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Rubbing my hand briskly in hers, Peggy clucked at me as she led me to the stairs between our two buildings.

“No. Not there.” I shook my head.

“Nae?” She frowned at me and made a snap decision. “Och, then. To my house we go. Nial’ll be glad for the company after being alone all day.”

When I shivered violently, she whipped the shawl off her shoulders and threw it around mine.

“I dinna ken what happened, but there’s nae a thing that canna be fixed with a wee cup of tea,” she declared, taking me by the elbow and pulling me to the staircase on the other side of her storefront.

With two ice blocks masquerading as feet, the walk up to Peggy and Nial’s couldn’t have been pleasant, but I had no recollection of it or how I came to find myself in Nial’s overstuffed winged armchair with a steaming cup clasped in my hands.

The warmth of the crackling fire was intoxicating, and I stretched my toes toward it, only to snap them back when Grandma barked at me from her perch on the fireplace mantel.

Don’t do that!

“Why?”

Warming up frostbitten feet too fast hurts. You know that. Tuck them up under that blanket.

“Why what, hen?” Peggy asked, tucking a thick quilt around my lap. She nodded encouragingly when I pulled my feet up under it. “Tha’s right. Warm yer feet up slowly.”

“That’s what Grandma said,” I replied absentmindedly, only remembering after the words were out that maybe I wasn’t supposed to reveal that she’d been hanging around recently. I cocked my head and tried to focus on her nebulous form. “Am I allowed to tell people about you? Or are you a secret?” I whisper-hissed the last question, my eyes darting around the room to see if anyone had heard me ask.

Are you drunk, child? Grandma asked, swooping down from her perch to come and hover in front of me, the fists planted on her hips crinkling the satin kimono that barely reached her knees.

“No. Or at least, I don’t think so. Why? Are you?” I said, peering up at her and then into the cup in my hand before taking a tentative sip to double-check. “Peggy? Is this tea or whiskey?”

“Both. Ginger to warm ye up. Valerian and chamomile fer the shock. A large pinch of motherwort fer yer heart. And a wee dram of whiskey. Good for the soul and what ails ye.”

What does ail you? Grandma asked. Then she shook her head, her loose hair floating softly around, framing her annoyed expression. Now I’m talking like them. What did you do to get yourself into such a state, child?

I gasped and covered my mouth with my hand. “Your hair is loose! And you’re wearing a kimono! What did you do to get yourself into such a state, Grandma?” I said, giggling.

“Och, is yer grandmam visiting ye? That’s nice, that,” Peggy clucked, bustling over to check on me. “Drink up, hen. That tea’ll do you good. If yer granny’s here, I’ll be needin’ something for meself.”

The fire popped, catching my attention, and as I stared into the flames, watching them dance and fight, the tea worked its magic.

By the time Peggy bustled back into the room carrying her own steaming mug, the room had lost its ethereal, foggy shimmer, though Grandma’s hair was still a poofy halo around her slightly less irate face. She caught my knowing glance and scowled at me.

Mind your own beeswax, child. I don’t get all up in your business. Don’t be getting up in mine. She stuck her chin haughtily in the air and sniffed.

I laughed. “Uh, actually, you get all up in my business all the time.”

Grandma sniffed again. That’s different, and you know it.

“Ye’re laughing! Ye must be feelin’ a wee bit better, aye?” Peggy said, settling herself in the armchair across from mine, on the other side of the fireplace.

“A bit. Thank you. I’m sorry I worried you,” I said.

“Och, dinna fash yerself. It’s just a wee bit of tea and a fire. Noo, do ye want to sleep here, or are ye ready to go home?”

A flash of fear and shame washed over me, and I shook my head vehemently, blinking back tears.

Art had made me an online store without my input. Because he thought I’d like it. How many times had he assumed he knew what I wanted? I’d lost count. He meant well. But I couldn’t—I swallowed a sob and took a deep breath. The only thing that would feel worse than rejecting his gift would be accepting it. Both made me want to curl myself into a ball and give up.

One meant choosing him. The other meant choosing me. There was no winning in that equation. Not when I was choosing between myself and the kind, generous man who looked at me like I had walked right out of his dreams and into his arms and couldn’t quite believe I was real.

He was about to find out I wasn’t. I was just another selfish person looking out just for herself. I swallowed another sob, biting the inside of my cheek hard to keep myself from bursting into tears.