Page 7

I let my thoughts drift to a place I hadn’t let them wander since that day.

Before an image of myself in my own shop, selling cookies that I’d designed and decorated, could coalesce into something impossible to dismiss, I shook my head.

“The math just doesn’t math.” I rested my forearms on my knees and let my head hang. “The margins on cookies are far too small to live on. I need to think of something with a low-risk inventory that won’t spoil. Like a gift shop or home goods or something. Stuff that anyone can sell, so the shop’s success doesn’t rest squarely on my ability to work all day every day.”

“Stuff that anyone can sell,” Mac deadpanned. “Whee.”

I bumped my shoulder against his. “You know what I mean. Something a reasonable, rational grown-up would sell.”

Mac squeezed my hand gently. “You have a gift, Meg. You’re a true artist. That matters.”

His words hung in the air between us as we fell silent. When I closed my eyes, I could see my younger self gazing up at me, her hands clasped against her chest, her eyes so incandescent with hope it made my heart ache. A lot had happened to me since I’d been young and naïve enough to believe that wishing hard enough would make something come true.

What if I opened a cookie shop and everyone looked at me the way our mother had when they took their first bite? Where would I be then?

But what if they don’t? asked a little voice deep in my heart.

But what if they do? I replied, blinking back the tears pricking my eyes as I leaned my head back against the counter with a sigh.

Whatever I ended up selling, I had to decide sooner rather than later, or I really would be heading home with my tail tucked between my legs and my stomach rumbling loud enough for all of Massachusetts to hear.

As if to punctuate my thoughts, my stomach let out a growl loud enough to make Mac chuckle.

“Hint taken,” he said, getting to his feet and holding out a hand to help me to mine before dusting off his backside. “Can you do me a favor?” Mac asked, turning back as he reached the shop door.

“Sure. What?”

“I can’t tell you what to do. It’s your life and you’ve earned the right to make your own decisions. But will you at least consider it? Don’t let our mother kill the thing that lit you up just because it doesn’t fit her narrow worldview.”

I winced but couldn’t bring myself to say no. “Fine. I can promise I’ll at least consider it. Now, will you please go get us some lunch before I pass out from extreme hunger?” I said, clutching my stomach and slumping against the counter.

Mac rolled his eyes at my dramatics. “One fried pizza coming right up. Glad I stayed a few days to be your errand boy.”

“Well,” I laughed, feeling it echo against the ache in my heart. “I didn’t ask you to stay for your brains. Though I will have use for your brawn when you get back.”

THREE

“Yoo-hoo! Halloo! Anybody there?”

The interruption came as a welcome distraction from stripping the paint from the coffee table I’d scored at a nearby charity thrift shop. I’d thought it would only take a quick once-over with some sandpaper and a fresh coat of paint to make it look new. I’d been wrong, which was why I was elbow deep in paint stripper and my back was a screaming mess.

Peering down the small staircase into the main store, I spied a slightly-older-than-middle-aged woman poking her head through the partially open door. Between the hair pulled back in a messy bun and her flowy floral caftan, she looked like she’d come to Banhaven to relax on the beach. It seemed I wasn’t the only one who’d been caught off guard by the sudden onset of fall.

The large floppy sun hat tucked under her arm confirmed that she was a tourist. Even if it hadn’t been surprisingly cold, a local would have known better than to wear a hat the wind would instantly snatch from their head.

She smiled as I approached the door. “You’re clearly not open for business, but would you mind terribly if I stepped in for a moment?” she implored. “This wind is a tad sharper than I anticipated.”

I bit back a laugh at the understatement. I hadn’t fully understood the meaning of wind until I’d arrived in Scotland.

“Of course, of course. Please come in. Don’t mind the mess; we’re in the middle of renovating.” Who’s Queen Obvious now, Meg? I asked myself as she glanced around the room with a bemused smile at the tarps draped over the floor and the painting gear scattered all around.

“Not at all!” she said, beaming at me as she deftly stepped around a tray of thistle-blue paint to come in. “Open or closed?” she asked, gesturing at the door.

“Open, please,” I replied, tipping my head at the freshly painted window trim. The paint fumes were the reason the door had been open in the first place. “How can I help you?” I asked, relatively confident that I wouldn’t be able to no matter what she said.

“I came here as a child with my father when this was a quaint little tea shop.” The wistfulness in her tone piqued my attention. Her voice softened as she gestured toward the front of the shop. “I adored sitting with my father at a little table by that very window, watching holidaymakers going to the beach.”

After gazing longingly at the bare spot by the window, her eyes meandered around the room until they came to rest on the cubbies lining the wall from floor to ceiling behind the counter. Her smile widened.