Still, it was easy to get swept away by Jim’s enthusiasm, and she knelt beside him. ‘I’ll make a giant snowball,’ she said. ‘We can give it a face.’
It felt liberating to be silly, crawling around and scooping up snow in a way Greta hadn’t done since Lottie was young. Jim produced a carrot from his pocket and handed it to her to use as a nose.
Afterward, they lay together on the sheepskin rug in the cabin. ‘Coffee?’ Jim said. ‘It’s rich, roasted Maple Gold, perfect for holidays, special days, and any day.’
Somehow his words sounded romantic rather than cheesy. Greta nodded and watched as he spooned granules into two cups, and poured in water from the kettle. They wrapped their hands around them, sighing as the steam warmed their faces. Maple Gold wasn’t as rich or complex as Iris’s brew, but that was fine.
‘Have you had a good time?’ Jim asked, reaching out to touch her cheek.
‘The best.’ Greta nestled her face against his palm. ‘It couldn’t have been more perfect.’
‘Later on, I’ll give you a shoulder massage and a foot rub,’ he said.
Greta swooned.
Yet as they lay there together, something niggled at the back of her mind. The day had been magical, more than she could have hoped for, but was this reallyherJim, or a figment of the town’s seductive charm?
Greta sipped her coffee, gazing out of the window at the snow. Oddly, the sun shone brightly through the trees at the same time, bending the illusion.
She felt cosy, even a little drowsy, unsure if it was from the busy day, the warmth of the cabin . . . or something else. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she fought to keep them open. A yawn escaped, and she patted a hand to her mouth.
Greta wanted to stay here, snuggled up with Jim, but the lull of sleep was getting stronger. Something was pulling her under.
Resting her face against Jim’s arm, she let her eyes close.
Just a quick nap. Then I’m definitely going in for a kiss.
Chapter 18
GRETA BLINKED AGAINSTthe dim light, all her senses jangling. She felt like she’d been trapped underwater, weighed down by an anchor, and had finally fought her way to the surface, gasping for air.
Gradually, the worn wooden tables and red lightshades of Iris’s coffee shop came into focus. The air around her felt chilly, and she rubbed the goose bumps on her arms, already missing the heat of the crackling fire in the cabin.
Jim had disappeared. Their snowman was gone. All of Ma- pleville had vanished like a popped soap bubble.
A surge of loss almost swallowed her. Greta could still feel the light touch ofJim’s fingers on her skin, and hear him whispering sweet nothings in her ear.
Immediately, she wanted to go back to Mapleville.
She tried to stand, but felt light-headed, unsure how long she’d been under the effects of the coffee. A clock on Iris’s wall told her she’d been gone for three and a half hours, though it felt like much longer. Reaching up, Greta touched her pearl necklace, relieved to feel something that still connected her to her other self.
Outside, the mid-afternoon sky was darkening. Rain lashed against the windows, casting reflections of rivulets onto the floorboards inside. Puddles shimmered on the pavement, and car tyres shushed on the wet road.
Greta’s coffee cup sat in front of her, its rim smudged with her coral lipstick. An inch or so of cold coffee still remained in the bottom, sludgy and dark.
She pulled out her phone, wondering if Jim or Lottie had been in touch, but there were no notifications. Lottie might still be out with Jayden, and Jim was probably chilling in the penthouse.
Greta’s phone suddenly buzzed in her hand, breaking the silence.
Edgar had sent her a message, and she realised she’d hadn’t yet replied to his previous one.
Would you like to meet up sometime to compare experiences? I’m at Barker’s Treasures (a vintage shop near Manchester). I’m in the shop most days, or happy to meet elsewhere . . .
Greta gnawed her bottom lip. The thought of talking to someone who might appreciate the lure, and the challenges, of dipping into an alternate life was like the pull of a magnet. Though Edgar was a stranger, he was the closest thing she had to a confidant in the real world. Manchester was only ten miles away.
But did she really want to meet up with someone she didn’t know? Even if it meant feeling less alone?
Greta jerked up her head as the TV in the corner of the shop unexpectedly flickered to life, playing an old washing powder commercial. Her heartbeat shot sky-high, and she stumbled toward it, silver light shining on her face.
