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“Gracious me! I had nearly forgotten the tea! Back then, those held exquisite glass jars filled with all sorts of fancy tea blends. The owner would pull them down so I could smell them and guess what they contained.” Laughing at the memory, she added, “I never once got it right, but it didn’t matter.” She smiled wistfully. “It smelled like magic in here.”

My eyebrows flew up. “Magic?”

“Well, you know,” the woman laughed. “What seven-year-old doesn’t think exotic things are a touch magical? I’m certain it always left me dreaming of Turkish delight.”

Now that she’d mentioned the glass jars, I couldn’t believe that I hadn’t guessed that was what the cubbies had once contained.

“Are you opening a tea shop?” she asked, a small frown creasing her forehead as though she couldn’t quite figure out what we were doing.

I grimaced. “I’m not actually sure yet. To be perfectly honest, I bought the place on a whim, hoping I’d figure it out after I arrived.”

A delighted smile bloomed on her face. “Oh! How perfectly marvelous.” She tipped her head and waggled one eyebrow. “It’s not my place to tell you what to do, but a proper tea shop would be ever so lovely. So much better than all these ghastly coffee shops popping up everywhere. I’ve nothing against coffee, it serves its purpose, but on occasion, the only thing that will do is a good cup of tea and a cozy spot to enjoy it. Wouldn’t you agree?”

She wasn’t wrong. While I couldn’t function without my morning coffee, by midmorning all I really wanted was a cup of tea. The old patched-up leather armchair I had found along with the coffee table would be the perfect spot to drink one in, too.

“You are absolutely right,” I replied as Mac pushed his way through the partially open door, a grocery bag from the market down the street under each arm.

“Who’s right about what?” he asked, heaving the bags onto the counter with a grunt. “They were mostly out of everything you wanted, but I did my best,” he said before turning to the woman still clasping her hands and beaming with delight.

“Hello.” He held out his hand with a cheeky grin. She took it with a simpering titter.

“Edna Fitzgibbon, though do call me Edna. Lovely to meet you.”

“Mac. Well, it’s Hamish MacIntosh, but everybody just calls me Mac.” He flashed her the signature smile that usually made women a bit weak in the knees—ironic, given how he only ever noticed the men in the room. “So? Who was right about what? Was it me?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“This delightful young lady”—this made me laugh. Nobody had called me that in a long time—“was agreeing with me that this town could use a lovely little tea shop.”

Mac shot me a surprised look, his eyebrows inching up his forehead. “She was, was she?” he asked, sounding amused.

“Not that I have any say in what she does with this delightful shop,” Edna hurried to add. “But in her shoes, I might seriously consider opening a tea shop like the one that was here when I was a child. However, I suspect that we wear very different-sized shoes.” She tittered at her own cleverness. “Whatever you decide will be wonderful, I’m sure,” she said, reaching over to pat my arm.

“I appreciate the suggestion,” I said, surprised by how much I valued the vote of confidence from a perfect stranger.

“You know, I rather believe that the Universe sends us where we need to be at the ideal moment. I couldn’t quite account for my sudden urge to come to the coast on a rather blustery day, but I think this is exactly where I was meant to come.” She clasped her hands happily. “I shouldn’t keep you. Do let me know when you open, won’t you?”

She stopped at the door to look around the shop one last time. “Coming here always felt like stepping outside of time. I couldn’t begin to guess how many afternoons I sat here reading while my father talked business.”

“Did they sell anything other than tea? Any food?” I asked, suddenly curious.

Edna frowned slightly as she sifted through her memories. Then her whole face brightened. “Yes!” she cried. Her delighted chuckle brought a smile to my face. “The most wonderful painted biscuits.” She winked knowingly at me, and my heart jumped. “‘Cookies,’ as you say over the pond. Beautiful things. Hand-decorated. Mostly intended for holidaymakers looking for souvenirs, but some were clearly meant for the locals.” She paused, smiling at the memory. “My favorites looked like adorable little sheep. They tasted like sugary clouds of joy.”

My eyes widened. What were the odds?

“Painted cookies?” Mac asked, raising an eyebrow at me. “You don’t say! What an extraordinary coincidence. My sister is a cookie decorator herself,” he explained.

The woman waved her hands excitedly. “Oh! How fortuitous.” Her eyes widened suddenly, and she sounded almost like a shy little girl as she asked, “You don’t, by any chance, have any available today?” Her hopeful expression dimmed slightly as she glanced around the store. “Or even just a small cup of tea? I know I said I should get going, but it is so very chilly out there.”

I hesitated, glancing at Mac to see his reaction, but he was rummaging through the grocery bags.

There was a long list of things I was hoping to get done before he jetted off in the morning, but I had been up all night baking, too keyed up to sleep, and we were overdue for a break. What was the harm in sharing a cup of tea and a few cookies if it made her day?

“Did you…” I started asking Mac just as he brandished a bright blue box labeled Scottish Tea.

“Of course I did!” he said, grinning triumphantly.

I rolled my eyes at him. “It’s tea, you buffoon. Hardly the find of the century.” There was no shortage of tea for sale in Scottish grocery stores. “And did you…?” I tried again.

“Remember the milk?” he finished, winking at me as he pulled a small bottle from the other bag. “As if I’d dare come back without. Last one they had. Seems that most people get their milk delivered, so they only carry a few bottles from local dairies. This one comes from a farm down the road.”