The Story Behind The Story
The company did not begin as Scent & Story NYC.
When I first envisioned a fragrance brand, I called it Ébauche, a French word used by artists to describe an initial sketch or first rendering. Having spent years studying art before becoming a perfumer, the name felt natural. Fragrance, like painting, begins with an idea that gradually takes shape.
The fragrances I created during that period were well-crafted and beautiful in their own right. Yet something was missing.
Then came Coronado.
A visit to see my son during a particularly demanding period of military training led to an unexpected encounter with a scent that stopped me in my tracks—a mingling of jasmine, gardenia, ocean air, and coastal mist that would later become Sincerely, Coronado.
As I worked to recreate that memory, I realized I was no longer interested in creating fragrances simply because they smelled beautiful. I wanted to create fragrances that meant something. Fragrances connected to people, places, and moments I never wanted to forget.
That realization changed everything.
Ébauche became Scent & Story NYC.
Today, every fragrance in the collection begins with a true story. Some are inspired by childhood summers at the Jersey Shore. Others by family, travel, friendship, or a fleeting moment that somehow stayed with me for years.
Each fragrance is my attempt to preserve a memory in scent.
Because while moments pass, the feelings they leave behind often remain.
Sincerely, Coronado
Some fragrances begin with an idea. Others begin with a moment.
Sincerely, Coronado began during a Mother's Day visit to Coronado, California. My son was in the midst of some of the most demanding military training in the world, and I had not seen him in many months. As Mother's Day approached, I found myself wanting nothing more than to spend a little time with him.
Knowing our time together would be limited, I made the trip anyway.
One evening, he called and asked if I could meet him for a late dinner in nearby Ocean Beach. Of course, my answer was yes.
After dinner, we walked back toward his truck beneath a dark May sky. A cool marine layer had settled over the coast, obscuring the moon and softening the lights along the street. Then, without warning, I was almost smacked by the most extraordinary fragrance.
I stopped and pulled out my phone, using the flashlight to see where it was coming from. Along the sidewalk was a hedgerow covered in blooming jasmine and gardenia. As the breeze came off the Pacific, the scent of the flowers mingled with the cool, salty ocean air. It was one of those rare moments that becomes permanently etched in memory.
When I returned home, I could not stop thinking about it.
What followed was a year-long journey to recreate that evening in fragrance: the jasmine and gardenia carried on the ocean wind, the coastal mist, and the quiet beauty of Coronado itself. Sincerely, Coronado is my homage to a place that was both beautiful and emotionally significant, and to a brief evening with my son that I will never forget.
Every time I wear it, I am transported back to that moonless night in Coronado—to the scent of flowers and sea air, and to an unexpected moment of beauty during a time when I needed it most.
Time Can Wait
Back then, summer seemed endless.
Mornings at the beach drifted into long afternoons in the sun, which somehow turned into evenings spent getting ready to go out, and nights that stretched far later than they should have. There was always another weekend, another beach day, another song on the radio. Time, it seemed, was in no particular hurry.
The fragrance opens with honeysuckle, a nod to the vines that grew behind my Little Nan's house, and ripe peach nectar inspired by the unforgettable peaches that arrived each summer from nearby farms. At its heart are notes of vanilla, ginger lily, gardenia, and rose, capturing the warmth of sun-soaked days and the anticipation of a summer evening just beginning.
Amber, marine notes, and a touch of patchouli linger in the base like salt air after sunset.
For me, this fragrance is the Jersey Shore of my youth: warm sand under bare feet, music drifting from open windows, summer romances that felt important at the time, and the certainty that tomorrow would be just as beautiful as today.
Back then, we thought time could wait.
Through An Open Window
I was one of five children, so having my mother's undivided attention was a rare thing.
One spring day, I was home from school sick and tucked into my canopy bed while everyone else was stuck in classrooms studying who knows what. Truth be told, I was never particularly upset about missing school, and on that particular day I was quite content to have my mother all to myself.
At some point during the afternoon, she brought me something to eat on a beautifully set tray, as was her style, and sat with me for a while. Before leaving the room, she opened a window across from my bed.
A breeze drifted in carrying the scent of lilacs in bloom.
Within minutes, the room seemed filled with their fragrance.
I can still picture it: the curtains moving gently in the breeze, sunlight streaming through the open window, and the scent of lilacs floating through the room. It was such an ordinary moment, yet it has stayed with me for decades.
Years later, I set out to recreate that memory in fragrance.
Through An Open Window captures the scent of the Berkshires: lilacs in bloom, softened by fresh green notes and a heart of jasmine and tuberose. A gentle base of musk and soft woods lingers on the skin, creating a feeling of warmth and comfort.
For me, this fragrance will always be a reminder of a spring afternoon at home in the Berkshires, an open window, the scent of lilacs on the breeze, and a few unexpected hours alone with my mother.
Hawthorne's Muse
I was five years old the first time my family visited Louisa May Alcott's house in Concord, Massachusetts.
It was also my birthday, and I had just received my very first Barbie doll. For a five-year-old girl, it doesn't get much better than that.
My older sister, Vicki, already loved Little Women. Being only eighteen months younger, I followed whatever she did with the enthusiasm of a movie star fan. If Vicki loved Louisa May Alcott, then I was certain I did too.
I remember walking through the house and feeling that it was somehow different from any other place I had visited. At five years old, I couldn't have explained why. I simply knew I liked being there.
Afterward, we were going to dinner somewhere in Concord. I don't remember the restaurant. I don't remember what I ate. What I do remember is the feeling of the day.
Something about it stayed with me.
Years later, when I created Hawthorne's Muse, I found myself thinking about that birthday, that visit, and those rooms. Warm woods, incense, amber, and soft florals come together in a fragrance inspired by old houses, beloved books, and places that linger in our memories long after we've left them behind.
For me, Hawthorne's Muse will always be a reminder of a fifth birthday, a beloved older sister, and a day in Concord that stayed with me long after childhood was over..
Time Waits For No Man
A friend and I met for lunch in lower Manhattan, and I barely recognized where I was.
The food was excellent, the room elegant, and the neighborhood almost unrecognizable.
To say I was shocked by the transformation would be an understatement.
When I first came to New York, I worked on Wall Street. In those days, digital records did not exist, and there were times when my job required me to track down financial documents stored in warehouses in what is now the Meatpacking District.
Back then, it was not a destination.
You would walk up to a small door, usually guarded by some ancient-looking soul smelling of sweat and cigarettes, show your company identification, and hope to be admitted. Inside was a dark maze of boxes filled with records, files, and forgotten pieces of financial history. Finding what you needed often felt like an archaeological dig.
That world is gone.
Today, the warehouses have become restaurants, boutiques, hotels, and luxury residences. Chrome and glass stand where loading docks once did. The neighborhood has been transformed beyond anything I could have imagined when I first walked its streets.
Yet if you look carefully, traces of the old New York remain. The cobblestone streets are still there. So are the names. After all, it is still called the Meatpacking District.
Walking those streets, I felt as though I were standing in one place while holding two versions of New York in my head.
One was polished, prosperous, and modern. The other was gritty, imperfect, and long gone. Yet the old New York still exists beneath the towering glass and chrome structures that now define the neighborhood.
As I made my way through the neighborhood, I found myself thinking about the passage of time. Cities change. Neighborhoods evolve. People move on. Yet pieces of the past remain, quietly woven into the present.
Time Waits For No Man is my tribute to old New York and to the layers of history hidden beneath its polished surface. Warm tobacco, oud, brandy, woods, and spice come together to create a fragrance that feels both contemporary and timeless.
Like the city itself, it is constantly moving forward while carrying traces of where it has been.
Tuberosa Fiorentina
Like many people, I arrived in Florence with visions of golden light, warm piazzas, and the romance of Tuscany. Instead, I was greeted by weeks of cold rain.
The painting studio where I studied was a vast, cavernous space with soaring ceilings and skylights high above us. We worked entirely by natural light, much as the great Florentine painters had done centuries before. Under sunny skies, it must have been beautiful. During my stay, however, the weather was relentlessly gray, and the studio often felt dim, cold, and damp.
I was cold almost all the time.
In fact, my shoes were so consistently soaked from the rain that I resorted to putting plastic bags inside them in a desperate attempt to keep my feet dry.
One afternoon, searching for a heating pad to warm up my apartment behind the Teatro Verdi, I wandered into Antica Farmacia del Cinghiale. Near the front of the shop was a table of fragrances being discontinued and sold for five euros a bottle.
I have always loved tuberose, but many tuberose fragrances have a sharpness that can feel overwhelming. One bottle on the table caught my eye. It was a tuberose fragrance, and for five euros it seemed worth the risk.
I bought it.
I loved it.
It was everything I had hoped tuberose could be: soft, luminous, and beautifully understated. Of course, it was also being discontinued.
I wore it constantly for the rest of my time in Florence.
Years later, I found myself thinking about that fragrance and the memory attached to it. Tuberosa Fiorentina is my tribute to that unexpected discovery. Rich tuberose is softened with rose, osmanthus, ambrette seed, musk, and warm woods, creating a fragrance that captures both the elegance of Florence and the memory of finding something beautiful when I least expected it.
A Firefly Night
At the time, I was working in Manhattan's Flatiron District, helping to fund what would eventually become my fragrance company.
Starting a fragrance line is an expensive undertaking, and like many entrepreneurs, I spent years balancing my dream with the practical realities of paying for it.
One evening, I was leaving work late when a summer rainstorm moved through the city. I waited for it to pass before heading home. I've never particularly liked the rain, but I've always loved the moments that follow it. The streets seem cleaner, the city lights shimmer in the puddles, and for a brief time everything feels quieter.
As I approached the subway entrance at 23rd Street and Park Avenue, I noticed what looked like tiny sparks in the distance.
Curious, I walked closer.
To my amazement, the entrance was surrounded by fireflies.
I had never seen fireflies in New York City.
Growing up, my siblings and I would chase them on summer evenings, catching them in jars with holes punched in the lids and carrying them around like tiny lanterns. Fireflies belonged to childhood, to summer nights, and to places far removed from the middle of Manhattan.
Yet there they were.
Hundreds of tiny lights blinking against a backdrop of steel, concrete, and traffic.
Not to be dramatic, but it felt magical.
For a few moments, the noise and rush of the city seemed to disappear. Standing at the entrance to a subway station, I found myself unexpectedly transported back to childhood.
Years later, I created A Firefly Night to capture that feeling: the freshness of the city after rain, the glow of reflected lights on wet pavement, and the sense of wonder that arrived with those unexpected visitors.
Bright bergamot and pink peppercorn open the fragrance, followed by muguet, mimosa, green tea, and a touch of geosmin, evoking rain-soaked streets and summer air. Sandalwood, cedar, and soft musk create a warm, lingering finish.
For me, this fragrance will always be a reminder of a rainy evening in Manhattan, a subway entrance illuminated by hundreds of unexpected lights, and the realization that moments of wonder should never be forgotten.
Dragonfly
Most people looking at the painting saw a dragonfly. I saw a question.
I was studying still-life painting with artist Tony Curanaj when I first encountered his painting, Born a Dragonfly. The painting was tiny, only six inches square, yet I found myself returning to it again and again.
A dragonfly, rendered in extraordinary detail, hovered against a backdrop of rose-patterned wallpaper. The image was quiet and still, yet somehow impossible to ignore.
The longer I looked at it, the more I found myself wondering about the moment it captured.
Why had the dragonfly stopped there?
And, being both an artist and a perfumer, I found myself asking something else entirely.
What scent had made her pause?
That question stayed with me.
As painters, we are trained to observe the visible world. As perfumers, we spend our time thinking about the invisible one. Looking at that dragonfly, I realized how naturally those two worlds overlap.
Years later, I created Dragonfly as my answer.
At its heart are Moroccan rose, lily of the valley, and magnolia, creating a floral landscape delicate enough to tempt a dragonfly to linger. Vanilla and warm musk add softness, while a whisper of oud grounds the fragrance in something deeper and more mysterious.
For me, Dragonfly is a reminder that inspiration often begins with a question. A small painting, a moment of curiosity, and the intersection of two lifelong passions became a fragrance where art and aroma meet.
Julia's Garden
Whatever my mother planted seemed to grow.
The Berkshire Mountains are not known for long growing seasons. Winters could be harsh, spring arrived reluctantly, and summer never seemed to last quite long enough. None of this appeared to matter to my mother.
Every spring, she would head off to the local garden center in search of something new. More often than not, it was a rose bush in a color she didn't already have.
She would plant it along the iron fence that bordered our front yard, where it would join a growing collection of roses in every imaginable shade. Before long, the newest addition seemed as happy as the rest, as though the other roses had been waiting for it all along.
By midsummer, the fence would become a ribbon of color stretching across the front of the property, belying the long Berkshire winter that had only recently passed.
Her success in the garden often seemed almost magical.
She once took two small cuttings from a pair of holly bushes and planted them in the front yard. Within a few years, they had become enormous, flourishing shrubs. Another year, for reasons nobody ever understood, a single stalk of corn appeared in the middle of the front lawn and grew happily all summer long.
Things simply grew for her.
I, on the other hand, could not grow anything for love nor money.
Years later, when I created Julia's Garden, I found myself thinking about those summers and about my mother's remarkable gift for coaxing beauty from the earth. Cedar, orris, galbanum, narcissus, Moroccan rose, heliotrope, saffron, and musk come together in a fragrance that is both strong and graceful, much like the woman who inspired it.
For me, Julia's Garden will always be a reminder of Berkshire summers, roses blooming along an iron fence, and my mother's quiet conviction that something beautiful was always worth planting.
Upon Leaving Calabria
The Story
Before she ever became my great-grandmother, Rose Roberto stood on a dock in Calabria with three children at her side and a heart that was breaking.
Years earlier, her husband had left for America, settling in Ardmore, Pennsylvania, and working to build a home for the family he hoped one day to bring across the ocean. At last, that day arrived. Rose gathered her children—my grandmother Maria, her brother Jesse, and their sister—and prepared to leave the only home she had ever known.
But Calabria was not easy to leave.
As the ship's departure drew near, Rose wept for the family she was leaving behind, for the sun-drenched hills and orchards she loved, and for a homeland she feared she might never see again. Her eyes became so red from crying that officials believed she carried an infectious eye disease that was spreading aboard ships at the time.
She was refused passage.
In an act of courage almost impossible to imagine today, fourteen-year-old Maria boarded the ship with her younger brother and sister and sailed to America without their mother. Rose remained behind in Calabria. It would be four more years before she was finally reunited with her family in Pennsylvania.
I was fortunate enough to know Rose for a few brief years before she passed away. I remember hearing stories of Calabria—of enormous lemons, fragrant citrus groves, and the treasured bergamot that perfumed the warm Mediterranean air.
Upon Leaving Calabria is dedicated to her memory: a tribute to courage, sacrifice, and the bittersweet beauty of leaving one beloved home in order to build another.
First Light- Palm Beach
Like so many New York families, we headed south every spring
break in search of sunshine.
For many years, our destination was Palm Beach. My husband, our young son, and I
would trade gray skies and lingering winter for warm ocean breezes, sandy beaches, and
a week together away from the routines of everyday life.
We often stayed at The Breakers. As an only child, our son looked forward to seeing the
friends he had made there over the years. For us, it became a family tradition.
My favorite part of the day was always the morning.
Before most people were awake, I would head to the small market for coffee and
something light to eat. Then we would make our way to the beach while the day was still
quiet and the first light of morning stretched across the ocean.
Those early hours seemed suspended in time.
Our son would head off for swim lessons or, remarkably, even scuba lessons at an age
when most children were still learning to float. At the time, it simply seemed like another
childhood adventure. Only years later did I realize that those mornings were helping
shape the person he would become.
The confidence, discipline, and love of the water that eventually led him toward a
military career were already beginning to take root, one sunrise at a time.
Years later, I created First Light – Palm Beach as a tribute to those mornings. Bergamot
opens the fragrance with the brightness of a new day, followed by muguet, jasmine
absolute, and ylang ylang, capturing the warmth of ocean air and tropical blooms carried
on a gentle breeze. Soft musks linger on the skin like the memory of a perfect morning by
the sea.
For me, First Light – Palm Beach will always be a reminder of quiet mornings, coffee
before the crowds arrived, the sound of the ocean at sunrise, and the realization that the
moments that shape our lives are often the ones we scarcely notice while they're happening.