Work Text:
There were many things Emily Charlton could do that bordered on the supernatural.
She could spot a counterfeit Birkin from across a crowded, dimly lit ballroom. She could tell whether a silk gown had been cut on the bias after a half-second glance. She could name the designer of a pair of oversized sunglasses before the wearer had even pulled them down their nose.
And most absurdly of all, she insisted she could identify virtually any fragrance in existence simply by smelling it.
Andy had always suspected this particular claim was, to use the formal scientific term, complete and utter bullshit. Not because Emily wasn't frighteningly knowledgeable about the luxury industry, she was, but because there were thousands of perfumes in the world. Surely there had to be a limit to human nasal capacity.
Apparently not.
Over the years, Andy had accidentally become Emily’s primary, unwilling test subject. She’d come home from a late evening at the paper, toe off her sneakers, and before she’d even managed to drop her leather satchel onto the entry table, Emily would lean in, inhale lightly against her neck, and flatly declare, "Baccarat Rouge 540."
Andy would pause, a coat hanger suspended mid-air. "...I wasn't testing you."
"I know."
Another day, barely through the door: "Prada Paradoxe."
"I literally just walked through the beauty department on my way to interview a source!" Andy defended, throwing her arms up.
"You walked through Chanel first," Emily corrected, not even looking up from her laptop, her fingers flying across the keyboard. "Then Prada."
Andy had stared at the back of her girlfriend’s head. "...You can smell where I've walked?"
Emily had simply shrugged, tucking a strand of copper hair behind her ear. "It's not difficult, Andrea."
It absolutely was.
On another occasion, Andy had borrowed a sample bottle from Nigel before a charity gala. Emily had greeted her at the door, wrapped a slender arm around her waist, drawn a breath over her pulse point, and sighed dramatically into her skin.
"Tom Ford."
"..."
"...Cherry Smoke."
"..."
"You're impossible," Andy muttered, leaning down to press a kiss to her temple.
"I prefer 'gifted.'"
It had only gotten more ridiculous from there. Emily never hesitated, never guessed, and never seemed uncertain. One quick sniff, and out came the answer, frequently accompanied by the concentration, the brand, and on particularly obnoxious occasions, the nose behind the blend. Andy had stopped asking how years ago, simply accepting that her girlfriend possessed the senses of an exceptionally glamorous bloodhound.
Which was precisely why, somewhere around the week before New Year's Eve, Andy Sachs had formulated a plan.
A truly terrible, wonderfully elaborate plan. Well, terrible for Emily, perhaps. Andy, on the other hand, thought it was sheer brilliance. It was meticulous. It required patience. And if all went according to schedule...
No. She couldn't get ahead of herself just yet.
-
New Year's Eve found them exactly where they preferred to be, indoors, warm, and entirely undisturbed. Emily had long since declared Times Square "a wet, freezing monument to poor decision-making," and Andy couldn't honestly disagree.
Their Manhattan apartment glowed with the warm yellow haze of fairy lights, leftovers from Christmas that neither of them had mustered the energy to take down yet. A low jazz playlist drifted lazily from the speakers, competing with the quiet crackle of the radiator. On the coffee table sat two half-empty glasses of vintage champagne beside an aggressively expensive cheeseboard that Emily had insisted on assembling herself because, as she put it, ”If we're staying home like pensioners, we're doing it properly."
Andy was sprawled across one end of the sofa in thick wool socks, her legs tangled comfortably in Emily’s lap. Emily was lounging back, pretending to watch the broadcast countdown while subtly delivering a ruthless running commentary on everyone's evening wear.
"...That's archival McQueen," Emily noted, swirling the pale gold liquid in her flute.
"Mhm."
"And she's wearing the wrong earrings entirely. The stylist should be arrested."
Andy snorted into her glass. The broadcast cut to another red-carpet interview, and Emily let out a long suffering sigh. "Oh, that's just lazy."
"You don't even know who dressed her, Em."
"I don't need to. The fit around the bust speaks for itself."
Andy laughed, the sound bubbling up warm in her chest as she leaned over to bump her knee against Emily's thigh. "You are unbelievable."
"I know."
A comfortable silence settled over them, the soft, heavy kind that only built up after years of living in each other's pockets. Outside, the distant thud of pyrotechnics vibrated faint and muted against the double-paned glass.
Emily swirled the last of her champagne, leaning her head back against the cushion as she turned her eyes to Andy with a thoughtful hum. "New Year's resolutions."
Andy groaned into her shoulder immediately. "Oh, no. Absolutely not."
"Oh, yes."
"Em, we're forty-three."
"Exactly. At our age, we should have measurable goals."
"I have goals!"
Emily arched an eyebrow. "Andy, you've been saying you'll learn to cook for... what is it now? Two decades?"
"I can cook!"
"You can produce edible pasta."
"I made risotto once."
"You cremated risotto. The saucepan still bears the emotional scars."
"It was slightly overdone," Andy insisted, though her lips twitched.
"The bottom of the pan was a biohazard," Emily countered smoothly, looking pleased with herself. "So your resolution," she pointed her champagne flute for emphasis, "is finally learning to make three coherent meals without triggering the building's fire alarm."
Andy rolled her eyes, struggling to suppress a grin. "...Rude."
"Accurate."
Andy considered pretending to be offended, but the cozy warmth of the room, and the secret ticking away in her mind, won out. "Okay."
Emily blinked, her sharp blue eyes flicking over Andy’s face with instant suspicion. "Okay?"
"Deal."
"...That was suspiciously easy, Andrea."
Andy set her empty glass down on the side table, sitting up a little straighter. "Only if you make a resolution, too."
Emily leaned back into the cushions, crossing her arms with supreme confidence. "I don't need improving."
Andy let out a rich laugh. "Baby."
"Oh, all right." Emily waved a dismissive, elegant hand through the air. "Go on then. Let's hear it."
Andy adopted the carefully measured, innocent expression of someone inventing a whim on the spot. In reality, she’d rehearsed this line in her head while standing in the shower for four days straight.
"I think," Andy said casually, tracing a finger along the seam of her throw pillow, "you should perfect your perfume identification."
Emily frowned, her brow furrowing slightly. "...My what?"
"You're always bragging that you can identify any fragrance on earth."
"It isn't bragging if it's a factual statement."
"So prove it."
Emily looked genuinely baffled now. "Andrea, what are you talking about?"
"For the entire month of January," Andy continued, her eyes dancing as she leaned in, "I'll wear a different perfume every single day."
"I'm listening..."
"I'll come home from the office, you take a sniff, and you have to identify it."
"..."
"No looking at my bag, no sneaking a peek at my vanity, no hints. I'm keeping a master score sheet."
Emily stared at her for three solid seconds before a slow, incredulous smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "...That's your idea of a grand New Year's challenge?"
"Yep."
"You're serious."
"Completely."
Emily narrowed her eyes, leaning forward until their noses almost touched. "Why?"
"No reason."
"Andrea."
"I just think it'd be fun," Andy lied smoothly, her heart giving a nervous little flutter against her ribs. "I want to see if you're actually as good as you think you are."
Emily looked almost offended by the insinuation. "'As good as I think I am?' My darling." She set her champagne glass down on the table with exaggerated precision. "You've just voluntarily signed up to lose thirty-one consecutive times."
Andy bit the inside of her cheek until it hurt to stop herself from grinning like a lunatic. "Oh? Is that a threat?"
"It's a promise. I won't miss a single one."
"So confident."
"So correct."
Andy extended her hand across the cushion. "Deal?"
Emily gripped it immediately, her skin warm and familiar against Andy's palm. "Deal."
Neither of them let go for a long second. Emily held on because she was already mentally cataloging notes, preparing her flawless streak. Andy held on because she was trying very hard not to give away the game before Day One had even begun.
Outside, somewhere over the Hudson, the city reached zero, and distant sirens and cheers echoed muffled against the glass. Neither of them looked at the clock. Andy was already counting down the days in January, and Emily, blissfully unaware, was already wondering which classic house Andy would try to stump her with first.
Day 1: Miss Dior — Dior
New Year's Day presented Andy with one minor inconvenience. It was a public holiday. Runway’s offices were closed, meaning Andy couldn’t wander down to the Beauty department to "borrow" samples. Her grand little experiment would have to wait until tomorrow to properly kick into gear.
Fortunately, there was one glaring exception. Emily's own vanity.
Lined up with museum-like precision along a floating glass shelf in their bedroom sat an intimidating collection of bottles. Some were old favourites, some were ultra-rare limited editions Emily stubbornly refused to part with, and several had been sent directly by fashion houses hoping the top assistant turned Senior Executive’s opinion carried as much weight as everyone suspected it did.
Andy crouched in front of the glittering glass display, studying the array like a detective sifting through evidence.
"Start simple," she whispered to herself.
Her fingers closed around the unmistakable glass square topped with the iconic silver bow. Miss Dior. If Emily couldn't identify a cornerstone fragrance from her own house... well, Andy would need to completely recalibrate her expectations.
Two delicate sprays settled over her wrists and the warm dip of her collarbone. The scent burst open, a flurry of crisp, powdery iris and velvet peony, before softening into a creamy base of vanilla and earth-bound sandalwood.
Pleasant. Elegant. Completely recognisable.
Perfect.
-
Emily arrived home just after six, her familiar heels clicking a sharp rhythm against the hardwood entryway. She emerged around the corner, shrugging off a tailored wool coat with the weary air of someone who had spent the entire afternoon quietly correcting the world’s fashion errors. Apparently everybody else was off the clock on New Year’s Day apart from Emily Charlton. Stupid workaholic.
"Happy New Year, darling," Emily murmured, dropping her leather tote onto the bench.
"You too, baby."
Their greeting had evolved into an effortless dance over the years. One stepped forward, the other met her halfway. A soft press of lips, followed by a warm, lingering hug.
Emily rested her chin lightly on Andy's shoulder, taking a slow, deep breath in.
"...Miss Dior."
Not a single micro-second of hesitation.
Andy let out a startled laugh. "You didn't even think!"
"I didn't need to." Emily stepped back, throwing her a look of supreme, slightly offended disbelief. "Andrea, I literally work with Dior. You’ve essentially asked a Frenchman to identify a baguette."
Andy burst out laughing, leaning back against the wall. "That is not remotely the same thing!"
"It is to me."
Still grinning, Andy reached for the wall calendar hanging beside the kitchen door, a grid originally meant for appointments and dry-cleaning reminders. Next to the bold heading JANUARY, Andy had carefully hand-lettered “Emily's Nose Challenge”, totally ridiculous, but it was the first thing that had come to her mind then.
She popped the cap off a black Sharpie with exaggerated flourish. "One point."
A crisp checkmark appeared in the first box.
Emily folded her arms over her chest, eyeing the board with amused superiority. "I sincerely hope tomorrow brings a modicum of effort."
"Oh?"
"This was child's play."
Andy turned back to her, unable to hide the small triumphant smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Emily caught it instantly, her blue eyes narrowing in suspicion.
"...Why are you looking at me like that?"
"No reason," Andy said smoothly, tucking the marker into her pocket.
"Hm."
Andy's smile only widened.
Day 2: Coach Dreams Sunset — Coach
January second marked the official return to the corporate grind, which meant Andy's real strategy could finally be set into motion.
Shortly before lunch, Andy found an utterly sham reason to wander down to Runway's Beauty department. No one batted an eye, Features editors floated in and out all day, so Andy was greeted with cheerful waves and casually handed half a dozen fresh blotter strips.
"Just browsing!" Andy insisted, smiling brightly as she slipped past the crowded display counters.
Five minutes later, she had discreetly applied three spritzes of Coach Dreams Sunset to her pulse points. A rush of zesty bergamot and icy pear bloomed off her skin first, slowly settling into warm, creamy jasmine. By the time she packed up her desk that evening, the scent had mellowed into a rich, golden vanilla.
When she walked through their apartment door that night, she said nothing. She simply waited.
Emily arrived forty minutes later, looking delightfully flushed from the winter air and clutching three sleek shopping bags she aggressively insisted were "essential reference materials."
The bags were discarded near the umbrella stand. Emily crossed the living room on autopilot, and Andy met her in the centre of the rug. Their nightly embrace lasted all of five seconds before Emily’s nose twitched against the skin of Andy's neck.
A subtle smile touched Emily's lips. "Coach."
Andy held her breath.
"...Dreams Sunset."
Andy’s jaw dropped slightly. "You know that one too?!"
Emily pulled back, looking genuinely bewildered by Andy's surprise. "Of course I do."
"When have you ever worn Coach?"
"Since forever, Andrea."
Andy blinked. "What?"
Emily let out a light, musical laugh. "Serena gave it to me for my birthday years ago. I wore it religiously for an entire summer."
"...Right," Andy mumbled, rubbing the back of her neck.
"You weren't paying attention," Emily said, a wicked little smirk forming.
"I was!"
"You really, truly weren't."
Andy let out a dramatic, long-suffering sigh. "Fine."
She marched over to the calendar, uncapped the marker, and added a second neat checkmark to the grid. Two for two.
Emily came up behind her, admiring the fresh mark with entirely too much smugness. "I do hope you're keeping score accurately. I'd hate for future generations to forget my brilliance."
Day 3: Velvet Orchid — Tom Ford
"This had better be returned without a single scratch on the bottle," Nigel warned, his dark eyes hovering over the heavy, plum-coloured glass currently disappearing into Andy’s coat pocket.
"It will be," Andy promised, patting her jacket.
"You don't even know what you're borrowing."
"I know exactly what I'm borrowing. It's an iconic blend."
"Look at you," Nigel hummed, leaning his elbows on the glass beauty display with a faint smile. "Developing expensive taste."
"I'm working for Runway, Nigel."
"Yes, but you're borrowing my expensive taste."
Andy offered him an unapologetic grin. "I only need a couple of sprays. I'm returning it tomorrow morning."
Nigel tilted his head, giving her a sharp, piercing look. "...You're being weird, Six."
"I'm always weird."
"Not this specific strain of weird." He pointed a long, manicured finger at her face. "What are you up to?"
Andy immediately threw her hands up, adopting her most innocent, wide-eyed gaze. "Nothing! It's just a silly little game."
"...Andy."
"I'll put it back on your desk before your morning coffee arrives!"
Nigel exhaled the heavy, dramatic sigh of a man who loved Andy dearly, but knew pushing for more information was a lost cause. "Fine. But if a single drop leaks, I'm billing your department."
By the time seven o'clock rolled around, the fragrance had bloomed into something deep, intoxicating, and heavy—notes of dark floral suede, wild honey, and rich, smoky vanilla clinging closely to her skin.
Emily was already home when Andy unlocked the front door. She was lounging on the velvet sofa, a stack of French fashion glossies resting in her lap.
"You're late," Emily noted, resting her chin on her hand.
"Traffic on Forty-Second was a nightmare."
Andy crossed the room, kicking off her boots as she went. Emily set her magazine aside and stood to greet her. As had been their ritual for years, Emily wrapped her arms around Andy's waist and pulled her close.
She inhaled deeply against Andy’s collarbone.
A beat passed.
"...Tom Ford."
Andy kept her face completely neutral, refusing to give an inch.
Emily took another soft, deliberate breath, her warm lips brushing the side of Andy's neck. "Velvet Orchid."
A triumphant little smile tugged at Emily's mouth. "I had a rather embarrassing Tom Ford phase in my late twenties, if you recall."
Andy snorted, her hands resting comfortably on Emily's hips. "I do recall. You owned entirely too many bottles."
"I owned seven."
“Yeah, you alphabetised them on my dresser.”
"...I did," Emily conceded smoothly.
Another crisp black checkmark joined the previous two on the kitchen calendar. Emily stood beside her, arms crossed over her chest, looking almost disappointed by the lack of a challenge.
"You really are laying down softballs, Andrea. It's day three and I've yet to even break a sweat."
"It's only the beginning," Andy replied casually, capping the marker with a solid snap. "Don't get cocky."
She turned around to catch Emily staring at her with a sharp calculating gaze.
"...You're plotting something," Emily accused softly, taking a slow step toward her.
"What on earth makes you say that?"
"You keep wearing that infuriatingly smug little smile."
"I'm just pleased you're winning, Em," Andy said, her voice dropping into a warm gentle tone as she wrapped an arm around Emily's waist and tugged her toward the stove. "Now, what are we doing about dinner?"
Emily allowed herself to be pulled along, resting her head against Andy's shoulder with a contented sigh.
She didn't see Andy glance back over her shoulder one last time. Three neat checks. Twenty-eight days to go.
Everything was unfolding exactly as planned.
Day 4: Sheer — Tiffany & Co.
Day four was almost a complete disaster.
Andy had every intention of slipping down to Beauty during her lunch hour. Instead, Miranda decided at 11:45 AM that she required company for an impromptu afternoon meeting with Sasha Barnes, and Andy was swept into the vortex.
Three hours disappeared into chauffeured town cars, impeccably decorated penthouses, and listening to Sasha and Miranda casually trade power moves. By the time they returned to the office, Andy's inbox had tripled, her morning coffee had gone stone cold, and the Beauty department had long since packed up for the day.
She didn't remember the perfume challenge until she unlocked the front door of their apartment that evening.
"Oh, damn."
A quick glance at her watch revealed she had a small window. Emily wasn't home yet. Kicking off her boots, Andy hurried into their bedroom and crouched in front of her own, considerably smaller fragrance collection on the lower shelf.
"Hm..."
Her fingers landed almost immediately on a familiar, translucent bottle tinted that iconic shade of robin’s-egg blue.
Tiffany Sheer.
Andy smiled. It wasn't loud or complex. Bright blackcurrant opened fresh and tart before soft rose settled into a gentle, powdery iris. It wasn't the boldest fragrance she owned, but it was... comfortable.
It smelled like lazy Sunday afternoons. Like oversized cashmere jumpers. Like rainy mornings spent reading beside Emily on the sofa with fresh coffee brewing in the kitchen.
It smelled like home.
Andy applied a single, delicate spray to each wrist and smoothed it onto her throat. Perfect.
-
Emily arrived twenty minutes later, her key jingling in the lock. The door had barely clicked shut before Andy wandered into the hallway, leaning against the doorframe.
"Hi, baby."
"Hello, darling." Emily offered a tired, genuine smile as she stepped straight into Andy's arms.
The hug lingered longer than usual. Andy felt the tension slowly leave Emily's shoulders after what had clearly been an exhausting afternoon of corporate back-and-forth. Emily buried her face into the curve of Andy's neck, breathing in deep.
A beat passed.
"...Tiffany."
Andy waited, feeling the vibrations of Emily's voice against her collarbone.
"...Sheer."
Andy pulled back just enough to look at her, a soft smile on her lips. "Correct."
"I know." Emily's sharp blue eyes melted into something tender as she leaned up to kiss Andy's cheek. "I like this one."
"You do?"
"It smells..." Emily searched for the right word, her thumb lightly brushing Andy's jawline. "...like you."
Andy blinked, caught off guard. "But it's perfume."
"I know." Emily tucked a stray lock of hair behind Andy's ear, her gaze lingering. "It still smells like you."
For reasons Andy couldn't quite articulate, that simple compliment warmed her far more than any of Emily's effortless, haughty correct answers.
She walked over to the calendar and marked another neat checkmark. Emily followed, gently taking the black marker out of Andy's hand.
"What are you doing?" Andy asked, watching her.
"I'm improving your crude scoring system."
Before Andy could intervene, Emily drew a tiny, delicate heart right beside the fourth checkmark.
"There."
Andy smirked, leaning her hip against the counter. "...That's hardly objective data, Em."
"I wasn't aiming for objective." Emily capped the pen with a flourish.
Andy laughed, leaning over to press a soft kiss to her temple. "I'll allow it."
Day 5: Crystal Emerald — Versace
By Friday, people in the office had started noticing Andy's sudden interest in fragrances.
Specifically... Amari.
Andy wandered into the executive ladies' room that afternoon, purely focused on washing her hands before a 3:00 PM editorial sync. She had every intention of making her usual detour to Beauty immediately after.
Instead, she froze in the doorway.
Amari was standing in front of the vanity mirror, touching up her lipstick before reaching into her structured leather handbag and pulling out an emerald-green bottle of Versace.
Spritz. Spritz. One generous mist to each wrist, followed by a quick dab at her throat.
Andy’s eyes lit up. "Oh!"
Amari caught Andy’s reflection in the mirror, her hand pausing mid-air. "...What?"
Andy pointed a finger at the bottle. "You're wearing perfume."
"...Yes, Andy. Most adults do."
Andy stepped closer, a delighted grin spreading across her face. "That means I don't have to walk all the way down to Beauty today!"
Amari blinked slowly, shifting her weight. "...Excuse me?"
"Can I borrow it? Just two quick sprays."
Silence stretched between them. Amari looked down at the sleek green bottle in her hand, then up at Andy's pleading face, then back to the bottle.
"...You've been suspiciously lurking around the Beauty department all week, Andy."
Andy offered her a look of pure, unadulterated innocence. "I've merely been appreciating the artistry of the department."
"Mhm."
"And now you've conveniently manifested right here with a top-tier fragrance!"
"I was topping mine up for a dinner date."
"Exactly. Universal timing."
Amari stared at her. "...You're weird."
"I've been told," Andy agreed cheerfully.
With a dramatic, long-suffering sigh, Amari extended the bottle. "Two sprays. That is all you get."
"I only need two!"
Andy applied a spritz to each side of her neck with absolute reverence before passing it back. "You are an absolute lifesaver, Amari."
"I don't even know what secret operation I've just enabled."
"Nothing suspicious, I promise."
Amari gave her a flat look that communicated she believed approximately zero percent of that sentence. "That is somehow less reassuring than if you'd lied."
-
Emily had barely crossed the threshold of their apartment that evening when Andy wrapped her in a warm greeting hug.
Emily rested her cheek against Andy's shoulder with a contented sigh. "Oh, honestly."
"What?"
"Versace."
Andy raised an eyebrow. "Which one?"
"Crystal Emerald."
Andy pulled back slightly. "...That fast?"
Emily looked almost scandalised by the question. "Andrea. Please."
"What?"
"I am quite close with Donatella."
"...Fair point."
"If I failed to recognise one of Versace's flagship blends, she would personally revoke my front-row invitation to Milan."
Andy laughed aloud, pulling Emily back into her arms. "I think she'd forgive you."
"I wouldn't forgive myself."
Andy dutifully marched over to the grid and added a fifth black checkmark. Five days down. Five flawless answers.
Emily stood beside her, crossing her arms and admiring the growing row of marks with deeply unabashed satisfaction. "I do hope this game gets more difficult soon. I'm practically sleeping through these."
Andy smiled secretly to herself as she capped the pen. "Oh, don't worry. It will."
Day 6: Aqua Allegoria Florabloom Forte — Guerlain
The Beauty department was unusually chaotic on Saturday afternoon. Editors were clustered around the marble counters, animatedly debating upcoming spring launches.
"...It's the mango note that completely sold me," someone argued.
"No, the mandarin balances it out."
"The Forte concentration lasts so much longer on the skin, though."
Andy stopped dead in her tracks near the display aisle. Mango?
She immediately veered toward the Guerlain counter. The beauty consultant recognised her right away, offering a welcoming smile. "Would you like to try the new Florabloom Forte, Andy?"
"Does it have mango?" Andy asked, leaning over the counter.
"And mandarin, with a rich tuberose base."
"...Sold."
One quick spritz to her pulse points. A vibrant burst of zesty citrus blossomed instantly, followed by the lush, mouthwatering sweetness of ripe mango, grounded by a creamy floral depth underneath.
Andy grinned, smelling her wrist as she walked back to her desk. Fruit. Perfect. She smelled vaguely, delightfully edible.
-
That evening, Emily was the one who arrived home first. Andy walked through the door twenty minutes later, clutching two warm bags of Italian takeaway.
Emily met her at the island, taking one of the heavy paper bags out of her hands before drawing Andy into their customary evening embrace.
One slow, deep breath against Andy's collarbone.
Emily paused. Her brow furrowed slightly. "Hm."
Andy had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing out loud. Finally. A moment of hesitation.
"Guerlain," Emily muttered, her nose lingering near Andy's neck. She took another soft, deliberate breath. "...Aqua Allegoria."
Another pause. Emily’s eyes narrowed in deep concentration. "Hm."
Andy pressed her lips together, her heart fluttering with quiet glee. Emily was actually working for it.
"...Florabloom..."
Silence filled the kitchen.
"...Forte?" Emily finally declared, looking up.
Andy let out a triumphant cheer. "Yes!"
Emily immediately looked offended by the celebration. "I wasn't struggling. I was calibrating."
"You hesitated for five whole seconds!"
"I was deciding whether you were wearing the Toilette or the Forte concentration," Emily countered, setting the takeaway bag down on the counter with a quiet thud.
"That's still absurd!"
"They are distinct compositions, Andrea!"
"They're virtually identical!"
"They are very different to a trained palate."
Andy threw her hands up in gentle surrender. "If you say so, darling."
"I do."
Emily watched intently as Andy marked the sixth checkmark on the calendar wall. She nodded with quiet, approving satisfaction.
"I appreciate," Emily noted primly, "that you've finally selected something that required a fraction of a brain cell."
Andy smiled into her sleeve as she set the marker down.
Good. Because if Emily thought a Guerlain fruity-floral was pushing her limits... she had absolutely no idea what kind of chaotic, subtext-heavy madness Andy was preparing for week two.
Day 7: Symphony — Louis Vuitton
Sunday meant no Runway. No Beauty department. No convenient, work-appropriate excuse to "just happen" to sample another high-end bottle.
Fortunately, Emily’s glittering career came with one undeniable perk, that their Manhattan apartment contained enough luxury fragrance samples, press gifts, and tiny discovery vials to stock a respectable boutique.
Andy squatted down beside the low dresser in their bedroom, pulling open the small mahogany drawer where they stashed the inevitable collection of promotional decants. Her fingers rummaged through the velvet pouches until she found what she was looking for. A tiny, sleek vial labeled Symphony.
She uncapped it and dabbed a drop onto her pulse points. Bright, zesty citrus burst forward instantly, sharpened by the fiery kick of fresh ginger before settling into a sparkling, juicy grapefruit base.
It smelled... happy. Bright and effortless. Andy approved.
Sunday mornings were reserved for sleeping in. Sunday afternoons were reserved for doing absolutely nothing.
Emily spent the better part of the day curled into the far corner of the sofa, wrapped in a plush cream cardigan, buried under a stack of fashion house quarterly reports she stubbornly insisted counted as "light weekend reading."
Andy chose not to comment on her girlfriend’s complete inability to truly off-gas.
Around four o'clock, Andy padded over in her socks and hovered beside the sofa. "Cuddle?"
Emily didn't even glance up from her tablet screen. "You may."
Andy laughed quietly, squeezing herself into the narrow gap beside her and tucking her head comfortably against Emily's rib cage. Emily's free arm folded around Andy’s shoulders on instinct, her lips pressing a soft, absentminded kiss to the crown of Andy's head.
Emily took a slow, quiet breath. "...Louis Vuitton."
Andy grinned into the soft wool of Emily's cardigan. "Mhm."
"...Symphony."
Andy pulled back just enough to look up at her. "You didn't even pause your reading!"
"I multitask, Andrea."
"I think you're just showing off."
"I am absolutely showing off," Emily corrected primly, finally looking down with an affectionate smirk.
Another neat black checkmark joined the calendar in the kitchen. Emily stood beside her, admiring the row with her arms crossed. "I have yet to even break a sweat."
"You are unbearably smug, Em."
"Only because I'm right."
Day 8: Portrait of a Lady — Frédéric Malle
By Monday, the editors in Beauty had fully given up trying to figure out Andy’s sudden obsession and had transitioned straight to enabling her.
The moment Andy crossed the threshold into the department, two beauty assistants looked up from a mountain of product boxes.
"Back again, Andy?"
"I'm conducting research," Andy declared smoothly, leaning against the counter.
"Research."
"For Features."
"Of course you are."
Nobody believed her for a second, but they slid the sample bottle across the polished surface anyway.
Portrait of a Lady unfolded completely differently from everything Andy had worn over the past week. It was heavy, dramatic, and intensely atmospheric. Deep, velvety rose opened first, layered with dark, ripe berries, before settling into a lingering trail of patchouli, clove, and warm frankincense.
It felt bold. Unapologetic. It felt, in fact, remarkably like Emily.
-
Emily arrived home nearly an hour after Andy that evening.
The apartment smelled rich and savoury, a delicate haze of sautéed garlic and herbs wafting from the kitchen stove. Andy had successfully cooked a full dinner without setting off the smoke detector, scorching a pan, or calling for takeout.
She was privately celebrating this as an independent monumental victory.
Emily paused in the entryway, sniffing the air with absolute disbelief. "Did you... cook?"
"I did." Andy offered a proud, triumphant bow from behind the kitchen island.
Emily eyed the simmering saucepan with deep suspicion. "Voluntarily?"
"I am actively fulfilling my New Year's resolution, thank you very much."
"...Who are you, and what have you done with my girlfriend?"
Andy rolled her eyes, walking around the island. "Just hug me, you brat."
Emily obliged, stepping into Andy's arms and resting her chin on her shoulder. She drew a slow, deep breath against Andy's neck.
"Oh." Emily paused, her posture softening instantly. A small genuine smile touched her lips. "I haven't worn this in years."
"You've worn it?"
"Briefly. In London." Emily closed her eyes for another second, breathing in the rich, earthy rose. "Portrait of a Lady."
Andy pointed a triumphant finger. "Correct!"
"It suits you," Emily murmured softly, opening her eyes to look at Andy.
"You think so?"
"Mhm." Emily rested her forehead gently against Andy's, her voice dropping into that rare, tender register reserved only for late nights between the two of them. "You make it softer."
Andy felt a strange, lovely warmth blossom in her chest at the words. "I didn't know a perfume like this could be 'soft.'"
"It can be on the right person."
Andy stood there for a long moment, simply soaking in the quiet intensity of Emily's gaze before stepping away to retrieve the black Sharpie.
Tick number eight. Still completely, impeccably perfect.
Day 9: Chance — Chanel Eau de Parfum
Tuesday morning began with Miranda altering her schedule four separate times before 10:00 AM, sending the entire editorial floor into a frantic tailspin.
By lunchtime, Andy desperately needed a triple espresso. By three o'clock, she desperately needed a five-minute escape to the Beauty floor.
The staff greeted her like a daily regular. "Back already?"
"You say that as though it's unusual," Andy teased, stepping up to the Chanel display.
"It has become unusual!"
Andy pretended not to hear, her eyes scanning the elegant glass bottles until she spotted a classic. Reliable, timeless, and completely unmistakable.
Chanel Chance.
A delicate spray to each pulse point. Spicy pink pepper brightened off her skin immediately, slowly giving way to soft jasmine and iris resting on a warm, golden bed of vanilla and patchouli.
Simple. Elegant. Grounding. Exactly what she needed after a chaotic day at Miranda's beck and call.
Emily was already home when Andy arrived that evening, buried behind three separate laptops spread across the dining table, a surface explicitly designed for two people.
"Hello, darling," Emily murmured without looking up from her screen.
Andy walked straight over, tapping Emily's shoulder. Emily stood up on autopilot, slipping her arms around Andy’s waist. Their evening hug had become such an instinctual, muscle-memory ritual that neither of them even thought about it anymore.
Emily pressed her nose against the hollow of Andy’s throat, taking a quick, practiced breath.
A tiny smirk formed against Andy's skin. "Chanel."
Andy waited.
"...Chance."
Another brief beat passed as Emily's thumb rubbed Andy's hip. "The Eau de Parfum."
Andy blinked, pulling back slightly. "...Not the Eau Tendre?"
Emily looked mildly scandalised by the mere suggestion. "Andrea, please. Those are completely different compositions."
"They're both Chance!"
"They belong to entirely different scent families! Eau Tendre is a fruity-floral, this has amber and pepper."
Andy let out a rich laugh, shaking her head. "I'll take your word for it."
"You really should."
Andy uncapped the marker. Nine neat, crisp black checkmarks now stretched across the first full third of the January calendar grid.
Emily folded her arms, watching the pen move with unmistakable, smug satisfaction. "I remain undefeated."
Andy capped the pen close, looking back over her shoulder with a sweet, mysterious smile. "So you do."
Emily completely missed the deliberate, tiny emphasis on so. She was already returning to her three laptops, blissfully unaware of the subtle shift taking place.
Andy, on the other hand, was already mentally preparing tomorrow’s bottle, and the twenty-two days still waiting in the wings.
Day 10: L'Eau d’Issey Pivoine — Issey Miyake
Ten days into January, Andy finally managed to make Emily hesitate.
It happened on a rainy Wednesday afternoon. Andy slipped into Beauty between two high-stakes layout meetings, sprayed L'Eau d'Issey Pivoine onto her wrists and neck, and spent the rest of the day feeling absurdly, quietly pleased with herself.
The fragrance was bright, airy, and deceptively complex. It opened with a rush of juicy, ice-cold pear before blooming into a soft, velvety peony heart, eventually settling into a quiet, clean cedarwood.
Delicate. Feminine. Just ambiguous enough to blur the lines. Or so Andy hoped.
-
Emily arrived home just after seven, bringing in the sharp, chilly scent of winter rain. Their evening routine unfolded with the practiced ease of a dance they’d performed a hundred times before.
Shoes off at the entryway bench. Tailored wool coats hung on the hooks. A quick, affectionate kiss on the lips, followed by a warm, lingering hug.
Emily buried her face into the curve of Andy’s neck and inhaled. "...Jo Malone."
Andy’s left eyebrow twitched upward, a silent, triumphant glint in her eyes.
Emily’s brow furrowed against Andy's skin instantly. "...No."
Another slow, deep inhale. "...No, that's not right at all."
Andy remained completely, beautifully silent, holding her breath.
Emily pulled back an inch, her sharp blue eyes narrowing in intense concentration. "...Peony..."
Another thoughtful pause stretched between them.
"Oh!" Emily let out a light, self-deprecating laugh, her expression shifting instantly to amusement. "Issey Miyake."
Andy’s lips twitched.
"...Pivoine," Emily finalised, her tone completely restoring her usual effortless authority.
"There it is," Andy said, her smile breaking through completely.
Emily groaned, dropping her head back onto Andy’s shoulder with dramatic anguish. "I was thinking of Jo Malone's Peony & Blush Suede!"
"I noticed."
"The peony accord threw me for a split second!"
"I didn't say a word," Andy protested, her hands resting comfortably on Emily's waist.
"You raised an eyebrow," Emily countered, pointing an accusatory finger at her face. "I felt it."
"All I did was look at you."
"You weaponised your facial features, Andrea."
Andy tried very hard to look like a picture of pure innocence. "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."
"That eyebrow should be classified as a weapon."
Andy considered this carefully for a beat. "...I'll still give you the full point."
"You certainly should."
"I am feeling remarkably generous tonight."
Emily leaned up, pressing a warm, brief kiss to the corner of Andy's mouth. "You are also entirely incapable of hiding your tells."
Andy made a quiet, mental note: Work on poker face.
A tenth crisp checkmark joined the growing grid on the calendar.
Day 11: Black Opium — Yves Saint Laurent
By Thursday, Runway’s Beauty department had officially ceased to function as a corporate workspace and had fully transitioned into Andy’s personal luxury fragrance library.
The editors didn't even bother looking up from their keyboards when she walked in.
"Morning, Andy."
"Morning, guys."
"Back for today's daily selection?"
Andy scoffed lightly, leaning against a display case. "You make me sound predictable."
"You are predictable," a senior beauty assistant offered without missing a beat.
Andy pretended to be deeply offended, but her eyes were already scanning the shelves.
Black Opium felt like an obvious, shameless curveball. Rich roasted coffee beans, sweet warm vanilla, and a spicy kick of pink pepper. It was dark, heavy, and intoxicating, a scent far richer than what Andy usually favoured for daytime wear, to the point where she caught delicious, warm whiffs of herself all through the long afternoon.
-
Emily beat her home again, sitting at the kitchen island with her laptop open when Andy unlocked the front door.
"You're late, darling."
"I know," Andy sighed, kicking off her heels with a wince.
"Miranda?"
"When isn't it Miranda?"
Emily hummed in deep, sympathetic solidarity and opened her arms. Andy happily walked straight into them, slumping against Emily’s chest with a weary sigh.
Emily rested her chin on Andy's head, drawing a single, deep breath. "YSL.”
Andy smiled against her blouse.
"...Black Opium."
Checkmark number eleven.
Emily pulled back slightly, looking almost disappointed by how quickly the answer had come to her. "I miss actually being challenged."
"You were challenged yesterday!" Andy pointed out.
"I recovered admirably."
"You corrected yourself after guessing the wrong house!"
"I corrected myself immediately," Emily refined primly.
Andy laughed aloud. "I'll remember to deduct style points for self-corrections next time."
Emily looked utterly horrified by the concept. "Andrea! There are no 'style points' in fragrance identification!"
"There could be. I'm the judge."
"You are a tyrant."
Day 12: Princess — Vera Wang
Andy had full intention of picking a sophisticated, classic floral on Friday afternoon.
Then she saw the bottle sitting on a promotional tray. Princess by Vera Wang.
Andy stopped, a slow smile touching her lips. Cute name. Pretty heart-shaped bottle. Deeply nostalgic, powdery-sweet scent. Why on earth not?
It opened with a burst of crisp green apple and juicy apricot before melting into a luxurious, warm heart of dark chocolate, creamy vanilla, and soft pink musk by the time her shift ended.
It was fun. Playful. Unapologetically youthful. Exactly what a cold Friday evening called for.
-
Emily arrived home first. Andy walked into the kitchen to find her quietly stirring a mug of Earl Grey by the stove.
"Hello, baby," Andy murmured.
"There you are," Emily replied, setting her spoon down on a saucer.
Andy stepped forward, and Emily met her halfway on the hardwood floor. Their daily embrace had become almost ceremonial now, a quiet, grounded anchor at the end of every chaotic workday.
Emily rested her chin lightly on Andy's shoulder, taking a slow, deep breath of the warm, sweet vanilla blossoming off Andy’s neck.
Andy waited, bracing for the inevitable dry declaration of the brand.
Emily didn't speak. Instead... she stepped back.
She looked Andy directly in the eye, her expression entirely serene. Then, with all the exaggerated, precise elegance of a woman raised in high-society London, Emily gathered the sides of her imaginary ballgown skirts with both hands... and performed a flawless, low, sweeping curtsy.
Andy blinked, completely stunned for a second. "...What was that?"
Emily straightened up, a brilliant, triumphant smirk lighting up her face. "Princess."
Andy burst out laughing, the sound ringing off the tile walls. "You idiot!"
"I thought I'd answer theatrically for once," Emily defended smoothly, returning to her tea.
"It was terribly convincing."
"I've been practicing my royal court posture my entire life, darling. I’m British."
Andy was still chuckling as she walked over to the calendar and unzipped the cap of the black marker. Twelfth checkmark, crisp and clear.
Emily leaned her shoulder against the doorframe beside her, watching the ink dry. "You know..."
"Hm?"
"This is actually becoming rather fun."
Andy paused, the marker hovering an inch above the paper.
Fun.
Right. Because Emily wasn't just identifying fragrances off a cold checklist anymore. She was interacting with them. She was reading them, enjoying them... responding to them.
Princess had earned a curtsy. Sheer had earned a heart.
Andy stared thoughtfully at the grid. Her eyes flicked to the little heart beside Day Four. Then back to Emily, who was blissfully, innocently blowing on her hot tea without another thought in the world.
A slow, brilliant, dangerous smile spread across Andy's face.
Emily looked up over the rim of her mug and froze instantly. "...Oh no."
Andy blinked, trying to look neutral. "What?"
"That smile."
"What smile?"
"The one that means your absurd little journalist brain has just hatched an idea."
"I haven't hatched anything!"
"You absolutely have."
"I promise you, Em, I am completely idea-free."
Emily narrowed her eyes with deep, aristocratic skepticism. "I don't believe a word coming out of your mouth."
Andy only smiled wider. Because quite suddenly... she had about eighteen ideas waiting in the queue.
Day 13: Call Me Darling — Carolina Herrera
Andy spotted the bottle sitting near the front of the display before she’d even reached the counter.
Call Me Darling.
A helpless smile touched her lips. Well... that was almost an unfair advantage.
Darling had become so deeply woven into the fabric of their lives that Andy barely even registered it as a pet name anymore. Emily said it dozens of times a day, as natural and instinctual as breathing.
Good morning, darling. Drive safely, darling. You are impossible, darling.
She called her darling when she was half-asleep and reaching across the sheets. When she was secretly amused. When she was deeply exasperated. When she was secretly, profoundly proud of her. When she simply wanted Andy’s attention from the next room. It wasn't just a term of endearment, it was simply... who Andy was to her. It had become such a constant anchor in Andy's life that she sometimes forgot the word wasn't exclusively her name.
The fragrance itself was divine, soft, ripe cherry brightened with a splash of zesty bergamot before melting into warm orange blossom and rich tonka bean, but if Andy was being completely honest, she chose it almost entirely for the title.
She couldn't wait to see Emily's reaction.
-
By now, their evening ritual had become a wonderfully predictable dance. One of them arrived home. The other inevitably drifted into the hallway. A kiss. A long, grounding hug. Then, the guessing game.
Emily wrapped her arms around Andy’s waist, resting her chin lightly against her shoulder. She drew in one slow, deliberate breath.
Andy felt Emily’s cheek curve into a smile against her skin before she even saw it.
Emily leaned back just enough to catch Andy's eyes, her voice dropping into a soft, fond murmur. "...Darling."
That was all she said.
Andy beamed, her chest swelling with a sudden, overwhelming rush of affection. Without another word, she reached for the black marker hanging beside the wall calendar, uncapped it, and drew a thirteenth neat checkmark in the box.
Emily watched her with glowing amusement. "You're counting that?"
Andy looked over her shoulder, a cheeky glint in her eyes. "You recognised it."
"I did."
"You answered."
"I suppose I did," Emily conceded, her lips twitching.
Andy capped the pen, still smiling softly to herself. Neither of them said anything else. They didn't need to. The challenge had developed its own subtle, unspoken vocabulary, and somehow, they both spoke it fluently.
Day 14: Irresistible Rose Velvet — Givenchy
Andy had barely spritzed the fragrance onto her wrist in the Beauty department before she started laughing out loud to herself.
Irresistible Rose Velvet.
She already knew, with terrifying certainty, the exact cheesy line she was going to deliver.
-
Their evening embrace had become absolute second nature by two weeks in. Emily wrapped her arms around Andy, burying her nose into the warm crook of Andy's neck.
She breathed in. Then, almost immediately, her head tilted in slight confusion. "...What about the irresistible rose velvet?"
Andy’s entire face lit up. "Oh?"
She smirked with too much self-satisfied confidence. "You mean besides the fact that you're my irresistible rose velvet?"
Silence fell over the hallway.
Emily pulled back, staring at her with complete, unblinking stoicism. "...'
"..."
Then, with sudden violent enthusiasm, Emily made an exaggerated gagging noise into her hand. "Oh, that was atrocious, Andrea! Absolutely dreadful."
"I thought it was charming!" Andy defended, laughing.
"It was a criminal offense against poetry."
"I was being entirely sincere!"
"You should issue a formal apology to Givenchy."
Andy laughed so hard her shoulders shook, nearly dropping the marker twice before managing to add the fourteenth checkmark to the board.
Emily watched her with long-suffering, deeply affectionate exasperation. "I honestly cannot decide whether this little game is sharpening my olfactive senses or making your jokes significantly worse."
"It's definitely both, Em."
"I was deeply afraid you'd say that."
Day 15: Capri in Love — Dolce & Gabbana
Halfway through January. Fifteen days down. Fifteen flawless scores.
Andy was beginning to suspect Emily might actually be as frighteningly, impossibly good as she always claimed. She had selected Capri in Love simply because the name amused her, a bright, sun-drenched burst of Italian citrus, lush orange blossom, and creamy vanilla. It smelled like warm Mediterranean sunshine trapped in a bottle.
-
Emily identified the house almost before Andy had fully stepped through the door.
"Dolce & Gabbana."
Andy nodded, holding her breath.
"...Capri in Love."
Another perfect hit.
Emily smiled softly, smoothing down her blouse. "I quite like that one on you, actually."
"Yeah?"
"Mhm." Emily studied her face for a beat, leaning against the doorframe. "Did someone in Beauty slip you that sample, or was it one of those relentless freebies Dolce keeps flinging at the office?"
Andy chuckled. "The former."
"Hm."
A mischievous, wicked little grin slowly crept onto Andy's face.
Emily let out a long, suffering sigh before Andy could even open her mouth. "...What?"
"You know..." Andy folded her arms, trying and failing to look like a serious marketing executive. "...I really think they ought to rename it."
Emily already looked utterly exhausted by the setup. "Oh? And what, pray tell, would you name it?"
"'Andy in Love.'"
Emily closed her eyes, letting her head rest back against the doorframe. "...Really."
"It has a lovely, poetic ring to it, don't you think?"
"It absolutely does not."
"I think it's totally marketable!"
Emily opened her eyes and stared at her for a long, deliberate beat. Then, she rolled her eyes so dramatically Andy was genuinely impressed she didn't lose her balance. "Oh, do shut up."
Andy dissolved into bright, helpless laughter. Emily couldn't hide the soft, helpless smile tugging at the corners of her own lips as she reached right past Andy's shoulder to snatch the marker out of her hand.
Before Andy could protest, Emily drew another tiny, delicate heart right next to the fifteenth checkmark.
"There."
Andy eyed the board, her voice dripping with mock sternness. "You really can't keep vandalising the official scoreboard, Em."
"I am the referee, darling. I can do whatever I like."
Andy looked from the second little heart back to Emily's warm, fond expression, her own chest feeling full and peaceful. "...I'll allow it."
Emily’s smile widened, soft and completely unshielded. "I knew you would."
Day 16: Hungry Hungry Hippies — Smell Bent
By day sixteen, Andy had completely abandoned choosing fragrances solely because they smelled nice. Now... she was choosing them because they were tactical.
She glanced at their shared calendar that morning while pouring her second cup of coffee. Emily had the afternoon off, a rare, coveted weekday reprieve.
Perfect. Which meant Emily would be home first. Which meant... Andy absolutely wasn't going to have to cook.
Her eyes landed on an absurdly named bottle she’d discovered buried amidst Beauty’s endless, towering sample shelves. Hungry Hungry Hippies.
Andy laughed out loud, right there in the quiet office corridor. "...Well, if that isn't divine timing."
The fragrance itself was... peculiar, to put it gently. Rich chocolate, damp earth, heavy patchouli, and something faintly herbal that Andy couldn't quite identify. It certainly wasn't everyone's cup of tea, but the title? The title was absolute genius.
-
The mouthwatering aroma of sautéed garlic greeted Andy before Emily even made an appearance. Success.
Emily was already at the kitchen island, her silk sleeves rolled neatly to her elbows, quietly chopping vegetables on a wooden board. She looked up as Andy walked through the door.
"Hello, darling."
Andy crossed the hardwood floor, stepping right into their familiar, welcoming hug. Emily pressed her face into Andy's collarbone and inhaled deeply.
A long, heavy pause hung in the air.
Then Emily let out a long sigh with the weary, affectionate resignation of a woman who had been thoroughly, brilliantly outmanoeuvred.
"...All right, my hungry hippie."
Andy bit the inside of her cheek so hard it hurt.
"What would you like me to make for dinner?" Emily asked, not even bothering to look up.
Andy burst into bright, unfiltered laughter. "You got it!"
"I did," Emily noted, reaching for another red onion. "I also appear to have been blatantly manipulated."
"I prefer the term 'scent-persuaded.'"
"You literally applied a obscure niche fragrance specifically to force me into kitchen duty."
"...Maybe."
Emily shook her head, though the corners of her mouth twitched with a helpless smirk. "You are really impossible, Andrea."
Andy leaned casually against the counter, batting her eyelashes. "...So... pasta?"
Emily let out a grand, dramatic sigh for the audience of one. "Pasta it is."
Another neat black checkmark appeared on the calendar. Worth every single drop.
Day 17: J'adore — Dior
Some fragrances required zero strategy. No elaborate subtext, no hidden jokes, no secret negotiations.
J'adore simply felt... appropriate.
Andy smiled as she sprayed it onto her pulse points in the quiet corner of the Beauty department. Crisp, elegant pear and soft, golden florals settled gently against her warm skin. Classic. Timeless. Radiantly beautiful. Rather like the woman who would undoubtedly identify it in under three seconds flat.
-
Emily arrived home considerably later than usual, her shoulders carrying the heavy weight of a brutal afternoon meeting. She looked completely drained.
Andy met her right at the doorway, taking her coat and pulling her into a hug that lasted a little longer than their usual quick hello.
Emily inhaled against her throat, her tense posture melting instantly. A quiet, soft smile touched her lips. "...J'adore."
Andy dramatically clutched both hands over her heart, gasping. "Moi aussi!"
Emily blinked, pulling back an inch. "...Andrea."
"I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself!"
Emily let out a sudden, involuntary laugh despite her exhaustion. "That was appalling."
"I know."
"Unforgivable, really."
"But technically..." Andy reached over to the wall calendar, uncapping the black marker with a grin. "...still correct."
"I suppose it was," Emily admitted, stepping closer to rest her forehead gently against Andy's. "I walked straight into that one, didn't I?"
"You really did, baby."
"I'll know better next time."
Andy smiled secretly against her skin. No, you won't.
Day 18: Guilty — Gucci
The disaster occurred shortly before 8:00 AM.
Andy was halfway through transferring the laundry from the washing machine when she froze. Deep in the centre of the drum sat one bright magenta skirt... surrounded by five of her crispest white blouses. Or used to be her crispest white blouses.
She stared into the machine in utter horror. "...No."
She yanked the wet clothes out. Too late. Everything had emerged a decidedly uniform, undeniably blush tone.
Andy closed her eyes, letting out a long, suffering breath. "...Well."
There was no fixing it before work. She immediately fired off a frantic text to their local luxury dry cleaner pleading for a miracle before heading out the door.
Around lunchtime, while wandering through Beauty with the tragic expression of someone seeking divine intervention, Andy stopped dead in front of the Gucci display counter.
Guilty.
Andy let out a breathless, self-deprecating laugh. Honestly... she deserved that.
-
Emily opened the apartment door before Andy had even managed to locate her keys.
"There you are," Emily said.
Andy stepped inside, bracing herself as she walked straight into their evening embrace. Emily took a single, sharp breath against Andy's neck... and immediately let out a heavy sigh.
"...What did you do this time?"
Andy started laughing nervously before she’d even begun her confession. "How on earth do you already know?"
"You're wearing Guilty, Andrea."
"...Right."
Emily folded her arms over her chest, stepping back with an arched eyebrow. "Well? Out with it."
Andy looked appropriately, deeply ashamed. "I..."
"Mhm?"
"...I accidentally washed one of my pink skirts with all my white blouses."
Silence fell over the hallway.
Emily slowly brought two fingers up to pinch the bridge of her nose. "Andrea."
"I know."
"Are they all pink now?"
"...Sort of."
"How pink is 'sort of'?"
"...Like a delicate, tulip-kind of blush?"
Emily let out a long, pained groan.
"I've already booked the emergency dry cleaner!" Andy added quickly, throwing her hands up.
Emily paused, looking at her with a disbelieving tilt of her head. "You booked the dry cleaner before telling me?"
"I was hoping proactive problem-solving might lessen the sting of disappointment."
Emily stared at her for the whole of three seconds. Then, her shoulders began to shake as she broke into genuine, bright laughter. "Oh, darling."
"What?"
"I knew you'd done something atrocious the second you walked through the door."
"You really did."
"I smelled Guilty before I even smelled you."
Andy walked over to the calendar, reaching for the marker. Another perfect score. Then, after a moment's pause, she carefully drew a tiny, neat asterisk right beside the checkmark.
Emily noticed it immediately. "...What is the asterisk for?"
"Crimes against laundry," Andy declared solemnly.
Emily's lips twitched as she headed toward the kitchen. "...Fair enough."
Day 19: Happier Than A Corgi On Stilts — Death and Floral
Andy hadn't intended to sample a fragrance that afternoon. Then, Miranda complimented her article.
Not through an editorial assistant. Not buried inside a lengthy memorandum of line-item revisions. Miranda had simply looked up from the galley proofs, set her silver pen neatly beside her desk blotter, and said, "Good work."
That was it. Two words. Then she had returned to her papers as if she hadn't just altered the gravitational pull of the entire floor.
Andy stood frozen in the carpeted corridor for five solid seconds. Nigel, passing by with a silk garment bag slung over his shoulder, slowed just enough to give her a sharp, inquiring look.
"...You look like you've seen a ghost, Six."
"Miranda complimented my article," Andy whispered, still staring at the glass door.
"...Out loud?"
Andy nodded mutely.
Nigel blinked, taking that in for a beat. "...Well." He patted her shoulder with deep, sympathetic gravity. "I'd frame the moment."
Andy was still practically floating twenty minutes later when she drifted through the Beauty department. One delightfully bizarre bottle immediately caught her eye. Happier Than A Corgi On Stilts.
"...Perfect," Andy muttered under her breath.
The scent was absurdly cozy, opening like warm, golden blueberry muffins fresh from the bakery oven, grounded by soft cedarwood and a sweet, comfortingly warm accord. It was utterly ridiculous. She loved every drop of it.
-
The moment Emily pulled her into their evening hug, Andy could feel the smile blooming against Emily's shoulder.
Emily pulled back just far enough to study Andy's glowing face. "...What on earth happened to you?"
Andy tried, and failed, to look completely nonchalant. "What do you mean?"
"Why are you so happy?"
Andy laughed, her chest warm. "You recognised it."
"Of course I recognised it."
"So?"
"So..." Emily folded her arms, her sharp blue eyes darting over Andy's expression. "...What happened?"
Andy gave up on holding back the grin. "Miranda complimented my article today."
Emily stared at her. "...Voluntarily?"
"Mhm."
"Using actual human words?"
"Mhm."
Emily nodded solemnly, her lips twitching into a proud, soft smile. "Well. That is indeed happier than a corgi on stilts."
Andy reached for the calendar, her heart light as she added another black checkmark to the grid, still smiling to herself as the ink dried.
Day 20: Kissing Burns 6.4 Calories A Minute. Wanna Work Out? — Kilian
Andy chose this bottle entirely because she possessed the emotional maturity of a twelve-year-old.
She saw the dramatic, rambling title on the black bottle, started laughing right there in the aisle, and immediately decided it was coming home on her wrists.
The fragrance itself was surprisingly lush and tender, bright bergamot softening into a rich, velvety base of warm vanilla, sweet milk, and subtle floral notes. It was genuinely lovely.
The title, however... the title was pure, unfiltered provocation.
-
Emily took one deep breath against Andy’s pulse point.
Then, she pulled back and gave Andy a look. Not annoyed nor amused. Just... a look.
Andy failed spectacularly at keeping a straight face, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter. "So..."
Emily continued staring at her with total, unblinking stoicism. "..."
Andy smirked, leaning in an inch closer. "...Wanna work out?"
Emily let out the long, suffering sigh of a woman who had known Andrea Sachs for two decades and was still regularly baffled by how her life had turned out. "You are utterly unbelievable."
"I've been told," Andy replied smoothly.
Emily shook her head with deep, affectionate exasperation. Then, stepping forward, she reached up, cradled both sides of Andy’s face in her warm palms, and pulled her down into a kiss.
It was slow, deep, and thoroughly distracting.
When Emily finally pulled back, resting her forehead against Andy’s with a breathy, triumphant little laugh, she murmured, "There."
Andy blinked, catching her breath. "What?"
"Workout completed."
Andy dissolved into bright, helpless laughter against Emily's neck.
Twentieth checkmark on the board. Emily looked entirely too pleased with her own wit.
"I believe I win that round, darling."
"I'll allow it," Andy breathless agreed.
Day 21: Slow Dance — Byredo
Three weeks down. Twenty-one fragrances. Twenty-one flawless scores.
Andy was beginning to suspect there truly wasn't a perfumer's formula on earth that Emily couldn't pull out of thin air. She had chosen Slow Dance because... well, she simply liked the quiet image it conjured. It sounded peaceful. Grounded. Like the sort of soft, deliberate intimacy they hadn't taken the time to enjoy in far too long.
-
That evening, the apartment was exceptionally still. No blaring evening news, no laptops humming on the island, no chaotic work calls. Just the warm, golden glow of the floor lamps and a low jazz playlist drifting lazily from the living room speakers.
Emily greeted Andy at the rug with their now familiar embrace. She leaned in, inhaled deeply, and smiled against Andy's neck.
She looked up, her arms resting comfortably over Andy's shoulders. "...Got a particular dance in mind?"
Andy’s smile softened immediately.
Emily continued with thoughtful, mock seriousness. "Ballroom?"
"Mhm."
"Waltz?"
"Mhm."
"...Definitely not the tango."
"No?"
"I've never been able to master the tango, as you well know."
Andy slid her hands down to grasp Emily's fingers, gently pulling her toward the open space in the center of the living room rug. "Good."
Emily raised a curious eyebrow. "Why?"
"Because I wasn't thinking about the tango."
Emily looked down at their joined hands, then around the quiet room. "...Andrea."
"What?"
"We don't even have proper dance music playing."
"We have enough."
Andy laced their fingers together, resting her other hand gently on the small of Emily's back. Emily offered a soft sigh that sounded entirely like contentment, relaxing into the hold.
"...One dance," Emily murmured.
"One dance."
They swayed slowly back and forth across the hardwood floor, entirely out of sync with whatever tempo the speaker was producing, neither of them caring in the slightest. When the track finally faded out, Andy reluctantly let her hands slip away.
She padded over to the wall calendar and uncapped the marker. Twenty-one neat checkmarks stretched across the paper.
Emily stood by the sofa, watching the black ink dry with quiet, uncharacteristic fondness. "You know..." she said softly, wrapping her cardigan tighter around herself, "I'm actually rather going to miss this routine once January ends."
Andy paused for a second, her thumb lingering on the marker cap. Then, a small, secret smile touched her lips.
"...Maybe it doesn't have to end just yet."
Emily didn't think twice about the casual reply, already heading toward the kitchen to put the kettle on.
Andy, however... already knew with absolute, terrifying clarity how the final ten days were going to unfold.
Day 22: Because It's You — Armani
The moment Andy saw the bottle sitting under the soft spotlights of the Beauty counter, she knew. No joke. No clever setup. No elaborate double-entendre.
She simply... wanted to wear it.
Because It's You.
The fragrance opened with a vibrant, sparkling burst of ripe raspberry and zesty citrus before softening into a lush heart of rose and warm, radiant vanilla. It was uncomplicated. Completely earnest.
Andy liked that. In a world full of posturing, subtext, and fashion-industry cynicism, it felt refreshingly real.
-
Emily arrived home just after sunset, the sky outside their windows fading into a deep, bruised violet. She looked exhausted, her posture carrying the weight of a long week.
Andy met her at the door anyway. The familiar kiss. The familiar, grounding embrace.
Emily buried her face against Andy’s throat and breathed in deeply. She smiled, the tension melting out of her shoulders. She pulled back just enough to look at Andy with that same impossibly soft, gentle expression she had worn on the day of Call Me Darling.
"...Darling."
Andy waited, her breath catching slightly in her chest.
Emily brushed her thumb gently across the warm skin of Andy's cheek, her blue eyes lingering. "It's always been you."
Silence settled comfortably between them. For just a moment... the game, the calendar, and the score completely disappeared.
Andy smiled so brightly her cheeks actually ached. She leaned forward, closing the small distance between them, and kissed Emily. Slowly. Deeply.
When they finally separated, Andy reached for the black marker beside the door without saying a single word. Another neat checkmark joined the calendar.
Emily watched her from the entryway, her lips curved upward. "...That one appeared to make you happier than usual."
Andy looked back over her shoulder, her eyes glowing. "...Maybe."
Emily’s smile softened further. "I thought it might."
Day 23: Let's Settle This Argument Like Adults, In The Bedroom, Naked — Kilian
The argument that morning had lasted approximately four minutes flat.
"You forgot the dishwasher, Andrea."
"I know."
"You explicitly said you'd run it before bed."
"I know!"
"You left every single espresso mug in the sink."
"I know, Em!"
Emily had glanced at her watch with a sharp, agitated exhale. "...I have to leave. The car is downstairs."
"So do I."
A frustrated sigh escaped Emily's lips as she gathered her coat. "I don't want to argue before work."
"Neither do I," Andy murmured softly.
Emily paused, reaching out to press a swift kiss to Andy's forehead anyway. "We'll talk tonight. I have to go."
The front door clicked shut. Andy stood alone in the quiet kitchen, staring at the full sink. "...Right."
-
By lunchtime, she had wandered down to Beauty, still feeling a faint, lingering pang of guilt over the morning's friction. Then, her eyes landed on the black Kilian display bottle.
Let's Settle This Argument Like Adults, In The Bedroom, Naked.
Andy let out a breathless laugh right there in the middle of the floor. "...Well."
If ever there were a perfect, non-verbal apology...
-
Emily wrapped her arms around Andy the second she walked through the door that evening. One deep breath against Andy’s collarbone. Then another.
Emily actually snorted out loud.
Andy immediately started laughing against her shoulder.
Emily stepped back, one ginger eyebrow raised in supreme, mock-serious judgment. "...Lead the way."
Andy blinked, caught slightly off guard. "...Seriously?"
"I'm assuming that is your intended message of choosing this particular scent profile, is it not?"
Andy’s grin widened. "It was."
Emily held out her hand. "Well?"
Andy took it without hesitation, her heart beating fast. "Bedroom?"
"Bedroom."
-
Later, while they were settling the argument in their bedroom, naked, Andy worked two fingers deep inside her, kissing those plump, ruinous lips of Emily’s between shallow breaths.
Andy murmured softly against her mouth, "I'm sorry, baby."
All Emily did was pull her down into another feverish kiss, her thighs quivering against the sheets, her hips already beginning to arch upward into the touch.
“Shut up," Emily gasped against her lips, her knuckles tightening in the bedsheets. "No more talking."
And Andy understood immediately what she needed.
Much later, they lay tangled lazily beneath the heavy duvet, the earlier morning disagreement forgotten entirely. The room was dark, warm, and quiet, save for the muffled sounds of Manhattan traffic far below. Emily was absently tracing slow, rhythmic circles against the soft skin of Andy's upper arm.
Andy lay staring at the ceiling for a long time before speaking into the quiet room. "...Sorry."
Emily glanced over at her. "For the dishwasher?"
"Mhm."
"You apologised already, darling."
"I know."
Emily leaned over, pressing a tender kiss to Andy's bare shoulder. "I forgave you already."
Another comfortable silence settled over them. Then, Emily’s voice returned, laced with a wicked, amused smirk. "...For the record?"
"Hm?"
"That may have been your most creative apology in twenty years."
Andy laughed softly into her pillow. "I'll definitely keep that in mind."
Day 24: Feed Me Fruit — It's A Vibe
Andy found the bottle entirely by accident while browsing a tray of niche independent releases.
Feed Me Fruit.
She immediately thought of Emily. More specifically... Emily's increasingly dramatic, long-suffering sighs every single time Andy suggested ordering greasy takeaway instead of eating something remotely green or healthy.
This felt like an exceptional, highly strategic compromise.
-
Emily barely finished inhaling against Andy's neck that evening before she closed her eyes tightly.
Andy waited expectantly, holding her breath.
Emily remained completely, stone-cold silent.
"..."
"..."
Finally, Emily opened one eye. Then, she rolled both of them so dramatically Andy genuinely thought they might get stuck.
Andy dissolved into bright, helpless laughter on the spot. "So..."
Another monumental eye-roll. "..."
"...You understood the assignment?" Andy pressed.
Emily let out a pained sigh. "I understood."
"And?"
"You would like fruit."
"I would very much like fruit."
"You literally sprayed yourself with a tropical smoothie note because you wanted me to prepare fresh fruit for you."
"...Maybe."
Emily turned her head toward the kitchen, then slowly back to Andy. "...There is fresh pineapple."
Andy's eyes lit up instantly.
"And ripe mango."
Andy’s smile expanded tenfold.
Emily pinched the bridge of her nose, shaking her head. "You are an extraordinarily, uniquely strange woman, Andrea."
"You love me."
"I do."
"Enough to feed me fruit?"
Another dramatic, theatrical sigh echoed through the hallway. "...Unfortunately, yes."
Andy grinned victoriously as Emily turned on her heel and disappeared into the kitchen. Only then did Andy walk over to the calendar.
Checkmark number twenty-four.
When Emily returned ten minutes later carrying a crystal bowl piled embarrassingly high with fresh mango, papaya, pineapple, and passionfruit, Andy quietly uncapped the pen and drew a tiny, perfect smiley face right beside the twenty-fourth mark.
Emily noticed it immediately as she handed over the fork. "...What is that one for?"
Andy accepted the bowl with profound satisfaction. "A five-star review for excellent customer service."
Emily stared at her flatly. "...I really should have just ordered takeaway."
Day 25: Passionate Kisses — Victoria's Secret
Andy really, truly should have behaved herself. Instead... she saw the bottle sitting on a promotional display.
Passionate Kisses.
And she immediately decided that behaving herself was a terrible waste of a perfectly good Thursday evening.
-
Emily greeted her at the door with their now completely automatic embrace. One deep breath against Andy’s neck. A tiny, knowing smile touching her lips.
She pulled back just far enough to look Andy straight in the eye. "...How passionate are we talking, darling?"
Andy failed spectacularly at suppressing a grin. "...Quite passionate, actually."
Emily considered this declaration for approximately half a second. Then, one hand settled firmly against Andy's waist, while the other braced lightly against the wall right beside Andy's shoulder, pinning her neatly in place.
Andy found herself laughing before Emily even brought her mouth down. "Emily—"
"Mm?"
"I haven't marked today's box on the calendar yet."
"You can do that afterwards," Emily murmured directly against her lips, her breath fanning hot and sweet across Andy’s skin with every shallow exhale.
"I admire your unwavering priorities," Andy gasped softly, her back pressed flush against the hallway wall as Emily’s fingers dug just a little deeper into the curve of her hip, anchoring her firmly in place.
"I know you do, darling," came the low, velvety friction of Emily’s reply.
Then Emily closed the remaining space between them and kissed her properly.
It wasn't just a playful greeting. Emily’s mouth parted over hers with a hungry, demanding heat, her tongue sliding past Andy's lips with lazy precision, tasting of warm Earl Grey tea and the lingering, sweet berry notes of the fragrance. Her free hand slid up from the wall, tangling tight into the soft dark hair at the base of Andy’s neck, angling her head back to deepen the friction between them.
Andy let out a breathless sound, her hands instinctively clawing into the crisp silk of Emily’s blouse, pulling her in until there wasn't a single whisper of space left between their bodies.
Just as Andy was completely losing her train of thought, Emily caught Andy’s full lower lip gently between her teeth, nibbling down with a light, tantalising tug.
A sharp, helpless moan escaped straight from the back of Andy’s throat.
Against her mouth, Emily let out a low, dark little chuckle. a sound thick with utter satisfaction at having such effortless control over her.
She finally released Andy's lips, lingering just long enough to press one last sweet, possessive kiss to the corner of her mouth before pulling back.
Andy’s knees felt dangerously close to giving out. Her chest heaved, her lips felt swollen, slick, and warm, and her face was flushed a brilliant, glowing crimson.
She practically had to keep one palm braced against the wall for balance as she stumbled over to the calendar a few unhurried, breathless minutes later. Her hands were still visibly trembling as her fingers fumbled with the marker cap.
Emily leaned back against the wall, folding her arms over her chest as she watched the display with a lazy, triumphant smirk. "...Your line is completely crooked, darling."
Andy looked over her shoulder, trying, and failing, to smooth down her disheveled hair. "I wonder why."
"I have absolutely no idea," Emily replied smoothly, her eyes glittering with dark amusement.
Day 26: Just Confess You're Obsessed — Dua Fragrances
Andy laughed out loud the exact moment she read the label in the aisle.
Just Confess You're Obsessed.
"...Bold," she whispered. She liked bold.
By now, she had completely stopped pretending she wasn't choosing fragrances almost entirely because of their titles. This one came home in her bag immediately.
-
Emily wrapped her arms around Andy, breathing in the warm, rich notes of the fragrance. Andy waited, holding her breath, expecting a witty retort.
Instead, Emily pulled back and smiled, the sort of soft, completely unshielded smile that melted away every sharp, protective edge she carried through the rest of the fashion world.
"...Darling," Emily murmured softly, brushing her thumb over the back of Andy's knuckles. "I've been utterly obsessed with you since the day you walked into the office wearing those ridiculous Chanel boots twenty years ago."
Andy completely forgot about the marker in her hand. "…Baby."
"What?"
"You weren't supposed to say things like that."
"I wasn't?"
"I picked the perfume," Andy stammered out, her chest aching with a sudden, overwhelming wave of love. "You're meant to react to the title."
"I just did."
Andy laughed helplessly, her eyes warm. "I love you so much."
"I should certainly hope so by now."
"No, I mean—"
"I know what you meant, baby." Emily stepped in close, pressing a tender kiss to Andy's forehead. "I love you too."
Only then did Andy remember the black marker still sitting untouched beside the calendar. She reached up and drew another neat tick. For the very first time that month... she lingered for a long moment, watching the dark ink, before putting the pen down.
Day 27: Eyes Closed — Byredo
Andy had spent the entire afternoon cooking. Carefully. Methodically. Checking oven timers twice. Reading recipes three times. At one point, she had even caught herself reaching to check the smoke alarm batteries before remembering that was, perhaps, admitting defeat before she’d even begun.
Miraculously... nothing burned. Nothing exploded. Nothing caught fire.
She looked around the spotless, quiet kitchen in genuine disbelief. "...I actually did it."
Slender candles waited on the set dining table. Dinner stayed warm in the oven. Everything was ready. There was only one final touch left.
Andy sprayed Eyes Closed onto her pulse points. Perfect.
-
Emily unlocked the apartment door and immediately frowned at the dim hallway. "...Why are the lights off?"
Andy appeared from the living room glow. "Hi, baby."
"There you are."
They met halfway on the floor, sliding into their familiar embrace. Emily inhaled. She smiled almost instantly. Then... without saying a single word... she stepped back, closed her eyes, and waited.
Andy stared at her in surprise. "...You're not even going to answer?"
Emily’s smile widened softly. "I just did."
"You did?"
"You've never picked a perfume title without meaning something, Andrea."
Andy felt her heart squeeze tight.
"So..." Emily reached out blindly into the space between them until her fingers found Andy's hand. "...Where are you taking me?"
Andy swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat, gently intertwining their fingers. "This way."
Emily followed without the slightest hesitation, eyes still closed, trusting Andy completely with every step. Andy led her slowly into the dining room. Only once they had stopped right beside the table did she whisper:
"Okay."
Emily opened her eyes.
Candles flickered softly across the glass. A gorgeous dinner sat waiting. Nothing was burnt. Nothing was smoking. Nothing resembled charred charcoal.
Emily looked at the table. Then at Andy's anxious, hopeful face. Then back at the table. "...You cooked."
"I did."
"You didn't burn the kitchen down."
"I did not."
Emily laughed quietly, a sound full of deep warmth, and stepped in close. "I am so proud of you, darling." She leaned in, pressing a sweet, slow kiss to Andy's lips.
Andy felt absurdly, radiantly pleased with herself.
She reached for the calendar after dinner, adding the twenty-seventh checkmark to the grid. This time... Emily took the marker from her hand and drew a tiny, delicate candle right beside the tick.
Neither of them noticed how naturally the calendar had stopped being a competitive scoreboard. It had subtly, beautifully become a scrapbook of their life together.
Day 28: Good Girl — Carolina Herrera
Andy should probably have exercised some restraint. Instead... she saw the iconic bottle resting on the display case. Good Girl.
And she immediately thought, Well... She knew Emily. Far, far too well to let an opportunity like this slip by.
-
That evening, Emily greeted her in the hallway with their now completely automatic ritual. A soft kiss. A long embrace. One slow, deep breath against Andy’s neck.
Emily smiled almost immediately, pulling back just far enough to meet Andy’s eyes, her tone dripping with amused subtext. "...Am I a good girl, darling?"
Andy actually laughed out loud. Of course she knew.
Instead of giving a verbal answer, Andy simply stepped closer, close enough that their noses were almost touching, close enough that Emily’s breath caught in her throat.
Andy said absolutely nothing, letting the silence stretch between them.
Emily’s cheeks flushed a very noticeable, delicate shade of pink. "...Andrea."
Still nothing. Andy only held her gaze, her eyes sparkling with teasing victory.
Emily looked away for precisely half a second, her gaze darting to the floor as if searching for a shred of her legendary, high-society composure.
She found none.
Giving up entirely, she let out a tiny, defeatist huff, reached up, and closed the small distance herself.
She caught Andy’s jaw in her palm, fingers digging soft and firm into the flush of Andy’s cheek, and pulled her mouth down into a kiss.
It started with a sharp, possessive press of lips, but melted instantly into something soft, deep, and devastatingly thorough. Emily parted Andy’s lips with a slow, deliberate persistence, her thumb stroking rhythmically along Andy's jawline while her tongue swept inside, taking her time to taste every single corner of Andy's mouth.
Andy’s hands instinctively flew to Emily's waist, feeling the subtle, involuntary tremor in Emily's frame as she leaned heavily into the contact. Every stroke of Emily's mouth was a surrender, a confession that no matter how much she scoffed or groaned at Andy’s ridiculous games, she was completely, helplessly addicted to her.
When Emily finally pulled back, resting her forehead against Andy’s with a shaky exhale, her eyelashes fluttered open, dark and lingering. Her lips were pink and parted, her breath catching in her throat as she stared at the triumph blooming across Andy’s face.
Andy smiled with undeniable, shameless satisfaction. "You're forever my good girl, baby."
Emily actually groaned, burying her warm face in her hands. "Oh, don't."
"What?"
"You know exactly what you're doing."
"I have no idea what you mean, Em."
"You are completely impossible."
Her face, unfortunately for her dignity, had gone an even deeper shade of crimson. Andy looked too pleased with herself as she walked over to the board and added another neat checkmark to the calendar.
Day 29: Melt My Heart — Strangelove
Andy paused when her fingers brushed the sample bottle in the studio.
Melt My Heart.
She smiled softly to herself. Simple. Sweet. A little ridiculous. Perfect.
-
Emily recognised the rich, luxurious blend almost instantly upon hugging her that evening. Instead of speaking the answer out loud, however... she frowned with grand, dramatic theatricality.
"Oh no."
Andy blinked, caught off guard. "What?"
Emily placed one hand very solemnly right over the center of Andy's chest. Her expression grew intensely concerned. "...Darling."
"What's wrong?"
"...Are you quite all right?"
Andy couldn't help laughing at the performance. "My heart?"
"Yes. It appears to have melted completely."
"I see."
Emily nodded gravely. "Should I call emergency services?"
Andy shook her head, her eyes warm. "I think I'll survive."
"You sound remarkably calm for someone in cardiac distress."
"Well..." Andy shrugged, a fond smile breaking over her face. "...as Olaf so wisely said..."
Emily’s sharp, protective facade crumbled instantly into a soft, glowing smile.
"...Some people are worth melting for,” Andy finished smugly.
The exaggerated concern vanished completely. Emily's expression softened into something infinitely warmer, infinitely more tender. Without another word, she stepped forward, wrapped both arms securely around Andy's waist and pulling her in until there wasn't a single breath of air between them. She buried her face deep into the warm crook of Andy's neck, breathing her in like a lifeline and holding her tighter than usual, as if trying to press herself right into Andy's ribcage.
Andy melted into the embrace without a second thought, her own arms instinctively winding around Emily's shoulders, burying her fingers into the soft silk of Emily's hair.
Andy would never, ever get tired of being hugged by Emily. For all of Emily’s high-fashion armour, crisp tailoring, and sharp wit, holding her was like being wrapped in the softest, warmest sanctuary in the world. Beneath all the defenses she put up for the rest of Manhattan, Emily held her with a fierce, unabashed tenderness that was reserved for Andy alone.
Andy rested her cheek against the top of Emily's head, breathing in the scent of her hair, her chest swelling with a quiet, profound awe. She loved this more than anything, being the one person in the world who got to see the softness, the one person who got to be Emily Charlton’s safe place.
When she finally marked the twenty-ninth box on the wall, she noticed Emily had taken the pen and quietly drawn another tiny, perfect melting heart beside the tick.
Andy didn't comment. She simply looked at it and smiled.
Day 30: Kiss Me — Flavia
The black marker hovered over the paper that morning.
One box remained. Just one single, empty square on the grid.
Andy looked at the calendar for a long, quiet moment. Tomorrow. She could hardly believe tomorrow had finally arrived after thirty days, thirty perfumes, thirty long winter evenings, and thirty little conversations that only the two of them spoke.
She smiled secretly to herself in the quiet apartment. One more. Just one more to go.
-
Kiss Me felt almost ceremonial. It felt exactly right for the penultimate night.
Emily came home carrying a fresh bundle of flowers she had impulsively bought on her walk from the train because, in her own exact words, "the soft pink tulips would look cute with Andrea."
Andy accepted one absent-minded kiss at the door, followed by their accustomed, grounding hug. Emily inhaled against her cheek, letting out a soft, contented sigh.
She smiled softly, pulling back just enough to look at Andy. Then, lifting both hands, she gently cupped Andy's face in her warm, gentle palms, her thumbs resting softly against Andy's cheekbones.
No words. No guessing game.
Emily leaned in and pressed a sweet, feather-light kiss to the outer corner of Andy's eye, feeling the subtle flutter of Andy's lashes against her skin. She shifted down slightly, pressing another tender kiss to the warm tip of Andy's nose, making Andy smile into her hands.
Finally, Emily brought her mouth to Andy's lips.
She kissed her tenderly. Unhurriedly. A deep, quiet press of lips that felt like coming home at the end of a long journey, full of twenty years of shared history and soft promises.
When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads remained rested together in the quiet hallway. Emily smiled, her eyes still closed. "...Happy?"
Andy beamed, her heart overflowing. "So very happy."
Emily laughed quietly, a low, contented sound. "I thought you might be."
Andy turned to the calendar one last time that night. The marker squeaked softly against the paper as she drew the thirtieth tick.
Emily wandered over, leaning her shoulder against Andy’s. "So..."
Andy looked up from the grid. "So?"
Emily pointed a slender finger at the paper. Only one empty square remained in the month of January. She folded her arms with unmistakable, triumphant satisfaction. "One day left."
"Mhm."
"I'm going to finish this entire ridiculous month with a perfect score."
Andy smiled, her eyes glittering with a secret. "I certainly hope so."
Emily looked positively delighted with herself. "I told you on day one that this challenge was far too easy."
"You did."
"I haven't missed a single one."
"You haven't."
Emily leaned over and pressed a sweet, lingering kiss to Andy's cheek. "I expect tomorrow's grand finale to be appropriately difficult."
Andy laughed softly, wrapping her arm around Emily's waist. "I've put a lot of thought into it."
"I should hope so, darling."
Emily gave the calendar one last triumphant, affectionate look before wandering off into the kitchen to arrange her new tulips in a crystal vase.
Andy remained standing alone in the hallway for a long moment. Her fingers brushed lightly over that final, untouched square.
Just one. One last perfume. One last evening hug. One final, breathtaking answer.
She smiled to herself in the soft light. Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.
Day 31
Andy had never been this nervous in her entire life.
Not for her terrifying first day at Runway. Not for her very first major journalism interview. Not even for the unforgettable morning she walked into Miranda's office and wondered if she had just made the single biggest mistake of her professional career.
Nothing compared to this.
Because today wasn't about work. It wasn't about high fashion. It wasn't about proving a point or climbing a ladder. It was about Emily.
And somehow, after twenty years of loving this woman, after two decades of knowing precisely how she took her morning tea, exactly which side of the bed she preferred, and the subtle, endearing hitch in her breath when she was trying not to laugh... Andy felt like she was about to meet her for the very first time.
She spent the entire day hopelessly, ridiculously distracted.
She reread the exact same paragraph of a draft four times. She fired off an email and immediately forgot what she had typed. At three o'clock, she stared anxiously at her desk clock. At three-oh-five, she checked it again.
By four in the afternoon, she was already packing her bag.
Amari noticed first, looking up from her desk in open shock as Andy strode past her. "You're leaving?"
Andy froze, one arm in a coat sleeve. "Yes?"
"It's four o'clock."
"I know."
Amari narrowed her eyes in deep suspicion. "...Are you sick?"
"No."
"Is Emily sick?"
"No."
"Did something terrible happen?"
Andy couldn't help the brilliant, soft smile breaking across her face. "No."
Amari stared. "You are being suspiciously cheerful."
"I am always cheerful!"
Amari simply stared flatly. Andy decided not to argue.
Nigel appeared from the hallway a moment later, taking in Andy's coat, her flushed expression, and the fact that she was clearly trying very hard not to look like she was escaping a crime scene.
"Oh," Nigel said softly.
Andy looked over. "Oh what?"
"I know that face."
"What face?"
"The face you made twenty years ago when you were about to do something either incredibly romantic or incredibly stupid."
Andy smiled, her pulse thumping. "Could be both."
Nigel's eyes widened slightly. He patted her arm with sudden affection. "Go."
"Bye, Nigel."
Before he could ask another single question, she was out the door.
-
She got home early, far earlier than Emily would ever expect her to be there. Which gave Andy exactly enough time to execute everything she had meticulously planned.
She cooked. Successfully. No tripped smoke alarms. No emergency calls for pizza. No ruined, blackened saucepans. She even stood in the middle of their kitchen afterward, staring at the warm, finished meal with genuine, wide-eyed disbelief.
"I actually did it," she whispered into the empty room.
The woman who had once nearly destroyed a brass pot making basic risotto had somehow prepared a proper, flawless dinner. A genuine miracle.
Then came the next step. A warm shower. A careful choice of clothes.
And finally... the perfume. The heavy glass bottle sat waiting on their vanity. Brand new. Untouched. Waiting.
Andy picked it up carefully. The fragrance opened bright and luminous, crisp bitter orange and juicy peach, soft jasmine and rose blooming gently beneath it, eventually settling into a warm, intoxicating embrace of amber and cedarwood. Beautiful. Timeless.
She sprayed it onto her pulse points. Her wrists. Her collarbones. The warm curve of her neck.
Then, she placed the bottle precisely where Emily would see it later.
Her hands shook slightly as she set it down. Ridiculous. She had interviewed world leaders. She had survived Miranda Priestly and other demanding bosses for years. She had moved across oceans. And yet here she was... trembling at the thought of asking the woman she loved the most important question of her life.
-
Emily arrived later than expected. Of course she did. A senior Dior director's chaotic schedule apparently had zero respect for grand romantic gestures.
Andy had reheated dinner twice. She was actively considering a third time when she heard the faint click of keys in the front lock.
Her heart instantly hammered against her ribs.
The heavy front door swung open. "Hi, baby," Andy called out softly, stepping into the hallway light.
Emily stepped inside, looking exhausted from a long afternoon of meetings, but her sharp blue eyes softened instantly the very second they landed on Andy. "There you are."
Andy smiled, her hands tucked into her jacket pockets. "There I am."
Emily set down her leather handbag. The evening routine unfolded seamlessly. Like always. Like it had for thirty consecutive days.
A gentle kiss. A soft smile. A warm, lingering embrace.
Andy wrapped her arms tightly around Emily’s waist. Emily leaned into her, resting her cheek against Andy's shoulder... and breathed in.
For one slow second... absolute silence.
Then Emily went completely, entirely still.
Andy felt the sudden change in her posture immediately.
Emily pulled back. Her eyes widened in genuine, stunned realisation. "..."
Andy held her breath, her entire chest tight.
Emily looked profoundly confused. Not confused because she didn't know the answer... but confused because she did.
Her lips parted slightly, her breath catching. "An..." A long disbelieving pause. "...Andrea?"
Andy felt her entire heart stop beating for a second.
Emily looked back and forth between Andy’s eyes and the soft skin of Andy’s neck where the fragrance lingered in the warm air. "...What?"
For once in her life... Emily Charlton had no scathing comeback, no witty banter, no immediate answer.
Andy smiled, a little nervous, a little overwhelmed, and completely, deeply in love.
She reached into the inner pocket of her jacket. Emily's eyes followed the movement, widening even further as Andy produced a small, velvet box.
"Andrea..." Emily whispered, her voice trembling.
Andy lowered herself smoothly onto one knee on the hardwood floor.
The entire world seemed to go completely quiet around them. The muffled sounds of the city melted away.
The velvet box clicked open.
Inside rested a stunning Cartier diamond ring. Elegant. Timeless. A brilliant, radiant diamond set in a delicate platinum band, catching the warm, flickering candlelight drifting from the dining room.
It’s very Emily. Expensive and elegant without being excessively flashy.
Emily brought both hands up to cover her mouth. For a woman who spent two decades claiming to possess an icy, unflappable exterior... she was utterly terrible at hiding how soft she truly was for Andrea.
Her eyes filled with tears immediately.
Andy had always known the truth, that Emily Charlton was not cold. She was a total marshmallow wrapped in pristine designer tailoring. A very intimidating marshmallow, but a marshmallow nonetheless.
Andy stayed right where she was, one knee on the floor, holding the open velvet box, her gaze fixed entirely on Emily's glowing, tear-streaked face. "Emily..."
Emily couldn't speak. She shook her head once, a breathless laugh escaping through her tears. Then she nodded. Once. Twice. Then again and again.
"Yes," her voice broke, soft and watery. "Yes, Andy."
Another tear slipped down her flushed cheek. "Yes."
Andy’s smile broke wide and radiant.
Emily laughed and cried at the exact same time, her composure completely shattered. "Yes, yes, yes."
She dropped straight down onto her knees on the floor in front of Andy. Andy barely had time to brace herself before Emily threw both arms around her neck with enough force to nearly knock them both backward onto the rug.
"Emily—"
"I said yes!"
"I know!"
"Good!"
Andy dissolved into quiet, joyful laughter against Emily's shoulder, holding her close. "I love you, baby."
Emily held her tighter, burying her face into Andy's neck. "I love you more."
"You always say that."
"Because it's the truth, darling."
Andy carefully pulled back, taking Emily's left hand and sliding the delicate ring onto her finger. Both of their hands were shaking visibly. Neither of them cared in the slightest.
Emily looked down at the glittering diamond on her finger, watching the facets catch the warm, soft glow of the candlelight. Then she looked back up at Andy, and somehow, that single, overwhelming realisation made her break down into tears all over again.
Emily Charlton never, ever cried in public. The fashion industry knew her as a woman made of crisp silk, sharp wit, and unyielding steel. But here, in the safety of their home, she let every single wall crumble. She only ever allowed herself to cry in front of Andy. It was a rare, precious occurrence, and every single time it happened, Andy found it impossibly, helplessly adorable.
Andy chuckled softly, her own chest swelling with love. She reached out with both hands, her thumbs gently wiping away the hot, spilling tears trailing down Emily's flushed cheeks.
"Happy, baby?" Andy whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
Emily just nodded through her tears, her small nose turned a brilliant, delicate shade of pink. She let out a shaky, breathless laugh, her hand reaching up to cover Andy's on her cheek.
"Immensely," Emily choked out, her blue eyes shining wet and clear. "Immensely happy, you utter fool."
-
Later that night, long after the joyful tears had been wiped away and the champagne bottle was empty, long after Emily had called her old friends in London and insisted multiple times that she wasn't crying, despite very obviously crying the entire time, the apartment finally fell into a quiet, golden bliss.
The deep, peaceful kind of quietness that only existed when two people were completely content.
Outside, Manhattan carried on with its usual chaotic rush. Inside, they stayed wrapped tightly around each other, tangled beneath the heavy duvet, neither of them having any intention of moving.
Andy spent the hours worshipping every inch of her fiancée. Between quiet exhales, she pressed soft, lingering kisses into the warm landscape of Emily’s skin, trailing her mouth down with reverent devotion. She murmured sweet, worshipful "I love yous" into the hollow of Emily’s throat, against the soft curve of her chest, over the flat expanse of her stomach, down into the warm skin of her inner thighs, against those soft, swollen lips, and right over the steady, beat of her heart.
Every single press of Andy's lips was a promise, every quiet confession against her skin, an anchor. Emily lay beneath her with her fingers tangled loosely in Andy's dark hair, letting out long, trembling sighs of surrender, her heart fluttering wildly under Andy’s touch.
And when the waves finally washed over her, when her body shattered into a warm, breathless orgasm, the tears came spilling out all over again.
It wasn't the first time Emily had ever cried during sex, Andy had undone her enough times over the last twenty years to know how deeply Emily felt things when her guard was completely down. But this time was different. This time felt immeasurably more precious, a total dismantling of every defense she had ever built.
As her thighs trembled and her chest heaved with quiet hitches, Emily pulled Andy down by the back of her neck, clinging to her like a lifeline. She buried her face into the crook of Andy’s shoulder, weeping softly into her warm skin, not from overwhelming overwhelmedness, but because she felt so completely, utterly, and entirely loved in every single corner of her soul.
Andy held her through every shuddering breath, her hands tracing steady, soothing circles over Emily’s back, whispering soft, devotion-filled praise against her temple until the tears finally slowed into soft sighs of bliss.
Later, Emily's new diamond caught the faint, warm glow of the bedside lamp whenever she shifted her hand over Andy's chest. Andy noticed every single time, a quiet surge of awe washing over her.
She still couldn't quite believe it. After twenty years. After everything they had survived, built, and shared. She was still here. Still choosing Emily every single day. Still being chosen.
And somewhere between soft, whispered promises and sleepy, comfortable laughter, the month-long challenge found its final, permanent home.
On the vanity, sitting right beside Emily's discarded gold earrings, was the elegant glass bottle that had started it all that evening. Marry Me! by Lanvin.
The answer had been right there all along.
And on the calendar hanging by the front door, all thirty-one boxes were finally filled. The thirty-first box was marked with a bold red checkmark, a tiny heart beside it, and a delicate ring drawn right underneath.
And directly below Andy's handwriting, in Emily's signature, flowing script, was a final note:
I said yes :)
The fragrance challenge was officially over. The score no longer mattered.
Because Emily had never actually been trying to win a game. She had already won twenty years ago. And Andy had spent the last thirty-one days simply finding a brand new language to remind her.
And now, they would carry that promise forward as fiancées until the day they finally walked down the aisle, stepping into a brand-new forever, even if they had already been each other's happily ever after all along.