A Spot of Tea (Spotted Cottage #2)

One

Getting unstuck is no small task, and Eliza was never more aware of that fact as she unpeeled last year’s tax return from a sheet with her old SAT results.

She tugged, and the SAT paper gave way first, a hole tearing just above the spot where her score was listed: 1550 .

“Almost perfect,” her dad had said when he saw it.

Had that been eight years ago? Or nine? When she was still a bright-eyed high school student, her life spread out ahead of her like a web of invisible opportunities.

She dropped the tax return on top of her college transcript. Five semesters completed. Five years since she’d dropped out.

Five years stuck .

Her life didn’t have endless, branching possibilities anymore. With each passing year, the potential future lives fell away, their hollow tree limbs crashing to the ground and splintering to dust at her feet.

Eliza picked up the pile of papers. She wasn’t going to live in a forest of her mistakes. Her legs weren’t stuck in the ground. All she needed was initiative, and she would get herself unstuck.

Or at least she’d cause a lot of trouble, which sometimes, was the same thing.

It was a blessing, really, that Eliza didn’t see any of it coming. If she had, she may never have left the house at all.

She couldn’t stand any delay. Eliza couldn’t even imagine eating breakfast, her stomach flipping as she descended the stairs, the scent of frying butter filling her nostrils.

Granny Patty didn’t notice her until she opened the front door.

“Wait!” She called out from the kitchen. “I’m making omelets!”

“Sorry, Granny. I have to run to the bank before opening the tea shop.” Eliza held onto the doorknob, her breaths hitching against the nausea building in her core. “I’ll eat when I get back.”

She slipped outside. The cool April air filled her lungs and stilled her stomach. Sunrise was well under way, and the ocean sparkled blindingly as she got into her car.

I guess it’s a nice place to run away from your problems…

Her dad’s voice kept popping into her head like a catchy song. She sighed and started the engine.

He was the spark for all this upheaval. Eliza had been happy. The work she’d put into Granny’s tea shop was paying off. They were bringing in new customers, sending out orders. Eliza had been able to save a little bit of money.

Then, it happened again, that unwanted day that marked her life for all to see.

Her birthday.

Her dad had called early that morning. “I’m glad you’re having fun, Eliza, but you’re twenty-five. You’re growing up. Are you planning to work at that tea shop forever?”

She’d laughed, as she’d learned to do whenever her heart was punctured. “Of course not.”

It wasn’t his fault for stating the obvious. If it weren’t true, it wouldn’t have hurt. She couldn’t blame him for her decision to drop out of school and lose her full-ride scholarship.

How was he supposed to know about the deep well of shame she kept locked in her soul? After all, she kept it covered with jokes and movie quotes. It was better camouflaged than a nest of baby rabbits in the spring, and far less adorable.

Eliza pulled into the parking lot of Pebble Bay Bank. She probably should have made an appointment, but the last time she’d done that, she couldn’t bring herself to go inside.

This time, she was doing it on the fly, before she could practice answering the questions the loan officer would be too polite to ask. “Why would you drop out? Do you even have a plan for your life?”

Eliza shut off her car. There was no point imagining conversations. No one cared about her personal life. This wasn’t a morality center. It was a bank. The opposite of moral, historically speaking.

She got out of the car, straightened her shoulders, and stopped. A white pickup truck stood in front of the bank, blocking the ATM, its back tire lifted onto the sidewalk.

Eliza edged toward it, following the sound of grunting until she saw a man wheeling himself in a wheelchair. He stopped at the cab of the truck, tugging at the strap of a bag.

“Ridiculous,” he muttered as the bag fell onto his lap and onto the ground.

“Hey, would you like a hand?” Eliza asked, peering around the truck.

“Huh?” He startled, squinting at her from under the brim of his cowboy hat. The brown wool was worn light at the edges, and a pink-and-gold tasseled band encircled the cap.

His voice was muffled by a blue surgical mask. “Do I what now?”

She shouldn’t have stopped him. He was busy. He didn’t want to be bothered by her.

But now she had to explain herself. “Um, sorry! Just making sure you didn’t want any help with that.”

He grunted and looked down at the bag on the sidewalk, then back at her, the tassel on his hat swinging wildly with each motion, the gold thread catching in the sun. “You know, that’s not a bad idea. You think you can get my bags for me?”

She let out a breath. “Yes, of course!”

“There’s another bag in the back,” he said, pointing.

Eliza stooped to pick up the black duffel bag from the ground, slung the strap over her shoulder, and stood slowly under the weight. She reached over and lifted the book bag from the truck with her free hand.

“You can give me that one,” he said, taking it from her with a swift pull.

“Are you headed inside?” The strap cut into her shoulder. She shifted the weight.

“Yeah. Just popping in, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” She smiled at him. He didn’t notice. “That’s where I’m going, too.”

The automatic doors threw themselves open and he wheeled himself inside, the book bag on his lap.

Eliza followed, walking into a wall of smells as she crossed the threshold – coffee, lemon-scented cleaning solution, and the sickly sweetness of donuts caked in powdered sugar.

She put a hand on her stomach. Turning, turning. Maybe skipping breakfast hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

Two tellers chatted, oblivious to their arrival, and a third woman seated in a cubicle glanced up at them before looking back and tapping speedily at her keyboard. Next to her was a silver frame with two smiling, gap-toothed faces.

Eliza took a deep breath. That might be the loan officer – a woman with a full life. Kids. Emails. Suits to dry clean. She had better things to do than judge Eliza’s bad choices. It was going to be okay.

“Do me a favor,” the man said in a low voice. “Dump that bag onto the floor.”

She looked at him. “Like, drop it?”

“Unzip it and dump what’s inside of it out,” he said. “I’m paying back a loan with pennies and dimes and I’d like to make a dramatic entrance.”

She’d heard of people doing that before. It seemed petty, but who was she to judge? “Oh, sure.”

She knelt and the bag hit the floor with a thud. Eliza unzipped the top and tipped it forward. A black box fell out, its surface adorned with wires, blinking red and green lights, and a large, bright clock, the time ticking down in red.

She turned her head, trying to process what she was looking at. Was it a piggy bank, maybe? A lockbox? “Are the coins in there?”

The man jumped from his wheelchair, landing on his feet. “Everyone listen up. This will only take a second!”

The room fell silent and Eliza sat on the floor, her face inches away from his cowboy boots.

“I’ve got a bomb here with a deadman’s switch. This is a robbery. If it’s your first, welcome!”

The empty bag lay next to her, flat and lifeless. She scrambled backwards and slammed her head into the cubicle wall, sending it rocking.

“Hey!” the robber barked, pointing at her.

She shot straight up, her hands in the air, her chest tight.

“Not so fast,” he said. “No sudden movements and no phone calls. You get me? I’m trying to make some money here.”

His face shimmered and sparkled in front of her, and Eliza nodded, both hands over her mouth. She sucked in a breath just as the ground lurched beneath her and the bright lights faded to total darkness.