Chapter 5 #2
“Told one person when I was five that I liked fish.” She throws her hands up in mock despair. “Now I’m the fish lady of Cranberry Hollow. It’s a hard cross to bear.” But she’s grinning, clearly delighted with her aquatic empire.
“Hi, Winnie,” Jamie says. He nods toward a carved pink-and-silver pufferfish hanging on the wall. “Adding to the collection, I see.”
“You know it. Found her on eBay. Got into a bidding war that lasted until two in the morning. Some bastard from Portland kept driving the price up, but I outlasted him.” She pumps her fist. “Miss Puff is mine.”
“So, you do have a modern postal system out here,” I say, shooting Jamie a look.
Winnie’s eyes ping-pong between us, curious and delighted. “Ooh, she’s got jokes and attitude. I like her already.” She drums her fingers on the scarred wooden counter. “Takes forever to reach us, but that high you get when a box you ordered three months ago finally arrives? Chef’s kiss.”
“Joy is gonna hang out here for the afternoon to do some research,” Jamie says.
“Research sounds like coffee. What can I get ya?”
“Do you do oat milk lattes?” I ask.
“Darling.” Winnie giggles like I just asked if she stocks caviar…though I wouldn’t be surprised if she did. “The only milk we’ve got is from Josie out back.” She speaks as if she is double her age, but there is a charm to it.
“And Josie is—”
“The town cow,” she replies. “We pasteurize the milk in-house, probably better for you than the oats.”
I’m definitely in the twilight zone.
“I dropped off a carton of oat and soy milk to Catia yesterday,” Jamie says. “It should be in the back.”
“Didn’t see it this morning, but lemme check.” She disappears through a doorway strung with—you guessed it—fish-shaped beads.
I spin on Jamie. “You ordered specialty milk? That wasn’t in my job description.”
He shrugs, but there’s color creeping up his neck. “Figured you city folk like your dairy alternatives. Thought you might want to hang around town some days. Gets stir-crazy if you stay at the cabin too long.”
He had a day’s notice that I was going to be here, and he stocked my fridge and the café for me.
“That’s really thoughtful.”
Before he can respond, Winnie returns, triumphantly holding a blue carton. “Found it! Catia hid it behind Mama Jama.”
“Another cow?”
“Our sourdough starter, silly. She’s temperamental. Needs her own shelf.”
“Right.”
“Usual for you, Jamie?” Winnie asks, already pouring.
“Yep.” He accepts the to-go cup she hands him, sniffs it, then glares at her.
Winnie smiles coyly. “It’s just black coffee.”
“Winnie here loves to play pranks on people. She poured me warm plum juice last time.”
“Got your system movin’, didn’t it?”
“Be nice to her,” Jamie warns, eyes flicking to me with something almost protective. “I mean it.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” But Winnie’s already pulling espresso shots for my latte, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
Jamie tips his hat. “See you later, Doc.”
“See ya, Cowboy.”
He hesitates before backing into the minnow fish chime hanging above the door, making it jingle pathetically. We all pretend not to notice.
“That was one awkward goodbye.” Winnie snorts a laugh, tilting her oval glasses down her nose. “So. You and my brother, huh?”
“What? No. I’m his temporary vet. That’s literally it.”
“Mm-hmm.” She draws out the sound, completely unconvinced. “And he just happens to stock specialty milk products for all his employees?”
“I don’t—we just met yesterday—”
“Oh my god, you’re blushing.” Winnie looks thrilled. “This is amazing. Jamie never blushes. You made him blush before he left. I saw it.”
“Can I have my coffee, please?”
“Four dollars.”
I pause, card hovering. “That’s actually reasonable.”
“Welcome to small-town living, city girl.” She slides the latte across the counter. The foam has a fish design, because of course it does. “You staying in Jamie’s cabin out back?”
“Yes?”
“That was his wife’s old photography studio. You’re the first one to stay in it since she died.”
“She’s dead?”
“Her ghost still haunts it.” Winnie sighs, casting her face down before shooting her head back up. “Just kidding. No ghosts.”
My stomach twists.
I’d assumed she’d left, not…died.
I want to ask more, but it doesn’t feel like my place. Those photos on Craigslist—the ones with the perfect golden-hour lighting—must have been taken by his wife.
Before.
“Oh. That’s…nice.” The words came out wrong.
I meant to say, “That’s awful,” but my mouth said, “That’s nice,” and now I want to crawl into one of the taxidermy sea creatures and hide.
This is so awkward that my stomach aches.
“I’m just gonna—” I gesture vaguely at a table. “Thank you for the coffee.”
I practically flee to the corner window, choosing the two-person table farthest from the counter and sliding into the chair with a backrest shaped like a shark fin.
The tabletop glimmers with tiny resin sea life suspended in clear epoxy, swimming in an endless loop beneath my arms as I face the wall because eye contact feels impossible right now.
Just as I settle in, the fish on the wall jerks to life, belting out the lyrics to “Don’t Worry, Be Happy. ”
I yelp, and my latte nearly sloshes onto my hand.
The mechanical jaw clacks open with the beat, its dead eyes staring into my soul while its robotic voice promises happiness that I definitely don’t feel.
Over and over.
Behind the counter, Winnie starts to sing and dance, eyes closed like it’s her favorite song.
I’m in a vegetarian’s worst possible fever dream.
I stare at it. And her.
When the song ends, she says, “Slaps every time.”
“Okay.”
I open my laptop and pull up tabs with practiced efficiency: reindeer gestation complications, emergency C-section protocols, and nutritional requirements.
This, I understand. Anatomy. Dosages. Differential diagnoses. Clean, clear problems with research-backed solutions.
Not…feelings.
Or dead wives.
Or why Jamie’s thoughtfulness about oat milk makes my chest hurt.
The moment I click into my email to message an old professor, Winnie asks, “You ever try cranberry bread?”
“Probably,” I say without looking up from my laptop.
“What part of New York do you live in? I’ve only been there a couple of times for a concert and because I met this guy on a dating app. He lived in a literal closet, but he had an eyebrow piercing back when that was cool, so I made it work.”
“I’m sorry, Winnie. I need to do this.”
“Oh. Okay.” She spins around to the counter. “Right.”
“It’s not—I’m not trying to be rude. I just usually don’t talk to people when I’m researching.”
She hums without glancing over at me. My stomach drops. Great. I’ve managed to alienate the one person within a fifty-mile radius who sells caffeine. Which is ridiculous. She’s a stranger with an unhealthy fish obsession and thought at one point that eyebrow piercings were cool.
Still, maybe I could try. My boss is my only friend. It wouldn’t kill me to branch out.
I pull up an article on my laptop: “How to Make Friends as an Adult.”
First tip: Compliment something they care about.
“I like this one,” I say, pointing to a lopsided marlin riding a turtle near the espresso machine.
She peeks over her shoulder and smiles. “I made that one.”
“Oh.” Complimenting, done. Ordering carbs, step two? “Can I try your cranberry bread?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
“Hey.” My voice comes out too loud. “I need to apologize.”
She looks up from behind the pastry case, surprised. “For what?”
“For being…” I gesture vaguely at myself.
“Weird. And short with you. I’m a fish out of water here, and the only things I normally talk to people about are whether their cat ate string, whether their dog has worms, or whether I need to tell them their hamster has approximately six hours to live.
” I’m talking too fast now, but the word vomit won’t stop.
“So, my social skills are about as good as my flirting skills, which are catastrophically bad. I’m single and recently dumped, and my closest friend is Miriam, who owns the clinic I work at, so that should tell you everything about my life choices. ”
Winnie stares at me for a beat. Then she reaches under the counter and pulls out a bottle of Baileys.
“Oh, sweetheart.” Her whole face softens. “You should’ve just started there.”
She pours a generous glug into a fresh mug of coffee, brings it over to me, then pours one for herself. She settles in the seat across from me, placing the half-filled pot on the table.
“It’s ten in the morning,” I point out weakly.
“And you just told me your best friend is your boss and you got dumped during the holidays.” She raises her mug, a traditional thick white diner mug with Carp-e Diem in big block letters and a woman fishing off to the side. “If that doesn’t earn morning Baileys, nothing does.”
I pick up my identical cup and clank it against hers. The warmth seeps into my palms. “Thanks.”
“For what it’s worth? You’re doing fine. Better than the last city person who came through—some tech bro on a ‘digital detox’ who complained that our Wi-Fi was too slow and asked if we had a SoulCycle.”
A laugh bursts out of me in the most unexpected and genuine way.
“There she is.” Winnie’s lips curve into a grin, the most defined Cupid’s bow I’ve ever seen, coated in deep crimson. “Also, Jamie’s place is too far out to get packages this time of year, so if you need anything, you can use my PO box.”
“Thank you.”
“So. Recently dumped. How recent are we talking? Like, wounds-still-fresh recent or I-keyed-his-car-and-feel-great recent?”
I take a long sip of the Baileys coffee. “Found him in bed with someone dressed as a sexy Grinch. Two days ago. In our apartment.”
“Jesus.” Winnie tops off my mug without asking. “And let me guess. Was it Carter? Brad? Hunter?”
“Parker.”
“Of course it was.” She says it with such disgust that I almost smile again. “Finance bro? Wore boat shoes unironically?”
“He ran a podcast and used to play for the Brooklyn Nets. And yes to the boat shoes. No socks.”
“No socks?” Winnie clutches her chest like she’s been wounded. “I’m gonna be sick. I’m actually nauseous right now.”
A real laugh escapes me.
“Okay, new rule.” She plants both hands on the resin table. “You stay here as long as you want. Free Baileys. Unlimited cranberry bread. And if you need to vent about Parker the Sockless, I am here for it. We can make a dartboard with his face. Whatever you need.”
“Thanks. That’s really nice.”
“Also—” Winnie leans in, eyes gleaming. “My brother’s been single for years, and he hasn’t looked at anyone the way he looked at you this morning. Just saying.”
“That’s not—” Heat floods my face. “We literally just met, and I’m a complete disaster right now—”
“Sweetheart.” Winnie raises her Baileys-spiked coffee like she’s making a toast. “We’re all disasters. Some of us just hide it behind fish decor and Irish cream.”
Two hours later, I’ve sent three emails to old professors, downloaded enough PDFs on reindeer obstetrics to crash my hard drive, and ordered approximately six hundred dollars’ worth of veterinary supplies to Winnie’s PO box.
I’ve also learned Winnie’s entire life story.
She took over the store the moment she turned eighteen from her friend’s mom, who ran off with some yoga instructor.
She’s dated every eligible man in town. She’s obsessed with fish but has never caught one.
She believes ghosts are real. I keep waiting for her to run out of material, but she doesn’t.
And annoyingly…I kind of like it. She’s interesting.
A natural storyteller. Friendly in a way I’d forgotten adults not paying me can be.
The last real friend I had was Naja back at Penn, but she moved to San Diego after vet school, and we fell into that weird limbo of liking each other’s Instagram posts twice a year.
I can’t remember the last time I laughed this hard and didn’t feel guilty about not working fast enough.
The lunch rush hits around noon, a grand total of eight people whom Winnie treats like she’s running a Michelin-star establishment. She knows everyone’s order, everyone’s business, everyone’s grandmother. I try to work through it, but I keep getting distracted by fragments of conversation.
“—heard maple syrup production’s down this year—”
“—you believe what Margaret said at book club—”
“—Jamie’s got that city vet staying with him, did you hear—”
My ears burn, and I duck behind my laptop screen.
The moment the last customer leaves, Mr. Henderson, who took twenty minutes to decide between the blueberry and bran muffins, Winnie plops down across from me with two fresh lattes. “Okay, where were we? Right. My tattoo tour.”
She’s already shown me four of them: a tiny stingray behind her ear, a rock crab on her wrist, the word nevertheless on her ribcage, and now she’s rolling up her sleeve to reveal a surprisingly detailed octopus.
My phone alarm cuts through Winnie’s explanation of why her octopus tattoo is anatomically accurate.
“Oh, I’ve gotta meet Jamie at the school,” I say, sliding my laptop into my small backpack.
“He’s not picking you up?”
“Nope. I’m walking. I need the fresh air. And before you ask, yes, I’ll be fine. It’s just a little snow.”
Winnie squints at my boots. “Not in those, you won’t. You’ll sink in the snow, city girl.”
“I’ll be fine.”
She disappears behind the counter and reemerges holding what look like wooden tennis rackets with leather straps. “You can borrow these.”
“What are those?”
“Snowshoes. You’re welcome.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Are you messing with me?”
Winnie just grins. “If you’re staying here, you gotta learn how to get around. You’ll thank me.”