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‘Yes.’ She nodded. ‘Definitely. May I give it to you?’

‘Sure.’ He held out his hand.

But instead of a trinket or crystal, she stepped into his space and wrapped her arms around him in a warm hug. He tensed at first… it felt strangely intimate… more so, somehow, than any hug he’d had in a very, very long time. Maybe ever. It was open, vulnerable, honest and accepting. Healing.

As he stood there, hugging a stranger, some of the tension that had been present for so long – a never-ending ache deep within, which stole his peace – started to drain away. It could have been brief seconds, or long minutes – he’d never know – but eventually she gave him a gentle squeeze then stepped away.

She looked at him for a few more moments then nodded decisively. ‘You’re having tea with me.’

‘I was… umm…’

‘You’re not in a hurry. Stay here and have a brew with me. It’ll do you good. Help with finding your spark again. Maybe it’ll even be a glimmer.’

‘How do you know I’m not in a hurry?’

She tilted her head, looking at him as if the question confused her. ‘Because you’re not. Obviously.’ She turned on her heel and strode towards the back of the store where there were yet more shelves filled with a fascinating array of ornaments and pictures. He either had to follow her, or be rude – which seemed unthinkable. She fumbled with a book on the shelves, and there was a click before the bookcase swung open to reveal another bright room – this time a full kitchen.

‘Are you kidding?’

‘You like it?’ She laughed. ‘I needed to keep the kitchen separate from the main shop… and keep Mist out of it. That’s the cat, by the way. This is where I blend all my teas, and my other half thought this was fun.’ She busied herself with the kettle and cups, leaving him to look around.

‘It’s brilliant.’ His eyes were drawn to the rows of herbs, spices and tiny bottles lined up against one wall, the heavy mortar and pestles, matcha whisks, old-fashioned scales, and stacks of jars, bags and labels. It looked, and smelled, incredible, and he felt a pang of jealousy.

He used to bake a lot when he was younger. When his gran had still been alive. She’d always said he had a knack for it, and had taken great delight in sharing recipes with him over long, lazy summer holidays. But the magic of it seemed to die with her, and then life, work and responsibilities took over. Lately, all he cooked was dinner – easily made and easier to digest reliable recipes on repeat.

But standing in that doorway, staring at the room that smelled of dozens of different herbs and spices, he felt like he was back in her kitchen and his fingers itched to start picking through the jars and inhaling their rich scents.

‘Help yourself.’ She pointed to a biscuit barrel shaped like an owl.

‘Thanks.’ He opened it. ‘Uh, it’s empty. Never mind.’

‘Batfeathers! I could have sworn I’d filled that up two days ago. Obviously someone finished them and forgot to tell me.’ She pulled a face… ‘Oh well, I’ll get some more for when you come back. Did you want sugar in your tea?’

Aiden took the sugar jar from her and peered into it. ‘I could make shortbread if you’ve got butter and flour.’ The offer was out before he’d even thought about it. Where had that come from?

‘Ohh. Now this makes sense.’ She knelt down to rummage in a cupboard, then stood and handed him a large bowl and shopping bag with an unopened packet of flour in it. ‘I was compelled to get it. I didn’t understand, but two days ago I just felt the desperate need to buy flour, which is weird because I’m a disaster in the kitchen. I can just about boil water and make soap. That’s all I do out here. Tea, soap and a few candles at the other end. Anything requiring the actual oven and I’m useless. You can ask Katie.’

‘Katie?’

‘My girlfriend.’ She hesitated, then blushed. ‘Sorry, I’ve just realised I’ve not introduced myself. Did I warn you I was scatty?’

‘And batty?’ He wasn’t sure why the words slipped out, but thankfully she didn’t seem offended.

‘Yeah, that too.’ She laughed.

‘I didn’t do too well either. I’m Aiden.’ He held out his hand.

‘Ophelia. Nice to meet you.’

‘You too.’

She shook his hand quickly then released it. ‘Right, so now you have the flour and sugar, and there’s butter in the fridge. If you need more, let me know and I can run upstairs.’

‘You have another fridge upstairs?’

‘I have a whole flat upstairs. Handy, as I live there. So, are you making this shortbread or not?’ She watched him for a moment more, then grinned, her eyes sparkling. ‘If it helps, you can play with my spice rack.’

‘You already know I’m jealous of it, don’t you?’