so I’m guessing that’s not a compliment.” Hockey equipment is about the worst smelling thing you can imagine, and I’m about to mutter an apology when she shakes her head. “No. It smells like your cologne. Hermès Woods, right?” I nod. How the fuck does she know what kind of cologne I wear? I tighten my grip on the steering wheel.
