‘Wow. You really did this for me? Thank you.’ Greta’s eyes were drawn to the back of the cabin, where snow swirled in a small yard. ‘Is that stuff real?’ She gasped.

  ‘Frozen especially for you.’ Jim grinned, pulling on the type of mittens and woolly hat only worn by men in Hallmark movies. If his look was any more romcom, he’d be wearing a reindeer jumper.

  He really was the perfect guy Greta had wished for, and his attentiveness made her insides feel like warm custard. Each time he looked at her, her attraction to him sparked like a match.

  She took it all in. ‘It’s like a scene from Love Actually,’ she said.

  Jim’s brow furrowed. ‘Love . . . ? What’s that?’

  ‘You know, the movie where the guy holds up handwritten signs to tell the girl how he feels?’

  Jim’s face remained blank.

  Greta’s smile faltered, just for a moment, as she wondered what else might be missing in Mapleville.

  A sudden memory surfaced, of Jim one Christmas. He’d got tipsy and murdered ‘Careless Whisper’ on pub karaoke while wearing a tinsel headband. It looked like that kind of thing would never happen here. Though maybe that was a good thing.

  She liked that Mapleville felt largely untouched by the outside world, a place where she and Jim could be free of their everyday problems.

  If only he could be this attentive and charming in Longmill, surely things could work out between them. Was it really too much to ask?

  They stepped outside, their feet crunching in the snow. Greta twirled around, laughing as flakes settled on her nose and cheeks. Stooping down, she rolled some into a snowball and threw it at Jim. It burst against the top of his arm.

  With a playful grin, he tossed one back, chasing her around the yard in small circles until he scooped her into his arms.

  Heat bloomed in her chest as Jim held her close. Greta’s whole body tingled with electricity, stirring up a deep, aching yearning. She missed the way they used to fit together, like perfect jigsaw pieces.

  Greta lifted her chin and parted her lips. The air between them crackled, almost alive, as if the whole world had paused to allow this moment its full potential.

  When Jim didn’t pull her any closer, she peeped at him through her eyelashes, inching her face toward his. She desperately wanted him to kiss her, with the tender passion they’d let slide in their marriage.

  Instead, Jim’s arms loosened. Gently, he let her go.

  ‘Let’s build a snowman,’ he said with a grin, dropping to his knees on the white lawn. ‘You make the head, and I’ll do the body.’

  Greta froze, his rejection needling her. She ran a hand down her dress, telling herself it was too soon for a kiss anyway. Besides, couples in coffee commercials never actually locked lips. The camera always panned away before their mouths met.

  Still, it was easy to get swept away by Jim’s enthusiasm, and she knelt beside him. ‘I’ll make a giant snowball,’ she said. ‘We can give it a face.’

  It felt liberating to be silly, crawling around and scooping up snow in a way Greta hadn’t done since Lottie was young. Jim produced a carrot from his pocket and handed it to her to use as a nose.

  Afterward, they lay together on the sheepskin rug in the cabin. ‘Coffee?’ Jim said. ‘It’s rich, roasted Maple Gold, perfect for holidays, special days, and any day.’

  Somehow his words sounded romantic rather than cheesy. Greta nodded and watched as he spooned granules into two cups, and poured in water from the kettle. They wrapped their hands around them, sighing as the steam warmed their faces. Maple Gold wasn’t as rich or complex as Iris’s brew, but that was fine.

  ‘Have you had a good time?’ Jim asked, reaching out to touch her cheek.

  ‘The best.’ Greta nestled her face against his palm. ‘It couldn’t have been more perfect.’

  ‘Later on, I’ll give you a shoulder massage and a foot rub,’ he said.

  Greta swooned.

  Yet as they lay there together, something niggled at the back of her mind. The day had been magical, more than she could have hoped for, but was this really her Jim, or a figment of the town’s seductive charm?

  Greta sipped her coffee, gazing out of the window at the snow. Oddly, the sun shone brightly through the trees at the same time, bending the illusion.

  She felt cosy, even a little drowsy, unsure if it was from the busy day, the warmth of the cabin . . . or something else. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she fought to keep them open. A yawn escaped, and she patted a hand to her mouth.

  Greta wanted to stay here, snuggled up with Jim, but the lull of sleep was getting stronger. Something was pulling her under.

  Resting her face against Jim’s arm, she let her eyes close.

  Just a quick nap. Then I’m definitely going in for a kiss.

  Chapter 18

  Greta blinked against the dim light, all her senses jangling. She felt like she’d been trapped underwater, weighed down by an anchor, and had finally fought her way to the surface, gasping for air.

  Gradually, the worn wooden tables and red lightshades of Iris’s coffee shop came into focus. The air around her felt chilly, and she rubbed the goose bumps on her arms, already missing the heat of the crackling fire in the cabin.

  Jim had disappeared. Their snowman was gone. All of Mapleville had vanished like a popped soap bubble.

  A surge of loss almost swallowed her. Greta could still feel the light touch of Jim’s fingers on her skin, and hear him whispering sweet nothings in her ear.

  Immediately, she wanted to go back to Mapleville.

  She tried to stand, but felt light-headed, unsure how long she’d been under the effects of the coffee. A clock on Iris’s wall told her she’d been gone for three and a half hours, though it felt like much longer. Reaching up, Greta touched her pearl necklace, relieved to feel something that still connected her to her other self.

  Outside, the mid-afternoon sky was darkening. Rain lashed against the windows, casting reflections of rivulets onto the floorboards inside. Puddles shimmered on the pavement, and car tyres shushed on the wet road.

  Greta’s coffee cup sat in front of her, its rim smudged with her coral lipstick. An inch or so of cold coffee still remained in the bottom, sludgy and dark.

  She pulled out her phone, wondering if Jim or Lottie had been in touch, but there were no notifications. Lottie might still be out with Jayden, and Jim was probably chilling in the penthouse.

  Greta’s phone suddenly buzzed in her hand, breaking the silence.

  Edgar had sent her a message, and she realised she’d hadn’t yet replied to his previous one.

  Would you like to meet up sometime to compare experiences? I’m at Barker’s Treasures (a vintage shop near Manchester). I’m in the shop most days, or happy to meet elsewhere . . .

  Greta gnawed her bottom lip. The thought of talking to someone who might appreciate the lure, and the challenges, of dipping into an alternate life was like the pull of a magnet. Though Edgar was a stranger, he was the closest thing she had to a confidant in the real world. Manchester was only ten miles away.

  But did she really want to meet up with someone she didn’t know? Even if it meant feeling less alone?

  Greta jerked up her head as the TV in the corner of the shop unexpectedly flickered to life, playing an old washing powder commercial. Her heartbeat shot sky-high, and she stumbled toward it, silver light shining on her face.

  The commercial began to glitch, the same few seconds looping over and over. A woman smiled brightly as she held up a mound of soapsuds and winked, accompanied by a snippet of a jingle. Static crackled, and the reel started over again.

  Greta smacked the side of the TV with her palm. The commercial resumed, the static cleared, and a film started up next. Deep Sea Fury was a shameless rehash of Jaws, with Tobias Blake saving swimmers from a man-eating shark. Although widely panned by critics, it had been a massive hit with audiences, the perfect date-night movie. Greta would love to star in something so popular.

  Gradually, she realised she was alone in the shop and unease prickled in her chest. She looked around for Iris, but there was no sign of her.

  Iris’s mortar and pestle sat on one of the tables with a note wedged underneath them.

  Back in Thirty Minutes. Iris.

  How long had it been waiting for her to find it? The roots of Greta’s hair stiffened. The weight of responsibility, of being the temporary custodian of the place, even for half an hour, felt heavy on her shoulders. She couldn’t leave the shop unattended, and would have to stay until Iris returned.

  Greta moved toward the glass jars lining the shelves, examining them more closely. They looked like they belonged in an apothecary or an old-fashioned sweet shop rather than a café. She ran her fingers across the handwritten labels, their edges yellowed by time—Dark Matters, Belonging Beans, and Dreamscape.

  Greta paused when she saw one named Starbright. If she remembered correctly, Iris had used some of this to create her individual blend. Inside the jar, dark, dry leaves looked like burnt curls of paper. They were mixed with coarsely ground coffee beans and crushed spices.

  Greta rubbed the back of her neck, feeling an intense urge to open the jar. The pull of Mapleville rushed over her, with the force of how the moon draws the tide. Waiting seven days until she could visit Iris’s coffee shop again felt like an eternity.

  The roar of applause she’d imagined in the ballroom lured her like a siren.

  Iris’s last coffee had allowed her to rekindle her connection with Jim and Lottie. Could the contents of this jar help her career to sparkle again?

  One cup of coffee a week only.

  The rule appeared in Greta’s mind, clear and unbreakable.

  She pushed it aside and squinted at the jars, trying to remember which other ingredients Iris had used for her personal blend. There were so many jars that piecing together the recipe felt impossible. Greta wondered if Iris kept records somewhere, or if she stored the recipes in her head.

  The thought made her curiosity burn even stronger.

  She stepped over to the counter. Behind it, she could see Iris’s storeroom was open, the door ajar. Greta swiftly looked over both shoulders, then darted toward it.

  Inside the small room, she could see rows and rows of more small jars, each with a white rabbit on the label. The shelves featured letters of the alphabet, and she held her breath and walked in. She turned around a few jars in the B section before she spotted the name Edgar Barker.

  Greta closed her eyes with relief. So, he had been here, too? She wasn’t alone.

  A sudden rattle of the shop’s front door made her jump.

  She spun around, her heart pounding like a bass drum in her ears. Iris?

  As Greta quickly sidestepped back into the coffee shop, her eyes swivelled toward the window.

  Outside, a man cupped his hands to his eyes, trying to peer into the shop. Rain glistened on his hood, and his breath fogged the glass.

  ‘Iris,’ he shouted. ‘Let me in.’

  Greta remained statue-still, her lungs feeling like they might burst. She hoped he wouldn’t notice anyone was inside.

  Edging farther back into the shadows, she watched as the man paced up and down the pavement.

  Then he knocked again, harder this time. Aggressive. The noise boomed around the shop. ‘Iris. I need coffee.’

  Greta screwed her eyes shut and willed him to go away.

  After a couple more minutes, the stranger gave up and moved on.

  Greta let out a shaky breath, her pulse taking a while to return to its usual pace.

  Her gaze swept across the coffee shop, settling on her coffee cup still sitting on the table in the booth. A thought flooded her head before she could stop it.

  What if I drink the rest of the coffee?

  At home, she often zapped her half-drunk cooled brews in the microwave, ignoring Lottie’s exasperated requests to ‘just make a new one, Mum.’

  But Iris’s coffee wasn’t ordinary. It seemed to offer a chance to reimagine her life.

  Greta approached the cup with trepidation, peeking into the shallow, stagnant brown liquid. Was there enough left to help her return to Mapleville?

  Iris hadn’t mentioned anything about temperature or quantity affecting the ritual or its effects. If Greta drank it, she’d technically only be consuming one cup of coffee, just spread out across the day. She pursed her lips as temptation bloomed in her chest, like drops of ink in water.

  Her thoughts strayed back to the disastrous evening at the Anvil Inn, Lottie’s sullen silences, Jim’s disbelief in Iris’s coffee shop, Nora’s offers of uninspiring work, and the ever-growing pile of unpaid bills on her kitchen table. All the mounting rejections in Greta’s life felt like a heap of rubber tyres piled on top of her.

  Mapleville offered her the chance to show the world, her family, and herself that she still had something to offer.

  Greta headed once more to the jar labelled Starbright, taking it off the shelf. The glass stopper resisted at first, but she gave it a firm pull.

  Sniffing its contents, she found its aroma bittersweet, like burnt chocolate with a hint of spice she didn’t recognise. Greta reached inside, pinching the dried leaves and ground coffee beans between her thumb and forefinger. The mixture felt crispy and almost disintegrated at her touch.

  She carried a small amount over to the booth and sprinkled it directly into her cup. Then she stirred the concoction with a spoon, watching the leaves break apart and swirl in the remains of her coffee. By now her fingertips tingled with craving, even though the thought of drinking the cold brew felt icky.

  Greta didn’t know if drinking it would work or not. There was only a small amount of coffee left in the cup—possibly enough for an hour or two away from Longmill. She could still be back here in time for dinner with Lottie, and have time to prepare for the Coffee Morning Crew show the next day.

  Her only way to find out was to try it. Even if it felt impulsive, possibly reckless.

  As she raised her cup, the coffee’s aroma hit her, strong and pungent. The cold china sent a chill through her lips.

  A voice in her head warned her this wasn’t a good idea.

  What if Iris catches me?

  The thought hit her like a brick, but the pull was too strong, the temptation too much. Greta gripped the handle of the cup tighter. Despite all the alarm bells sounding in her mind, she let the cold coffee slide down her throat.

  The bitterness was more pronounced this time, unpleasant. Specks of leaves stuck to her teeth, and she ran her tongue around the inside of her mouth to dislodge them. As Greta swallowed, a maelstrom of conflicting emotions spun in her mind. But did she really have anything here to stay for?

  In Mapleville, she was a better version of herself, living in a picture-perfect place. Her family loved and cherished her.

  But what now? What was still missing from her life there?

  She considered her next wish and found her thoughts taking her back to her improvisation in the ballroom, where she had truly felt seen. The imaginary flowers, the applause, receiving the pretend award.

  And she wanted more of it.

  ‘For my third wish—’ Greta spoke aloud with determination ‘—I wish I had it all. I want my career to sparkle, just like it used to do. I want to be a star, with the world at my feet, to be adored, not forgotten.’

  Then she drained the rest of the cup.

  Perhaps because Greta still had some coffee in her system, or perhaps because the coffee was cold, or maybe because she’d added the Starbright, the effects came on faster this time.

  A low hum began in her ears, building steadily until it resembled the drill of roadworks. She clutched the edge of the table, nauseous, as she felt herself slipping away once more.

  Somewhere in the haze of shifting sights and sounds, she heard the coffee shop door fly open and hurried footsteps approaching her.

  ‘Greta.’ Iris’s voice flew at her, sharp and urgent. ‘What on earth have you done?’

  But by then, it was too late.

  The last thing Greta saw was the white rabbit on the coffee jar label—and it seemed to give her a frown.

  Chapter 19

  Greta sat in the plush cream leather seat of a car, far away from the man in the driver’s seat. He wore a peaked black cap—a chauffeur, she realised. The engine purred as the car glided through the streets of Mapleville. A bottle of champagne sat in an ice bucket beside her, flanked by two crystal flutes.

  Peering down, she saw she was wearing a bronze dress with a boned bodice. The skirt skimmed her ankles, and pointed gold shoes peeped out from beneath the hem. When Greta touched her hair, she found she was wearing a tiara. She was dressed like a bona fide star.

  ‘Am I in a stretch limousine?’ she asked the driver.

  ‘Yes, Ms Perks,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘Sit back and enjoy the ride. We’ll be there in a few minutes.’

  Greta let out a delighted laugh, wondering where they were heading. Iris might have shown up in her shop at the last minute, demanding to know what she’d done, but it was too late now. She guessed it would be pretty obvious that she’d returned to Mapleville.

  Greta pushed all her worries aside, unwilling to dwell on her questionable decision to drink the coffee dregs. She was here now, and that was all that mattered.

  Mapleville looked even more magical at dusk. The crescent moon in the indigo sky was so sharp it looked like it had been cut out of silver paper, and the stars sparkled like diamonds. Street lamps made the pavements shine as if lined with gold leaf, and water in the town square fountain sparkled like glitter.

  As the car pulled up outside the town hall, a cheer erupted from the crowd waiting there. Hundreds of people strained against red rope barriers, and flashbulbs went off in quick succession, lighting up the sky like bursts of fireworks.

  The chauffeur turned his head to glance at her. ‘Looks like they’re ready for you, Ms Perks.’

  ‘Me?’ Greta gasped, holding a hand to her chest. ‘What have I done?’

 

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