That "Old Book Smell"

The book has been boxed up and stacked under piles of newspaper and junk for what seems like decades. Its corners are pealed and the edges have been sequentially been curved inward. It has evidently gathered dust and there are endless dust bunnies surrounding this pyramid of senile possessions. I opened the book to check if the inside looks as abandoned as the cover, it does not in fact, it looks as if it has never been opened before. And the smell has changed a bit.
I press my nose to the centre of the inside of the book as I hold the edges with a tight grip. With all my might, I sniff, to take in all the lost and forgotten memories. Like an old countryside cottage, the book gives off a smell that triggers a flashback of memories, recollections of my childhood with my grandfather, causing me to become unsteady and trip of some of the other junk laying on the floor. I lean my back against the nearest wall and take a stroll down memory lane…
It was a sunny morning in 1985 as I wake up to the sound of my grandfather calling my name repeatedlty, and the smell of freshly mowed grass and squeezed orange juice. After splashing my face with cold water, I dry it with grandfather. At that time, “the book smell” lingered all over the house. I loved that “book smell”. By the time I had reached the kitchen,my grandfather had already eaten and was in the garden setting up for fishing together. I began to cry. I realise now that the extraordinary part was not my sudden tend to lash out, but was the way in which my grandfather calmed me. He was not like the regular ones, at least to me. As soon as he noticed me bout to cry, he would start with a story. “once upon a time…”. This method was effective in calming me down literally every time. He may or may not have been making them up, but he was my hero.
Remembering the days by the seaside put a smile on my face. When my grandfather would bury me in the sand, make sand dunes and sand castles for me, but most importantly, I