Annie smiled. Gemma was an absolute godsend, well worth maxing out her credit card to pay her wages; she had already transformed the shelving into delightfully chaotic deli displays that drew the eye and encouraged lots of browsing and ultimately, buying. Annie was going to have to up her orders from her local providers and was already searching for new lines to add to her artisan foods collection.

The swimmers were right to have come early; the sky was baby blue with powder puff clouds, but glowering around the cliff edges the clouds were like wire-wool, casting dark shadows over the sea. Annie drank in the cold air and reveled in the chill after the heat of the café. She wandered along the beach, scooping to pick up pebbles to her specifications; smooth, oval, or roundish, about the size to comfortably fit her palm.

A voice shouted: “Don’t you know it’s illegal to steal pebbles from the beach?”

Annie jumped, dropping the pebble she’d been studying. It was John, just rounding the cove. Annie’s heart leaped in her chest at the sight of him.

“You’re back!” She tried and failed to wipe the delighted smile off her face.

“I am indeed.” John grinned back at her as he tramped up the beach.

“Where did you spring from?” she called back.

“Just popped in to see Alfred.” John nodded back toward the cave. He was wearing green wellingtons over his jeans and a cream Aran-knit jumper. As he got closer, Annie could see the beginnings of a beard.

“What are you doing?” John asked when he reached her.

“What are you doing?” she countered.

“I told you, I’ve been to see Alfred.”

“I didn’t know Alfred took house calls.”

“Have you ever tried?”

“Once,” said Annie. “He chased me out.”

John laughed heartily at that. “Sounds about right,” he said. “Now you. What’s all this?” He pointed to her basket.

“Positivity pebbles,” said Annie.

“What?”

“Positivity pebbles. I’ll leave these in the basket on the bench by the window, with some nontoxic paint pens, and people can write nice messages on them and bury them on the beach for someone to find.”

“Messages like what?”

“Like . . .” Annie looked to the sky for inspiration. “Like, have a great day, or you are special, or sent with love, or . . .” She thought back to that day in Tonbridge Wells and the pebble she had found just before she saw the ad in the paper, “or everything is going to be all right . . . the kind of thing that will put a smile on someone’s face when they find it.”

“Why?”

“Why not? Think of it as random words of kindness.”

John frowned at her in a curious way, as though she were a mathematical equation to be solved.

“I like it,” he said. “What a great idea.”