Her head swivelled as she walked, taking in the scenery. Everything was so bright it looked like Technicolor. Each house had hanging baskets overflowing with flowers, and the trees lining the street popped with pink cherry blossom. It felt strange not wearing the woolly hat that had been practically glued to her head since autumn. The sun warmed her face, her shoulders relaxed, and she found a spring in her step she’d long forgotten existed.
All the cars had a similar shape without any make or model badges. There was no shouting, tooting horns, kids hanging around on street corners, or the sickly sweet smell of vapes or takeaway food. There were no bins on the street, or empty food cartons blowing along the road like tumbleweed in the Wild West. Everything was spick and span, like a film set come to life. Except this wasn’t a fake town. It looked very much real.
Children played in a park, wearing primary-coloured clothes, and an ice-cream van tinkled the Maple Gold jingle next to a small lake. Even the cats and dogs looked freshly shampooed and blow-dried.
A line of men and women streamed past Greta, all wearing navy boiler suits with the Maple Gold brand embroidered on the breast pocket. Each was impossibly handsome or beautiful. ‘Where are you going to?’ she asked the last guy in the line.
‘To work,’ he replied with a grin. ‘Those Maple Gold beans won’t roast themselves.’
Greta pirouetted on the spot in amazement, then continued on her way. She spotted a grand clock tower standing proudly in the square, and a town hall with imposing Doric columns exuded an air of importance.
At the end of the street sat the Maple Inn, a charming black- and-white pub with wooden benches neatly arranged outside. A chalkboard sign beside the door announced, Today’s Food Special: Maple Glaze Roast Ham and Chips.
Greta’s belly rumbled. ‘I bet that tastes good,’ she said to herself.
Everywhere felt strangely familiar, as if she’d stepped into a memory that had been somehow polished and enhanced.
She trailed her fingers through the water in a stone fountain in the town square, remembering it had been a backdrop for her and Jim’s on-screen wedding. They’d enjoyed twirling around it after their ceremony. The bowl was held aloft by four stone cupids, and the sprinkling water cast tiny rainbows of light in the air.
As Greta explored the town further, she passed a charming house with a garden full of topiary. The trees were trimmed into the shapes of birds and pyramids. Marshmallow-pink roses were the size of small cabbages, and she bent her head to smell them. Their scent was like the finest designer perfume, and she wished she could dab it onto her wrists.
Greta felt lighter and more alive than she had in a long while, silently thanking Iris for helping to bring her here. She was glad she’d been open to the powers of the strange coffee. But how long would its effects last?
She resolved to treat her time in Mapleville as she would a luxurious spa day or mini-break. After spending months hoping to turn things around with Jim it felt good to have some proper breathing space, time to herself she hadn’t realised she’d needed.
When Greta inhaled the rich aroma of Maple Gold filling the air, it smelled of more than just coffee. It held the promise of second chances.
This place was exactly what she’d wished for, and she was determined to savour every moment.
Even if it might all be a dream.
Chapter 8
ENJOYING A NEWFOUNDsense of freedom, Greta decided to indulge in a few pleasures she’d long neglected. If Lottie didn’t want to go shopping with her, she’d go on her own. In an idyllic place, as an ideal version of herself, it would probably be more fun than dragging a reluctant teenager along. The thought of being able to do what she wanted, without considering anyone else’s needs or feelings, felt liberating.
The bright sunlight made her surroundings feel even more magical. She strolled along a street where the vibrant storefronts—painted in Maple Gold’s signature colours of orange and gold—caught her eye.
The delicious aroma of freshly baked bread drifted from a bakery, while a boutique called to her with its colourful, chic display of clothes. The bookshop window overflowed with hardbacks and gifts, and each piece of fruit on display outside the grocery store looked like it had been individually buffed. A couple of women filed out of a hairdressing salon, sporting similar wavy bobs, and a milkshake bar served the biggest, frothiest shakes Greta had ever seen.
She entered the bakery first, greeted by rows of pastries, pies and golden-brown loaves. Her mouth watered as she surveyed the neat rows of perfectly piped meringues and glossy chocolate eclairs. Feeling spoilt for choice, Greta finally settled on a sausage roll and a doughnut iced with chocolate and sprinkles. The glaze was so shiny it gleamed like porcelain.
The baker was a rotund fellow with ruddy red cheeks who handed her the baked goods in a small white box. As she waited to pay, he flashed her a curious smile. ‘Everything here is complimentary, thanks to the kind folks at Maple Gold,’ he said. ‘Good day to you.’
Greta beamed at this unexpected kindness. ‘Free? Really? Everything is covered, just like that?’
‘That’s right, madam.’
‘Oh. Thank you kindly, sir,’ she said, noticing she’d started to speak like she was in a Cary Grant film. She almost skipped when she left the shop.
Greta found a bench and sat down to eat. Above her, the sun filtered through the trees, while green parakeets flitted gracefully from branch to branch. Closing her eyes, she savoured a moment of true bliss when she bit into the sausage roll. The pastry was deliciously flaky and buttery, and the jam in the doughnut burst with the taste of fresh raspberries. The simple food packed ten times the flavour of anything she’d eaten in the Anvil Inn.
Indulging in a spot of people-watching, she realised that no one here looked anything less than happy. Didn’t anyone ever worry about dental appointments, mortgage rate increases, or migraines? Did headache tablets even exist in Mapleville? She supposed everything always appeared hunky-dory in coffee commercials, any problems quickly solved by a fresh cuppa.
Greta jumped as a fire engine suddenly pulled up, its siren sounding a mellow melody. Two firemen jumped out to assist an old lady across the road, depositing her safely on the other side.
A group of smartly dressed teenagers hung out near the ice-cream van. When one of the girls accidentally dropped a sweet wrapper, a team of cleaners appeared before she could pick it up. ‘Let’s get this cleaned up, shall we, miss?’ one said, brandishing a broom with a smile.
‘Can we help?’ the teenagers asked.
