What His Sauvage Did To Her

She had said no three times. The first time: too busy. The second time: not interested. The third time she had been more specific about the not interested, which she had thought was clear enough.

Then he walked past her in the corridor on a Tuesday morning wearing something that stopped her mid-thought. She was carrying a stack of files. She nearly dropped them. She kept walking. She did not look back.

She told herself it was nothing. She told herself this firmly on the lift down to the ground floor and again walking to her car and again sitting in traffic on the way home.

You can argue with a face. You can maintain healthy scepticism about charm. You cannot argue with something that smells like Dior Sauvage EDP on the right person at the right moment.

The problem with scent is that it bypasses the reasonable part of the brain and goes directly to the part that has opinions about things before you have had time to form a position on them.

She texted a friend: I think I made a mistake.

The friend replied immediately: What changed?

She sat with her phone for a moment. He was wearing something, she typed finally. I don't know what it was but it should be illegal.

The friend sent back a laughing emoji and then: Girl. Say yes.

She said yes. Six months later she bought him a bottle of the Dior Sauvage EDP from BettyWhyt — she had found out the name eventually, through a series of casual questions that were not casual at all — and presented it to him on no particular occasion.

“What's this for?” he asked. “Insurance,” she said.

He laughed. He still does not know the full story. She intends to keep it that way.

Dior Sauvage EDP. Some decisions make themselves.