‘Grandad, you smell funny.’
‘It’s because I’m sad.’
‘Mum says it’s because you drink too much.’ I thought of all the empty bottles in my recycling tub and my face flamed.
Four year old Ben surveyed me, ‘What does happiness smell like then?’
I closed my eyes and inhaled. ‘Like vanilla, like cake.’
‘Like Grandma used to make?’
I swallowed hard, ’Just like Grandma used to make.’
‘I miss Grandma.’ He wrapped his pudgy arms around my legs.
‘Me too.’ I unscrewed the top of the nearest bottle and poured the contents down the sink.
I smiled at Ben. ‘Fancy trying some baking?’
Written for Friday Fictioneers. A 100 word story inspired by a photo prompt. Check out all the other entries here.