each step he takes, the perfumes change

Even if he and Louisa always made the same things, in a never-ending cycle of trying to one-up and learn from each other, it never failed to amaze Al how much different the kitchen smelled with the two of them there cooking together.

Maybe it was her perfume. Maybe it was the way the steam wound its way through her beautiful, rich, dark curly hair. Maybe it was her smile, and her bracelets, and the way the spices jumped and danced at each flick of her wrist.

If music be the food of love...yep, yep, yep. It sure was.