Page 3

Had I been like the witches in my family, my mother would have been the first in line when I opened a cookie shop. But, to her eternal disappointment, my magic had never manifested, and she’d never entirely forgiven me for making her the mother of a magical dud.

From then on, she had repeatedly hammered into me that absolutely no one cared about or wanted my utterly mundane sugar cookies, no matter how beautiful they might be.

Mac rolled his eyes at me from the other side of the shop as if he’d heard my self-deprecating thoughts.

I chose to ignore him too, but only because the agent was looking at me expectantly as if waiting for me to answer a question. Her forehead furrowed into a concerned frown as I looked at her blankly, hoping she’d repeat herself.

“Hen? Are ye havin’ a wee spell? Do ye need some water?”

“I’m sorry,” I stammered as an all-too-familiar heat climbed up my neck to my cheeks and ears. Historically, being pinned in place by a pointed stare and an exaggeratedly arched eyebrow hadn’t boded well for me. “I didn’t quite catch what you asked.”

“I asked if ye were much of a cook.” Her eyebrow climbed another quarter inch as she again awaited my response.

“Uh, yes. I mean, no. I mean, I like to bake.”

“Och, aye. A wee bit of baking is nice. Especially with a nice cup of tea. Right then, give me a jingle if ye need anything else.”

With no further fanfare, the diminutive whirlwind of an estate agent blew right back out the entrance and, with a cheery wave, left us alone in the shop.

In my shop.

My wee little shop on the eastern seaboard of Scotland in a wee little town I’d spent all of three hours in a week ago.

I’m not a wee bit in over my head, I thought as I looked around the ramshackle space, my chest tightening as the sheer magnitude of what I’d done washed over me like one of the waves crashing onto the shore fifteen feet outside my front door. I impulsively bought a shop with no plan for what to do with it. I’m a lot in over my head.

So, why was I feeling pinpricks of excitement rather than fear as I spun around, grinning like a loon?

TWO

“I know exactly what you should do with the shop,” Mac said, his expression dead serious as he looked around, pursing his lips and nodding thoughtfully, the bag of potato chips in his hand forgotten. “A used-cheese shop.”

Of all the ridiculous suggestions I’d expected, that hadn’t even made the top ten.

“Used cheese?” I asked, my lips twitching with suppressed laughter as I took the bag and peered inside. Only five chips left. Figured.

Mac nodded earnestly. “It’s perfect. People who buy a new kind of cheese just to try it and end up not liking it can bring it here for you to sell on consignment.”

“Oh!” I played along. “Consignment! You don’t say! Pray tell, good sir, how exactly would I make money selling secondhand, consignment cheese?”

The look of exaggerated dismay he shot me broke my composure, and I let loose the laughter I’d been holding back.

“Meggy, Meggy, Meggy. How mercenary of you to aspire to profit from people’s poor cheese selection. Can’t you just do it for the good of humanity?”

“As soon as you figure out how I can liquidate the good of humanity, I’m so there,” I replied, tossing a chip at his head.

“Och! Don’t waste the crisps, lass!” Mac cried out in a terrible attempt at the local accent, catching it in midair and shoving it in his mouth.

“Right. Crisps,” I said with a grimace. “It’s like a language I can almost understand… but not quite, if that makes sense.”

“It’s about as clear as a nicely aged Hebridean blue cheese,” Mac said, nodding sagely.

Giggling, I tossed another chip at him, which he caught in his mouth this time. I might have been able to stop the giggles from taking over if he hadn’t slapped his forearms and hands together like a walrus clapping after catching a fish at an aquarium show and attempted to replicate its bark.

Every time I thought I might be able to stop, he caught my eye and clapped his arms again, triggering a fresh avalanche of giggles from me that he joyfully matched.

It had been months, if not years, since I’d laughed with such abandon, and when the giggles finally subsided to the occasional snort and chuckle, I was wiping tears from my eyes.

Exhausted in the best possible way, I flopped backward onto the floor like a limp noodle and grinned, feeling more like myself than I had since the day Jim had announced, out of the blue, that he’d been unhappy for a long time (something I’d been pointing out for months while offering to help), and was leaving me for another woman (not one of the solutions I’d suggested).