Page 15

“Nothing!” I exclaimed, shaking my head. “It all just sounds so… lovely.”

“The land here is ancient, ye ken,” Peggy said. “Steeped in old magic. It’s in the air we breathe, in the water we drink, and in the food we eat. It’s part of who we are rather than something we access. Naebody kens why some are more attuned tae it than others, but naebody takes it for granted either. We respect the magic, and in turn, it respects us and makes our lives a wee bit easier. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Her words settled over me, easing something tightly wound deep inside me. I exhaled softly. “I like that. I like that a lot.”

It was going to take me a little time to adjust to this world where magic was so tightly woven into the local fabric, but I already felt more at ease with all of it than I ever had with the magic of my childhood. That had always felt volatile and intimidating, whereas there was something eminently comforting about what Peggy was describing.

A bubble of joy worked its way up from my belly to my chest where it exploded, leaving me grinning like a loon. Maybe this magical land where men talked to wood, and plants talked to gardeners, was the kind of place where dreams could come true. “Wait, did you say something about someone having a way with tea?” I asked, my heart leaping as I grasped at the straw.

Peggy nodded. “Och, aye. Our Fiona knows everything there is t’know about tea. If ye like, I’ll send her over tae teach ye all ye need tae know. But first, pop on over tae talk to our Nial about yer wee display case.” Her eyes darted around the shop as she spun around slowly.

“What about the wee nook in the back?” she asked. “Have ye found furniture for that yet?”

I nodded. “A couple of chairs and a coffee table. Nothing to put on the shelves yet, though.”

A twinkle appeared in Peggy’s eyes as her smile widened. “We’ve got ye, hen. Dinna fash. Things for the flat too.”

“Oh no, please. I’ll figure something out.”

She shook her head vehemently. “Ye let us handle it. Ye’ve plenty else t’worry about. And biscuits tae bake,” she added, winking at me. “Noo, d’ye have a sense of where ye’ll be getting jars for the tea?” she asked, tipping her head at the cubbies behind me.

I shrugged helplessly. “No. I wasn’t even sure I was opening a tea shop.”

“I have a few ideas for that too,” she said with a definitive nod that cut off the protest already forming on my lips. “Right then. Come whenever ye please,” she said, bustling toward the shop entrance. “We’ll see ye then.”

I watched her head home, marveling at the matter-of-fact way she embraced magic. The women I’d grown up with treated their powers like precious gifts that awarded them status that they delighted in lording over those with less. There may have been no official hierarchy within my family’s coven, but there had also been no doubt as to who ranked where in the pecking order.

To witness magic being considered an inherent part of the fabric of reality—not entirely taken for granted, but also not coveted or hoarded—was healing part of me I hadn’t realized was broken.

Shooting a glare at the hallucination still splayed across my counter blowing smoke rings at the ceiling, I slumped against the counter and closed my eyes, letting it all sink in.

My inner child did a happy little dance inside my head, and I found myself grinning right along with her. I was going to have my very own tea-and-cookie shop. It was almost too good to believe.

The shop door opened, and I opened my eyes, ready to tease Peggy about forgetting something. But the words stuck in my throat as my gaze settled on the last person that I’d ever expected to see step into my shop.

SIX

“What are you doing here?”

I instantly regretted how aggressively the question popped out. But I was no more in control of my mouth than my shaky hands. Even though we’d talked many times on the phone and via video chat, the only time I had seen this man in person had been on the single mind-blowing date we’d gone on a week before I’d left for my trip with Mac.

We had talked and laughed non-stop for hours, and at the end of the evening, his finger had trailed down my cheek with a tenderness at odds with the heat smoldering in his eyes. He’d whispered, almost to himself, that he wanted us to take things slow so we could savor each morsel of the unexpected magic unfolding between us. Despite a sharp pang of disappointment, I’d agreed. My head had already been spinning from the intensity of the feelings our date had sparked in me. A kiss might have tipped me over the edge and into dangerous territory.Whilst debating whether I should stay in Scotland, I’d managed to talk myself into believing that our relationship was so new, it wasn’t too late to walk away without it hurting. The way my stomach was twisting itself inside out as our eyes met across my little shop told a different story. My heart stilled as I drank him in. He looked even better than I remembered.

We both froze, and time stood still as we stared at each other across the empty store.

The one date we had gone on had defied every expectation I had of internet dating. Like most dating-app first encounters, it had started with a coffee. Unlike most first dates, it hadn’t ended after twenty minutes of awkward conversation.

We’d moved from the coffee shop to a strange little hole-in-the-wall Shakespeare memorabilia museum that we had mistaken for an antique store, then meandered slowly to a nearby beach where we’d gotten caught in a sudden downpour that had accompanied us all the way back to our cars. Even then, we’d been loath to say goodbye.

The jacket that he’d whipped off himself and draped across my shoulders when the first raindrops had fallen had kept me relatively dry. He hadn’t fared nearly as well. But, as if his clothes weren’t plastered to his body like a second skin and he wasn’t violently shivering, Art had suggested we go to dinner. The absurdity of the moment dispelled what remained of the first-date awkwardness that had survived discovering we’d gotten through our childhoods by escaping into the same books, loved the same foods, and shared similar views about pretty much everything we’d touched on as we talked nonstop for hours. I’d burst out laughing and suggested that he might instead want to head home to change his wet clothing so he wouldn’t catch pneumonia.

He’d looked down as though he hadn’t noticed he was soaked and couldn’t quite figure out how it had happened. When he’d shrugged and flashed me a goofy grin, saying he’d dry just as easily at a restaurant as at home, I would have followed him pretty much anywhere. Which, as it turned out, was a good thing, because the only open restaurant we’d found had been questionable at best. Luckily, we’d both been too engrossed in each other to taste any of the food we’d ordered.

Once in a blue moon, you meet someone and instantly feel like you’ve always known them. You don’t expect to meet that person on a dating app.

And you certainly don’t expect them to show up on your doorstep on the other side of the world after you’ve dumped them over an awkward phone call.

As I stood across the shop from Art, the undeniable connection I had felt during our date tugged at me, and if I hadn’t rooted my feet to the floor, I would have drifted toward him like a magnet drawn to its mate.