She followed Edgar back into the main area of the shop.
Crouching down behind the counter, he took out a stack of delicate porcelain cups and saucers. ‘Don’t worry, they’re clean,’ he said with a smile. ‘I keep them tucked away for visitors. Not that many people have time to chat these days,’ he added.
‘I’d love a cup of tea,’ Greta said.
‘Rather than coffee?’ Edgar raised a knowing, bushy eyebrow.
‘I fancy a change.’ She smiled tightly.
Edgar carried two cups into his workshop, where he filled the kettle. While Greta waited, she reached out and picked up one of the cups off the counter. Tiny flowers were painted around the rim, under a thin band of gold. She turned it over to check out the base, surprised to find a white rabbit painted there in such fine detail it looked ready to hop away.
‘Where did you get these cups from?’ she called out. ‘Did they belong to Eliza?’
‘No, they’re mine.’ Edgar carried in a tray and sat down on a tall stool, passing Greta her tea. He sipped his brew, his expression growing misty. ‘An old lady brought them into the shop a few weeks after my wife passed. Oddly, she didn’t seem interested in selling them to me. She just placed the box on the counter and said they were a gift. I thought that maybe she knew Eliza.’
Greta leaned forward. ‘Did the woman have long white hair, right down to her waist? Was her name Iris?’
Edgar snapped his fingers and pointed. ‘Aye, that’s her,’ he said. ‘She seemed to speak in riddles, and I didn’t catch a lot of it. My hearing’s not what it used to be, and my thoughts were elsewhere, with my wife.’
Greta’s cup wobbled as she set it back on her saucer. ‘Did Iris mention her coffee shop to you?’
He nodded. ‘Yes, but I didn’t really take it in at the time. To be honest, I found her a bit strange. But not long after, I found a flyer amongst my wife’s things, promising “a perfect blend.” There was a picture of a white rabbit again, and it piqued my interest. I wondered if Eliza had kept it because it meant something to her.’ His eyes turned wistful. ‘I was at rock bottom from my grief, and one day, I decided to try to find the shop . . .’
‘And what happened?’ Greta asked, leaning in.
Edgar scratched his chin, as if recalling his surprise. ‘I found a small coffee shop, tucked away where I least expected it. The same woman was inside, grinding coffee beans in a bowl. She told me something about rules, though I was too broken to pay much attention. I only took notice when she mentioned I could make a wish.’
Greta’s breath sharpened. ‘A wish?’
‘I know it sounds daft.’ Edgar sighed. ‘I know these things can’t possibly happen. But I made a wish—to be reunited with Eliza. We’d argued the day before she died, you see, over something silly. That night we went to bed without kissing goodnight. I never got the chance to apologise or explain before . . .’ He looked down, wringing his hands.
‘I’m sorry,’ Greta said softly. She paused for a moment, giving him space to collect himself. ‘So, did you drink the coffee Iris gave you?’
Edgar nodded, his eyes meeting with hers. ‘Are you asking if my wish came true?’
Greta wanted to know it more than anything, to know she wasn’t alone. ‘Yes.’
A serene air fell across Edgar’s face. ‘It did,’ he said. ‘The coffee let me step into the life I’d wished for. One where Eliza hadn’t gone yet.’
For a moment, they sat together in silence, letting his words settle between them.
‘At first, everything was perfect,’ Edgar continued. ‘Her laugh, her touch, the smell of her hair. It took me a few visits to realise things were . . . off, not quite how they used to be. Eliza didn’t argue back or tease me like she used to, and she wore different clothes. Gradually, I came to feel like I wasn’t with my wife, rather a memory or a vision of her instead. Yet I chose to ignore the signs.’
Greta swallowed, her chest tightening. Edgar’s words cut closer than she cared to admit. ‘I’ve drunk the coffee three times,’ she admitted.
He studied her more closely. ‘I think I recognise you from somewhere. Didn’t you and your family used to star in those Maple Gold coffee ads?’ He smiled warmly. ‘They were delightful.’
Greta blushed, feeling a bit exposed. ‘Thank you. It feels like a lifetime ago.’
‘Not that long,’ Edgar said. ‘You made quite an impression. Those ads were very homey and always left me with a smile.’
He stood and moved to a rusty filing cabinet, a drawer creaking as he opened it. Leafing through the contents, he pulled out a small pile of magazines. ‘Here we are. Eliza loved collecting these things.’
He flipped to a full-page spread featuring Greta, Jim, and Lottie laughing around the breakfast table, cups of steaming Maple Gold in hand. Greta’s hair was impeccably styled, and Jim’s shirt was spotless. Lottie was little with a toothy grin.
Edgar eyed her thoughtfully. ‘You wanted to relive those happy days, didn’t you?’ he said. ‘I can tell by your face.You miss the way things used to be?’
Greta stared at the image, a bittersweet feeling creeping in. She nodded slightly. ‘Iris’s coffee shop wasn’t there the last time I went. I don’t know when or if it’ll reappear.’
