As the days went on, Annie fell into tempo with the pulse of running a business on the coast. Come hell or high water—and sometimes the weather at Willow Bay seemed to encompass both—the dog walkers and the joggers would be out for their early-morning constitutionals. Annie would open the kiosk at eight a.m., ready to catch them on their way back, wind-bitten and frozen-fingered and grateful for a hot drink. There was always a lull around nine a.m. and then, between ten and eleven, it was the turn of the spandex mummies speed-walking their pushchairs and small dogs, and the retired folks, sensibly attired against the cold and steady of pace. Skinny flat whites and tea were the orders of the hour, respectively.

During the lulls, Annie would sit in the tearoom and read by the Calor Gas fire, so as to hear the “OOOhee!” of customers calling her attention through the window. She opened the shutters of the tearoom’s large picture windows to let in the daylight and read Nicholas Nickleby—the next book club choice—or Mari’s notebook. It felt like a sublime existence, albeit fishbowl-like at times, as curious faces pressed against the glass. But she supposed it was understandable, since the place had been shut up for the last twenty years. On Saturdays and during her lunch breaks, Emily stood outside with a placard that read SAVE SALTWATER NOOK. It wasn’t a personal vendetta—though it wasn’t ideal—and she quite often bought a hot drink from the kiosk when it was really cold and chatted amiably with Annie about how business was before going back to picketing.

Annie walked the length of the promenade almost every day, either first thing to watch the sunrise or when she closed the kiosk at half past two. The weather grew exponentially colder as the days of October ticked by.

Some days there seemed only to be unrelenting rain, driven horizontally by the wind, the sky leaden and so heavy she could feel it pressing down on her shoulders. On those days Annie stayed in, watching the storm from behind the kiosk window, wrapped in a knitted poncho, cradling a mug of coffee while strands of her hair were lifted by the draft from the old window frames.

She had wondered if she might feel lonely, but in truth, she didn’t, not a bit. Alex and Peter texted regularly, and she called them each weekly for a proper catch-up. She had the book club and she was feeling more and more a part of the Willow Bay community. The evenings were quiet, but Annie reveled in them; she had spent her entire adult life in a career that demanded her evenings and now she had them back.

Chapter 36