“My dad collected matchboxes from restaurants and hotels when he went on business trips,” I told him, sliding open the box and bringing it up to my nose. “I took a liking to the smell. It’s like . . .” Without thinking, I closed my eyes and inhaled through my nose, the sulfur and phosphorous instantly making me smile. “Like what?” I closed the box and looked up, feeling lighter for some reason. “Like Christmas morning and sparklers rolled into one. I kept the collection close to me after . . .”
