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Even though the shop didn’t look like the one I’d once dreamed of owning, the instant I laid eyes on it, I’d pictured myself so clearly—throwing the door open every morning to greet neighbors and people walking by on their way to the beach as I unfurled the awning with the old hand-crank—that it was hard to fathom it had never happened.

The first time the vision had popped into my head, I had momentarily forgotten that I’d met a man who looked at me like he couldn’t quite believe his luck, who’d given me a taste of being truly seen and understood, and I had imagined a future that didn’t include him.

It figured that, the instant I finally came to grips with being on my own, a smart, funny, good-looking and emotionally mature man would come along and sweep me off my feet. Luckily, I hadn’t been too far gone to resist one of my most deeply buried desires.

If I had never met Art, opting to throw caution to the wind to start fresh in a new land would have been just as terrifying, but a lot less bittersweet. Still, after years of ignoring my needs in favor of someone else’s, I couldn’t fault myself for choosing what my soul craved.

To smother the ache in my heart, I hummed to myself as I pushed open the door.

Part of me would always wonder what I’d forfeited to live out this dream, but the rest of me just wanted to bask in the joy that welled up whenever I stepped into my very own wee shop. Looking around, I grinned.

“So what do you say? Want to be a cute little tea shop again?” I asked the store, not expecting any sort of answer, but feeling, nonetheless, that asking its permission was the polite thing to do. After all, it had been around a whole lot longer than I had been and had likely been all sorts of shops throughout its existence. Maybe it hadn’t liked being a tea shop.

The notion was so preposterous that I laughed, the sound echoing around the empty space, almost as if I wasn’t the only one who thought the idea amusing.

As I glanced around the store, something different about the small cubbies lining the wall behind the counter caught my eye. The days were growing shorter, so the morning light was different, giving the whole room a bit of an otherworldly feel. Still, I didn’t think that was what had snagged my attention. I narrowed my gaze. Nothing had changed as far as I could tell, but Edna had described so vividly how they’d looked when she was a child that I could almost see the thick glass jars filled with tea. The ones on the top shelf were dark and serious-looking. Their small chalkboard signs, hanging from thin metal chains looped around their necks like bling on a rapper, read things like Assam, Darjeeling, and something called Yunnan. I frowned. I’d never heard of Yunnan. The lower shelves held a brighter and more whimsical tea selection with names that made me grin like Audaci-tea, Luminosi-tea, and Clari-tea.

What would a tea for mental clarity contain? Coming up blank sent an uncomfortable shiver up my spine. My subconscious had provided the name of the imaginary tea; shouldn’t I have known what it contained?

Something shimmered out of the corner of my eye, but when I twirled around, aside from a few dust motes dancing in the fading light, the room was empty. I’d imagined the pretty little wooden tables and colorful chairs I could have sworn were there an instant earlier. Rubbing my forehead did little to dispel the pressure mounting behind my eyes.

I was making a mental note to have someone from the gas company swing by to check for leaks when a loud rapping at the entrance snapped me out of my trance.

“Hallo! It’s only me!”

Shaking my head at my nonsense, I turned to the door and smiled at Peggy, the neighbor with a knack for showing up at just the right moment.

She and her husband lived next door in the apartment above a wood shop that I’d never seen open. Like everyone else in town, Peggy was incredibly welcoming and warm, and frustratingly hard to understand.

“What’re ye standing there gawkin’ at them cubbies for? Ye look like ye’ve clapped eyes on a wee ghostie.” Peggy laughed, glancing around the room as if to make sure there wasn’t one actually standing there.

I laughed as well. “Not a ghost, I don’t think. Just something odd.”

“Och?” Peggy said, tilting her head in an invitation for me to continue.

“It’s silly, really. Someone who stopped by recently described how the shop looked when she was a child. Just now, when I turned around, I could almost see the shop as it was then, or at least the shelves of tea it might have had.”

“Aye. That is a wee bit odd, eh?”

I shrugged. “That wasn’t the odd part. The weird thing was that some of the jars I imagined contained teas I’ve never even heard of. That’s absurd, right?”

Peggy didn’t laugh like I expected her to. Instead, she shrugged and shook her head, her mouth turned down at the corners in a “what do I know” expression. “Not if ye have a wee touch of the sight like ma grannie,” she said. “She was special, that one. Always knew what the weather was going to do and what the fishermen would be pulling in. Helpful, that, ye ken.”

“Uh-huh,” I replied, unsure what else to say. If Peggy heard the dubiousness in my voice, it didn’t stop her. She laughed, mostly to herself, and shook her head again.

“She never did manage the lotto numbers. Always seemed to be off by one.”

Despite the dread pooling in my gut, I couldn’t help asking, “If she always knew that she was going to be off by one, why not just play the lotto numbers one off?”

Peggy chuckled. “Tried that, but we never kenned whether she’d be up or down one. Never worked out. Perhaps ye can’t use the sight for riches. Personal gain and all that. Ye ken?”

The matter-of-fact way she discussed the types of things I’d only ever heard mentioned in hushed, reverent tones made my head spin.

I laughed uncomfortably.

“I’m sure it’s just my imagination running wild. It does that on occasion,” I said, attempting to dismiss what I’d said earlier with a wave of my hand.

“Och? Does it?” Peggy asked, her voice devoid of anything more than a mere hint of polite interest.