‘You didn’t warn me I’d feel like this,’ Greta groaned.
‘You didn’t ask.’
Greta squinted, trying to make sense of everything she’d just experienced. It was a struggle to drag her thoughts away from Mapleville. ‘Did you put something weird in my coffee?’ she croaked. ‘How long was I, um . . . ?’ She fumbled to find the right word. Dreaming? Hallucinating? Or had she actually visited Mapleville? ‘How long was Igone?’
‘Three hours,’ Iris replied. She removed Greta’s cup and saucer before wiping the table. She poured a glass of water from a fresh jug and set it in front of her.
‘Three hours?’ Greta gasped. It had felt like much longer. She tried to push herself out of her seat, but her knees wobbled, and she gripped the edge of the table for support. ‘Why didn’t you wake me up?’
‘Time can seem to move differently in different places. One’s journey must be undisturbed. It could be risky to intrude on your reverie,’ Iris said.
Greta frowned. Something in Iris’s tone suggested more than just a bad headache. ‘Risky how?’
‘Hopefully, it’s not something you’ll get to experience for yourself.’
In Greta’s hazy state, the cryptic words were too much to process. The thought of dozing off or, even worse, snoring in Iris’s booth filled her with embarrassment. Oh god, had she talked or drooled in her sleep?
She pulled her phone out of her bag and checked for messages from Jim, but the screen was clear. She was about to call Lottie, then smiled tightly to herself. How could she possibly explain where she’d been and what she’d been doing there?
Greta glanced down at her hands. The crinkles on the back had returned, and her nails were ridged. Her body was back to its regular size, and the button on her jeans dug into her belly. As she ran her fingers through her fine hair, dismay rushed through her. She was completely back to normal, back to being herself. And it felt utterly disappointing.
‘Drink some water. Dehydration can cause headaches,’ Iris said.
Greta did as she was told, focusing on the cool sensation running down her throat. ‘Is three hours . . . um,away,normal?’
‘Everyone is different. It depends on your system, whether you’ve eaten, your metabolism . . . many factors. Like caffeine, the coffee’s effects can wear off quickly or linger for hours.’ Iris paused. ‘How was your visit?’
Greta’s brow furrowed. Fragmented memories of Mapleville—its serenity, sunny skies, and the green parakeets— were vivid in her mind. She could still taste Maple Gold and the sweet raspberry jam from the doughnuts. Her gaze flicked to Iris’s TV, where an old game show was playing.
‘How do you know I wentsomewhere?’
‘I don’t. I assist your experience, not design it. I don’t control your narrative,’ Iris said huffily, as if offended. ‘You didn’t answer my question. How was your visit?’
Greta rubbed her bicep. Her whole body ached, as though she’d scaled a high, rocky mountain and now sat panting at the top. ‘I visited Mapleville, the town from the Maple Gold coffee commercials I starred in. The sky was impossibly blue, everyone was happy, and I didn’t have to pay for a thing. I was a different version of myself there, kind of . . . shiny. I felt like I was meant to be there.’ She searched Iris’s face for a trace of understanding. ‘I think I even saw my husband. It was sort of magical.’
Iris’s expression soured further. ‘Magic is a crutch. Rely on it too much and you can forget how to walk on your own.’ She brusquely refilled Greta’s water. ‘People think magic is the answer to everything. It isn’t. It can open doors, but doesn’t tell you which ones to walk through. That choice is always yours.’
Greta squinted at her. ‘But you gave me some magic coffee . . .’
‘The coffee has specific qualities, yes, but not supernatural ones. Think of it like an Instagram filter,’ Iris said. ‘It enhances what’s already there. Memories and thoughts are never fixed in place. They evolve over time. Regrets can grow bigger in your imagination, good times can shine brighter, and bad memories can appear gloomier, depending on which filter you choose to apply. That’s not magic. That’s perspective.’
Greta’s thoughts swirled. Perhaps visiting Mapleville was like stepping into virtual reality. She’d remained in Longmill while experiencing an entirely different world. She doubted she could ever fully explain it, but that didn’t really matter. The adventure had left her wanting more.
Her gaze drifted to the jars lining the shelves. How many other customers had Iris helped on a journey? What had they wished for, and where had they gone? The thought intrigued her and also left her feeling quizzical.
‘Your coffee tasted fantastic,’ she said, attempting a bit of flattery. ‘Can I buy some to take home? It doesn’t have to be, you know . . .’ She avoided using the wordmagical.
Iris pointed to the sign on the door. ‘No takeaways, remember?’
‘Right, yes, of course. What if I want to do this again?’ Greta asked, already keen to jump back in.
‘As per the rules, you must wait one week. This allows the essence of the coffee to completely ebb from your body. Do you remember the other rules, too?’
Greta nodded. ‘One cup of coffee only. Drink it in the booth. Say my wish aloud. Don’t struggle to return,’ she recited. Iris looked so serious she tried to lighten the mood. ‘Any chance of a decaf version for a shorter wait time?’
Iris didn’t smile. Instead, she slipped into the booth, sitting opposite Greta. ‘Tell me,’ she said, taking a pen and notebook out of her pocket. ‘What did you learn?’
Greta frowned at her. ‘You want feedback? Like a survey or something?’
