She had kept the letter she received tossed in the dip of her passenger seat during her morning drive. Even though the envelope looked like it had been through a hurricane—for some weird reason, it had arrived in her mailbox like that—Gloria couldn’t throw it out. To meet with her great aunt’s lawyer, she needed to follow very specific directions.
It wasn’t about what she would have to do to earn the hefty inheritance that Great Aunt Patti supposedly left her, either. The small town where her great aunt had lived was so remote, so hidden, the only way to find it was with the help of one of the locals. Gloria thought the lawyer—Sadie Oliver, according to the letter—was exaggerating but, after an hour’s search through Google came up empty, she conceded that maybe Hamlet was as tucked away as the lawyer said.
She thought she was on Main Street, but there had been no way for her to know for sure. Even though she’d only been driving for about ten minutes, one thing she noticed was that, apart from the welcome sign out front, there were no other directions. No street signs. No landmarks. Just a couple of scattered houses, a bunch of trees, and, now, Ethan.
So she hadn’t found Main. That was fine. The instructions called for her to find her way to a particular spot where she would meet up with her great aunt’s lawyer.
She could still do that.
Without taking her attention off of the kid, she reached out and grabbed Sadie Oliver’s letter. Flipping the sheet open, she waved it so that Ethan could see, then glanced at it herself.
“Know what? You can make it up to me by helping me find something called”—Gloria scanned the neat script on the page—“the coffeehouse.” She blinked. “Really? No name? How am I supposed to know which coffee place she’s talking about?”
She didn’t mean to add that second part out loud. It’s just... that was exactly what it said on the sheet.
...go down Main, head into the heart of town, find the coffeehouse, park along the side, and tell Addy you need her to buzz me…
Hamlet might be small—and the welcome sign out front proudly boasted a population of 190—but what were the chances that it only had one coffee shop?
Ethan rubbed his nose, drawing Gloria’s attention back to the smattering of freckles that spread across his cheeks. He was still embarrassed, but he wanted to make up for the near-crash by being helpful. “Of course. Everyone knows the coffeehouse.”
“So you can tell me how to get there?”
“Sure thing. It’s about a half-hour on foot, less than that with your car.” Lining up against her open window, Ethan crouched so that she could see which way he was pointing. “Head straight down. About a half a mile down, you’ll see a fork in the road. Left takes you toward the middle of the village. That’s where you’re gonna see all the main shops: Jefferson’s, the beauty shop, the station house. When you see the big oak with the blue ribbon, make a right. The coffeehouse will be on your left-hand side. You won’t be able to miss it on account of all the cars parked out front.”
Halfway through Ethan’s explanation, Gloria pulled a pen out of her glove box, scribbling notes on the worn envelope. She rattled them off when he was done, double-checking that she got them right, nodding when he gave her a thumb’s up.
“You’ve been a big help, Ethan. I appreciate it.”
“My pleasure, Miss. And I just want to say, one more time, I’m real sorry about spooking you.”
“Don’t worry about it. Actually, I’m glad I ran into you—well, not ran, ‘cause that would’ve been terrible… you know what I mean.”
Ethan chuckled. “Yeah.”
“Thanks for the directions.”
“Enjoy the coffee. My mom says it’s the best in town.”
“I will. Happy Halloween.”
“You, too. Welcome to Hamlet!” he told her, finally flashing a grin before pulling his mask back on and loping off into the trees again.
She had to give the kid credit. He might have just missed causing her a heart attack, and her car was wobbling a bit after the way she jerked her steering wheel, but at least he gave her easy-to-follow instructions. Within fifteen minutes, she was pulling up alongside a structure that she hoped was the infamous coffeehouse.
When he told her that she’d know it by the cars parked out front, Gloria wondered if she’d find a spot for her old car. Turned out, that wasn’t a problem at all. While it was probably busy by Hamlet standards, there were only three vehicles lined up outside of a large Victorian house that—while it matched a lot of the other homes she passed on her ride through town—didn’t look like any kind of coffee shop she’d ever seen before.
It wasn’t even just one house, either. The big house closer to the road was tall and spindly, with railings and turrets. The one hidden just behind it seemed almost like a greenhouse, only with the same Victorian-style facade as the other. A wooden sign, similar to the wooden one welcoming visitors to Hamlet, hung over the front door.
It said, in a loopy, blue script: the coffeehouse.
Okay, then.
There might not have been that many cars out front, but the inside of the cozy shop was fuller than she expected. At least half of the tables and booths were filled, and each head turned in her direction when she walked in.
Gloria paused, lingering in the doorway.
“Hey, there!”