She hmm’d and scratched the back of her neck, trying Google next.
Greta conjured up and entered various names, such as White Rabbit Coffee Shop, Iris’s Coffee House, Strange Brew, and even Time Hop Coffee Shop. Nothing matched her descriptions, and she even checked Companies House, the registry for UK businesses, with no luck.
After more fruitless searching, Greta stood up and stretched her arms. She made coffee and toast for her and Lottie, digging out her mum’s fancy tableware to add a touch of Millie- style glamour to their supper. The small roses on the china made her feel more sophisticated, and she removed the crusts from the toast and cut it into triangles. She knocked on Lottie’s door, leaving a tray outside her room.
Seconds later, a hand appeared, pulling the drink and food inside with a mumbled ‘Thanks.’
‘Wash your pots afterwards,’ Greta called out before settling back down with her laptop.
She nibbled her toast absent-mindedly as she scrolled through local business pages and Facebook forums. The usual type of small-town chatter filled the screen—lost pets, roadworks causing chaos, bins unemptied, and plans for a new cinema scrapped.
But then something caught her eye.
Tucked away in a local history forum with barely any followers, a post mentioned a ‘hidden’ coffee shop, run by an old woman who‘brewed your desires.’The description stated it was‘a place for seekers in need of direction.’
Greta’s pulse rocketed. She took a quick sip of coffee, leaning in closer, as if the words might vanish if she looked away. Could this refer to Iris’s shop?
She searched for more details, but the thread was old, abandoned long ago. To make matters worse, the person who’d posted it had deactivated their account. A dead end.
Or was it?
Determined to find out more, Greta scanned the forum’s archives, looking for anything remotely similar. After several frustrating minutes, she found a brief comment from someone named Edgar Barker.
His profile photo showed a distinguished older gentleman in a tweed waistcoat, with neatly combed grey hair and a Roman nose. He had the authoritative air of a boarding school headmaster.
His comment read,
You don’t really find this coffee shop, it finds you. A truly unique blend. Once experienced, never forgotten.
A shiver of anticipation ran down Greta’s spine. Although the message was short and vague, it seemed to echo her own discovery of Iris’s shop. If the placefoundyou, perhaps that was why she couldn’t locate any official record. Had she stumbled onto something even stranger than she’d realised?
Greta’s fingers hovered over the keyboard before she finally replied to Edgar’s post.
That sounds fascinating. I think I’ve been there, too.
Can you tell me more about your experience?
She held her breath and, with a shaky finger, clicked Post.
Closing her laptop, Greta doubted she’d get a response, but she hoped that she might.
Later that evening, she lay on the sofa with a sense of isolation settling over her. She’d reached out to Edgar but still longed to share her bizarre adventure with someone closer, to make it feel less surreal. But who would possibly believe her?
Picking up her phone, she studied the screensaver. It was a family photo, a still from one of the Maple Gold commercials. She, Jim and Lottie were laughing together between takes, caught in a perfect frozen moment.
Greta sat up a little straighter.
Jim?
They’d shared everything once. He was probably the only person in her life who’d understand the lure of Maple Gold. And, after all, he’d been present in Mapleville, too—whether he realised it or not.
Greta scrolled to Jim’s number and stared at it. Would he think she’d lost the plot?
Before she could talk herself out of it, she pressed Call.
Jim’s voicemail kicked in as usual, and she adopted a casual tone.
‘Hi, Jim. Just wondered if you fancy meeting up sometime this week?’
