Jasmin d’Inde No. 6 Candle 3-Wick
A woman of her beauty seemed out of place among the common workers. But labor she did, every day, in her flower stall. In fact, she was so busy with arranging a jasmine bouquet that she hardly noticed him at first.
He was elegant, yet earthy. And as ruggedly handsome as the mountains of Kashmir from which he hailed. Indeed, the only clue to his identity as a saffron baron was a faint yellow tinge on the cuffs of his silk shirt.
As he leaned in to admire a jasmine garland, she could smell the unmistakable, bittersweet aroma of the spice. Suddenly a market bell rang in the hour, punctuating the moment their eyes locked. It was 6 o’clock, when the market closes, the jasmine blooms, and new love blossoms.
