Your Perfect Lover Is A Biohazard

Summary

I had been working for US Customs and Border Protection for five years. Because of my unusually heightened sense of smell—a classified asset in my line of work—my husband, Garrett, always believed I worked a dull corporate desk job.

On our third anniversary, I spotted him at the international arrivals terminal. The same man who had texted me hours earlier saying he had to work late at the university. He was standing near the exit, gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind Bianca’s ear, wearing a smile I hadn't seen on his face in years. Bianca, his ex-girlfriend. The one that got away.