Chapter 17
GRETA RETURNED TO her house, feeling both uplifted and perplexed by the coffee morning.
Other than Millie, the women of Mapleville seemed unwilling to see a bigger picture, or even acknowledge that one existed.
Their sweetness had been a little cloying, leaving her with a feeling of eating one too many sugary doughnuts.
Still, the brief applause, both from her imaginary audience and the actual one, had reignited a spark within her.
It offered a glimpse of the performer she once was, and a taste of the adulation that came with it, leaving her craving more.
She didn’t particularly want to think about life beyond Mapleville.
But, strangely, Millie seemed open to the idea.
Greta stood by her living room window, humming the Maple Gold jingle to herself while waiting for Jim to arrive home for their date. She’d forgotten how going out with him could make her feel light and breathless, like helium balloons were lifting her off the ground.
Mapleville Jim probably wouldn’t know anything about their struggles and trial separation in real life, and she wanted to make the most of that.
‘Hurry up, I’m ready,’ Greta whispered, unsure how long the effects of Iris’s coffee were going to last. She might only have minutes left here, or it could be hours. There was no way to know for sure, and she felt entirely at the mercy of Iris and her strange brew.
When she finally saw Jim strolling up the path, armed with a bunch of pink roses, Greta flung open the door.
She ran to meet him, throwing her arms around his neck.
As they melted into an embrace, his breath tickled her hair.
She relished the warmth of his skin, the quiet rise and fall of his chest. It felt good to hold him close again and she lost herself in his familiar scent.
‘Hey,’ Jim said, pulling back to meet her eyes. ‘What have I done to deserve this?’
‘You have no idea how much I’ve missed you,’ Greta said, her voice shaky with emotion, speaking more to her husband in Longmill than the man standing in front of her.
Jim passed the bouquet to her, kissing the end of her nose. ‘And I missed you, too.’
Greta felt like she was floating. The last time he’d bought her roses was a couple of years ago, when she’d fallen off a stepladder while trying to place an angel on top of the Christmas tree, twisting her ankle in the process.
She’d been stuck on the sofa for days while it healed.
Jim had bought her a straggly bunch from the supermarket with the price sticker still attached.
She’d told herself it was the thought that counted, but deep down, she’d been disappointed.
Now she took a moment to admire her bouquet. ‘Thank you.’ She sighed happily. She quickly arranged the flowers in a vase before rejoining Jim by the garden gate.
He offered her the crook of his elbow. ‘Care to accompany me into town?’
‘Yes, let’s go.’
Greta held on to his arm as they walked, to assure herself he was really here. When she made conversation about the colour of the sky, the coffee morning, and her acting class, Jim gazed at her like she was the most fascinating person in the world. It made her feel lit from within.
They stopped outside a small shop she hadn’t noticed before with a window full of brightly painted pottery.
‘I’ve planned our whole date,’ Jim said. ‘I thought we could start with painting something together.’
Greta glanced at him in surprise. Painting pottery wasn’t something she’d expected, but the thoughtfulness of his gesture earned him ten gold stars. He’d never been much of a romantic before.
After filming their first-ever Maple Gold commercial together, Jim had invited her to his local pub for a pint of cider and a game of darts to celebrate.
They’d shared a fish and chip supper on the way home and ended up kissing in the doorway of a shop, their lips tasting of salt and vinegar.
Later dates had included cinema outings (with Jim splashing out on the plusher seats and popcorn) and the occasional fancy restaurant, but nothing as creative as this.
The store owner greeted them like old friends and led them to a workspace at the back of the shop.
He looked like an archetypical artist, with a pencil-thin moustache, a black beret, and a paint-spattered overall.
‘You can choose from a selection of vases, cups, and plates to paint,’ he said, gesturing to the shelves.
Greta chose a vase and painted a picture inspired by Jim’s bouquet. Her art usually resembled an explosion in a paint factory, but in Mapleville she was a budding Georgia O’Keeffe. Her blobs of pink petals and yellow centres were surprisingly lifelike.
‘This shows a lot of artistic potential,’ the store owner said, nodding his approval. ‘Well done.’
Meanwhile, Jim focused intently on a cup, closely guarding his design. When he finally revealed it, Greta saw he’d painted a large pink heart surrounded by smaller ones. Their names were painted on either side. ‘I hope you like it,’ he said eagerly.
After months of tension between them in Longmill, his keenness and attention felt intoxicating. ‘It’s wonderful,’ she said, turning her vase to show him. ‘And this is for you.’
Jim’s eyes lit up. ‘Oh, Greta, it’s a masterpiece.’
She let out a laugh. ‘That might be pushing it, but I’ll take it.’
‘I’ll fire your pieces for you later,’ the store owner added, carefully placing their work on a shelf.
When they left the shop, Jim squeezed Greta’s hand. ‘Let’s go this way,’ he said, leading her toward the park.
She looked around her. ‘Where are we going?’
‘Wait and see. I told you, I’ve planned everything.’
Jim gestured toward a small rowing boat moored on the lake. It rocked slightly as they both climbed in.
‘Let’s take an oar each. It’ll be fun,’ Greta said.
Jim shook his head, taking hold of both. ‘Let me do this for you. I’m an expert sailor.’
Greta tried not to laugh. The last time Jim had been on a boat, he’d turned green during a cruise around Greece. He’d spent most of the trip hanging over the side. She remembered that a couple of old Maple Gold commercials had featured couples on romantic rowing boat dates. It seemed to be a thing.
She gave Jim the benefit of the doubt and settled back in her seat to watch light sparkling on the surface of the lake.
The rhythmic swish of the oars slicing through the water filled her with a sense of calm.
The woman who fretted over bills, longed for her husband’s touch, and scrambled for acting work felt like a distant memory—almost someone else entirely.
Greta’s limbs loosened, and she trailed her fingers through the cool water.
They moored up at a small island in the centre of the lake, where a picnic lay waiting on a blanket on the shiny grass.
Jim opened a wicker basket packed full of goodies and poured cups of Maple Gold from a Thermos.
The spread included fresh strawberries, dainty sandwiches, and cupcakes sprinkled with silver balls.
Greta sampled everything, closing her eyes in pleasure as the flavours exploded on her taste buds.
‘This is all absolutely delicious,’ she said. ‘The best food I’ve ever tasted.’
Jim lay on his side, gazing at her so intently she felt like a peacock on display in a zoo. She fiddled with her earring and tossed her hair, unused to this depth of attention.
He then picked up a strawberry and dangled it above her nose.
Greta stared at it, wondering what he was doing. Was he really attempting to feed her? It was the sort of romantic gesture she used to swoon over in films and TV shows, but it felt awkward played out in real life. ‘Am I supposed to eat that?’ she asked.
‘Of course,’ he said huskily.
She threw herself into the task, trying to keep a straight face as the strawberry wobbled while she tried to nibble it. She reminded herself this was exactly what she’d wanted— simplicity, sunshine, and feeling cherished.
Afterward, Greta dabbed her lips with a napkin. ‘Thanks for arranging everything. I’ve had an amazing time.’
‘It’s not over yet,’ Jim said with a mysterious smile. ‘I’ve saved the best until last . . .’
‘Oh? Really?’ By now Greta was feeling full, and they’d already crammed two dates’ worth of activity into the afternoon. ‘Is this a surprise, too?’
He nodded and rowed them back across the lake, leading her to a clearing in the park. Nestled among the trees stood a small log cabin that looked like it belonged in a Canadian forest. ‘It’s just for us,’ he said, opening the front door.
Greta stepped inside, her mouth falling open as she saw the log fire crackling in the hearth, with a black iron kettle hanging above it. A sheepskin rug lay on the floor, and a jar of Maple Gold sat waiting on the wooden coffee table. It was like the setting of a coffee commercial brought to life.
‘Don’t worry, we’re all alone,’ Jim whispered.
‘Wow. You really did this for me? Thank you.’ Greta’s eyes were drawn to the back of the cabin, where snow swirled in a small yard. ‘Is that stuff real?’ She gasped.
‘Frozen especially for you.’ Jim grinned, pulling on the type of mittens and woolly hat only worn by men in Hallmark movies. If his look was any more romcom, he’d be wearing a reindeer jumper.
He really was the perfect guy Greta had wished for, and his attentiveness made her insides feel like warm custard. Each time he looked at her, her attraction to him sparked like a match.
She took it all in. ‘It’s like a scene from Love Actually,’ she said.
Jim’s brow furrowed. ‘Love . . . ? What’s that?’
‘You know, the movie where the guy holds up handwritten signs to tell the girl how he feels?’
Jim’s face remained blank.
Greta’s smile faltered, just for a moment, as she wondered what else might be missing in Mapleville.
A sudden memory surfaced, of Jim one Christmas. He’d got tipsy and murdered ‘Careless Whisper’ on pub karaoke while wearing a tinsel headband. It looked like that kind of thing would never happen here. Though maybe that was a good thing.
She liked that Mapleville felt largely untouched by the outside world, a place where she and Jim could be free of their everyday problems.
If only he could be this attentive and charming in Long- mill, surely things could work out between them. Was it really too much to ask?
They stepped outside, their feet crunching in the snow. Greta twirled around, laughing as flakes settled on her nose and cheeks. Stooping down, she rolled some into a snowball and threw it at Jim. It burst against the top of his arm.
With a playful grin, he tossed one back, chasing her around the yard in small circles until he scooped her into his arms.
Heat bloomed in her chest as Jim held her close. Greta’s whole body tingled with electricity, stirring up a deep, aching yearning. She missed the way they used to fit together, like perfect jigsaw pieces.
Greta lifted her chin and parted her lips. The air between them crackled, almost alive, as if the whole world had paused to allow this moment its full potential.
When Jim didn’t pull her any closer, she peeped at him through her eyelashes, inching her face toward his. She desperately wanted him to kiss her, with the tender passion they’d let slide in their marriage.
Instead, Jim’s arms loosened. Gently, he let her go.
‘Let’s build a snowman,’ he said with a grin, dropping to his knees on the white lawn. ‘You make the head, and I’ll do the body.’
Greta froze, his rejection needling her. She ran a hand down her dress, telling herself it was too soon for a kiss anyway. Besides, couples in coffee commercials never actually locked lips. The camera always panned away before their mouths met.
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 really her Jim, 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.