‘Oh, no, thank you,’ she replied. ‘I’m all coffee’d out.’
Jim, Lottie, Millie, and Jefferson stared at her, as if she’d just spoken in Spanish.
‘Don’t you guys ever want to drink anything else?’ she asked with a shrug.
A few more bewildered glances flew around, but no one replied.
Only Millie seemed to consider the question, tipping her head and staring at the Thermos.
As they all tucked into their sandwiches, Greta began to feel more detached. The picnic was delicious. Her companions politely passed food to each other, chatted about the weather and sipped their coffees. They debated which football team would win the league—Mapleville Town or Mapleville United. Every topic was pleasant but lacked any real spark, surprise, fun, or tension. Jim held her hand and gazed into her eyes.
However, Greta found her thoughts drifting. She used to love bringing Lottie to the park, where she could channel her inner child, too. The excitement of a new plastic bucket and spade, and playing in the sandpit, never got old. Sometimes she and Lottie would fly so high on the swings that the chains jolted, making them feel like they might swing over the top. Greta thought the whoosh, soar, and stomach drop was the closest you could feel to being in love.
But here, everything felt less adventurous.
The afternoon stretched out, with each action and conversation following a steady rhythm. Greta felt like time was meandering, and she wondered again when she’d return to Iris’s coffee shop. She hadn’t expected such a long stay in Ma- pleville, and still wanted to get home for dinner with Lottie, and to prepare for theCoffee Morning Crewshow.
She fought off a yawn, wanting something,anything,to happen, to shake things up. Perhaps for someone to accidentally knock over a cup, or for a wasp to land on Jefferson’s arm so he’d yelp and run around, and they could all have a good laugh about it.
Jim touched her arm. ‘You seem distracted, honey. Are you okay?’
Greta lifted her head, attempting a smile. ‘Yes . . . yes. I’m fine. Just tired, I guess.’
Jim offered her a plate of sausage rolls, and she took one, nibbling at it, even though she was full.
Suddenly, a terrible smell assaulted her nostrils, making her gag. It was pungent and earthy, like a goat shed. She pinched her nose, staring around. ‘What’sthatsmell?’
The others looked at her, puzzled.
‘All I can smell is coffee and cake,’ Lottie said.
‘No . . . I . . .’ Greta started, but as she dropped her hand, the stench vanished without trace.
Frowning, she picked up her sausage roll and tentatively sniffed it. It smelled delicious, of rich, buttery pastry and herby meat.
Millie leaned toward her. ‘Are you okay? Your thoughts seem elsewhere.’
Greta waited until Jefferson and Jim sparked up a conversation about golf. ‘I just felt a bit . . . strange,’ she admitted.
‘Maybe something you ate?’ Millie said.
‘Or drank . . .’ Greta murmured, thinking about Iris’s coffee. She shook her head, wondering if the smell was connected to her dabbling with the blend. ‘I think I’m okay now.’
She tried to take her thoughts elsewhere, away from the unsettling sensation.
A memory surfaced, of a picnic she’d once been on with Jim and Lottie. It would be nice to tell Millie more about her other life.
‘Your eyes are sparkling again,’ Millie said. ‘Are you thinking about something nice?’
‘I was remembering a day out I had with Jim, when Lottie was a toddler,’ she said. ‘We’d taken food and a blanket to a nearby beauty spot. The skies were clear and bright, the sun shining. But then, suddenly, everything darkened like an eclipse had blocked the daylight. A rainstorm burst out of nowhere, soaking us to the skin. Jim quickly gathered all our food together while I scooped Lottie into my arms.
‘We dashed into a forest, and I remember twigs snapping underfoot like finger clicks as we laughed and stumbled. It grew chilly, and we huddled together with the trees sheltering us like umbrellas. The rain pattering onto the leaves overhead sounded like a melody. Lottie gradually felt asleep in my arms, sucking her thumb, and Jim draped his jacket around us. We shared a soggy sandwich, but it didn’t matter.’ She sighed. ‘The messiness and imperfections of the day made it memorable.’ Millie sighed, as if caught in the moment, too. ‘That sounds so romantic.’ Then a slight frown appeared on her forehead. ‘I’ve never actually seen it rain here.’
‘And I’ve never seen rain as romantic before,’ Greta mused. She had always thought that loving gestures were grander things, such as bunches of flowers and words of affirmation, craving these from Jim. Was she guilty of overlooking some of his smaller, quieter efforts, such as draping his jacket around her shoulders in the storm?
‘Nothing so exciting has ever happened to me in Maple- ville,’ Millie added. Her gaze became distant for a while, lost in thought. Then her eyes widened. She lifted her arm and ran her fingers along her forearm, as if a drop of rain had just splashed there.
Greta watched her closely. ‘Are you alright?’
