“You haven’t seen him yet, but you know this man.”
I did a nose-drag. It was emotion-seizing: the complex, expensive scent of a civilized man. A well-shaved European — wet pine, fire, cold Sauternes. I could almost taste the clean leather and tweed. It hit with a resonant pang, right below the belt into unfair, instant, knuckle-biting yearning.
We looked at each other in a mutual reverie.
“Unngh.” I moaned.
The fragrance — aromatique hespéridé — was created by the ridiculously handsome Gérald Ghislain, in honor of Jules Verne. The Hesperides were Greek nymphs of the evening, charged with protecting Hera’s orchard of immortality-granting golden apples of joy.
Damn. I think we all need to go smell this!