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A few of her regulars slipped in quietly, asked for their order, and slipped right back out again without another word. No matter how hard I pressed, Fiona dismissed my questions about them with a wave of her hand and a chuckle, saying simply that some people were “just a wee bit odd, aye?”

Others were very vocal about their appreciation of the tables and cozy atmosphere in which to enjoy their tea. Those customers quickly also became regular cookie fans. But they were not the only ones by any stretch of the imagination.

After Viv’s Grand Opening Day event on Instagram had been such a hit, dozens of customers from far and wide had journeyed to check out the shop for themselves and take a photo at our Instagram wall. It had inspired her to hold weekly contest for customers to vote for the cookie design of the week. To my great relief, she’d turned out to be a natural cookie-decorator who embraced working in the shop kitchen with more enthusiasm than I’d seen her show for anything else.

Every morning, I came down, threw open the door, and unfurled the awning while greeting passersby with an ear-to-ear grin splitting my face, and marveled at how things worked out if you just got out of your own way long enough to let them.

Then one morning, a few weeks after the grand opening, the first real storm of the season approached, and the small bits of sun we’d been enjoying vanished behind the clouds.

For our new Scottish friends, it was business as usual. We had a little more trouble adjusting.

At first, the constant rain felt a little like a new adventure to be braved with smiles and enthusiasm. But after two weeks of nonstop torrential rain, howling winds, wet clothes dropped by the front door, mud tracked through the apartment, and increasingly testy humans snapping at each other over every little thing imaginable, the novelty wore off.

Pipsqueak was the only one entirely unbothered by the abysmal weather.

“Dinner will be ready in five minutes, guys. Can you please come set the table?” I called up the ladder stairs to the kids’ floor. As expected, no one replied. “Viv? Merry? Did you hear me?”

Sounds that might have been grunts of acknowledgement drifted down the stairs, but they weren’t followed by the footsteps I was hoping to hear.

“Come on, guys! Please? Your dad is stuck in traffic again, and I have a million cookies to decorate. I just need thirty seconds of help. I’m begging here!”

After Jim left, and I no longer had to make a full dinner by 6 p.m. every night, my evening meals had frequently consisted of a plate of cheese and crackers and a handful of chocolate chips eaten in front of the TV. At the time, it had felt like a sad and lonely way to end every day. It didn’t look so bad from this side of things.

“Fiiiiiine,” Viv called from her room, and I finally heard her clomp across the still-empty room between theirs upstairs. “The internet is broken again anyway. Come on, little weirdo,” she called as she passed Merry’s room. “Meg needs us to do her work again.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but Merry’s outraged roar cut me off.

“Don’t call me that!” Merry shouted at his sister a second before I heard the telltale sound of both his feet hitting the ground as he jumped off his bed.

I cursed as tiny bits of plaster rained down all over the living room. Art and I had both talked to Merry—together and separately—about not jumping off the furniture, to no avail. I was starting to think he was doing it on purpose just to see how far he could push me. Art didn’t agree, but Merry didn’t stomp around nearly as much when his dad was around, which, for the last week, had been infrequently.

“Hey! Watch it!” Viv shrieked as, presumably, Merry head-butted her on his way out of his room. I winced sympathetically. The longer the rain kept us cooped up, the more physical he got. I had my fair share of bruises on my thighs and arms.

“Come on, Art,” I muttered to myself, glancing at my watch for the umpteenth time. He’d promised he’d try to be home by six; then he’d texted to say it would be closer to seven, which had come and gone almost an hour earlier. I’d held off on getting dinner on the table as long as possible, but at this rate, I’d be stuck in the kitchen until 2 a.m. Especially if I had to delay getting to work because I had to wrestle Merry into a bath.

I briefly considered skipping the bath again, but he hadn’t had one in two days, and I was fairly sure he and his friends had gotten into a mud fight or something to that effect after school because little clumps of dirt dotted his golden hair like confetti.

“I hate it here,” Viv whined, coming into the kitchen, rubbing her arm and glaring at her little brother as he darted around her.

“Here Scotland, or here in this apartment?” I asked.

“Both,” she replied.

“To be fair, I’m not the biggest fan these days either,” I muttered. “Can you grab the plates? Dinner’s ready.”

“What are we having? I really hope it’s not spaghetti again,” Viv moaned.

“It’s spaghetti,” I replied.

“YAY! I LOVE SPAGHETTI!” Merry cried, climbing on one of the kitchen chairs so he could leap off it.

“We know,” Viv and I replied at the same time.

A week ago, she would have caught my eye, and we would have shared a laugh. But all I got was an exasperated eye roll when I tried to make eye contact. Biting back an inappropriately snide retort, I focused on getting the pasta plated. I barely had enough energy for everything I had to do; I had none to spare for a cranky, combative teen.

I had just finished scooping spaghetti into Merry’s bowl when the apartment door finally opened.

“Daddy’s home!” Merry cried, leaping to his feet.