‘I’d just finished working at an event at Brewtique.’ Greta looked around her again. ‘Your place is much more atmospheric.’
‘Thank you kindly.’ The old lady offered her hand. ‘I’m Iris.’
‘Greta.’ She returned the shake. ‘Do you own this place? What’s its name?’
Iris smiled to herself. ‘No. I found the shop, and it found me.’
Greta waited for a longer answer, but nothing came. She wasn’t one for vague statements or riddles, preferring things to be more straightforward. ‘I don’t remember seeing it here before. Wasn’t there an alleyway? Or is my mind playing tricks on me?’
Iris tilted her head. ‘Memories can shift over time, my dear, just like light shining through a window never stays the same. It always changes, illuminating things differently.’ Reaching for a small jar of coffee beans, she took off the lid. ‘In case you’re wondering, I tailor coffee for each of my customers, offering the person what they need.’
‘The perfect blend?’ Greta asked. ‘What if I just want a good old cappuccino?’
‘I offer those, too. They’re just not as insightful.’
It was an odd word to use to describe coffee, and Greta felt like her request had somehow disappointed Iris. Was asking for a cappuccino here like requesting a bacon sandwich in a fine dining restaurant? ‘If the perfect blend helps with hot flashes and dry skin, I’ll take two,’ she said with a smile.
Iris didn’t laugh. ‘The coffee is free, but there are rules attached,’ she said.
Complimentary coffee sounded great, butrules?The word reminded Greta of playing netball in school. She’d zoned out when being taught how to play and had subsequently missed every goal. Besides, weren’t rules for bending? ‘Why do rules apply to coffee?’ she asked.
‘Because everything in life needs parameters. Without rules, desires and emotions can run wild, like an overgrown garden can become chaotic and tangled.’ Iris gestured to the jars lining the shelves. ‘The rules help to keep the balance. Just as each of my blends is unique, so is the experience they offer the consumer.’
‘Riiight.’ Greta glanced out of the window. People were walking past without giving this place a second look. It might be unusual, but it felt more authentic than all the chain coffee shops in the town. Plus, she’d never been able to resist a freebie. Taking a seat at one of the tables, she decided to humour Iris. ‘Okay, tell me the rules.’
Iris set down her jar. ‘Rule One,’ she said. ‘You may have only one cup of coffee a week. No milk. Drinking more can disrupt the balance, altering the effects. There can be too much of a good thing.’
Greta was trying to cut down on dairy anyway, and she nodded for Iris to continue. ‘Okay. One cup only,’ she repeated. ‘Got it. What else?’
‘Rule Two. The coffeemustbe consumed here, in the booth.’ Iris gestured to the velvet-draped corner. ‘I need to observe the procedure.’
Greta raised an eyebrow. Procedure? Why did this sound more like a hospital consultation than a coffee order? Maybe it was like one of those consumer panels, where customer reactions were observed from behind two-way glass. Or perhaps Iris had just used the wrong word. ‘Any more rules?’ she asked. ‘Do I have to recite an incantation, or sacrifice a biscuit?’
‘Actually, yes. The incantation is Rule Three. You must say your wish aloud before finishing your coffee. No biscuit required.’
Greta wondered how Iris was managing to keep a straight face. ‘Awish?.’
Surely this had to be a joke. She’d wished for many things recently, and they hadn’t come true. Perhaps she should have just gone to Starbucks instead. She’d be munching a post-coffee brownie by now. ‘Three rules, including a wish. Okay . . .’ she said. ‘Can I just get my brew? I’m really thirsty.’
Iris raised a finger. ‘Rule Four is the most important one of all. You mustnotresist the coffee’s effects. Embrace what it shows you, but do not struggle when you return.’ Her gaze grew more intense. ‘Accept your fate, and don’t try to stay. You can’t outswim the current of life. Do you understand?’
The hairs on the back of Greta’s neck stood on end. This sounded weird. Staywhere?She only planned to drink her coffee, then go home. ‘Andallthe rules are strictly necessary?’
‘Yes.’ Iris’s eyes bore into Greta’s. ‘Do you understand?’ she repeated.
She sounded deadly serious, and Greta felt like her stomach was coiling into a knot. Yet she also wanted to know more. ‘Yes. Sure.’
‘Good. Now tell me about yourself. Why are you here?’
Greta swallowed nervously. ‘Um, for a coffee . . .’ A twinge of doubt told her the answer wasn’t enough.
‘I mean, why are youreallyhere?’ Iris picked up her mortar and pestle.
Greta’s eyes flicked toward the door, relieved to see it was ajar. She could leave whenever she wanted to. That was good. What exactly did Iris want to know?
‘There’s no rush or judgement here,’ Iris added, sprinkling a few leaves into her bowl. ‘My customers often have a hidden ache, a desire, or a regret. Saying things out loud is a first step to addressing them.’
Greta peered at Iris. She reminded her of a counsellor she’d seen after her mum died. She’d been like a closed clam in those early sessions, almost impossible to pry open. But the counsellor’s gentle questions and patience had eventually created a small opening, allowing Greta’s emotions to spill out. Iris displayed that same kind of quiet wisdom.
