Bend Toward the Sun

by Jen Devon

Last night, the shirt she’d worn at the Brady party had smelled of campfire and Harrison—traces of whatever cologne or soap or aftershave gave him that vaguely sweet juniper scent. She’d first caught the hint of it when she’d undressed once she got back to T.J.’s place. It made her feel homesick for a home she never actually had. Then, this morning, she’d sniffed the shirt until she felt dizzy, before rolling her eyes at herself and throwing it into the laundry bin.