“I can walk over from here,” I said, climbing out of the car. The muggy air fogged my glasses, and I wiped them on my shirt. “Wanna meet up at that coffee shop we saw the other day, the one by the candle shop?”

“Sounds good,” she said.

Mrs. Redmond’s office was two blocks over. As I made my way there, I peeked inside some of the storefronts off Market Street—a thrift shop, a pizza joint, and a place selling handmade wind chimes and birdhouses. Tucked along a side street was a small boutique with a chalkboard sign that read Lucille’s. Through the window, I saw an older woman with a head full of locs standing behind the counter. We made eye contact, and I was about to look away when I realized I recognized her from somewhere. She motioned for me to come in. I pushed open the door and ducked inside.

“I was wondering when we would run into each other,” she said. Her big brown eyes were bright as she looked me over. She pressed her fingertips to her lips.

I still couldn’t place where I’d seen her. “Sorry, but do I know you? I feel like I’ve seen you before.”

“I work the morning shift at the candle shop down the block. I saw you the other day across the street.”

As she grinned, the memory of seeing her with Mo that first time we’d come into town came back to me.

“I knew that face,” she said. “You Colchis women are carbon copies of one another.” She came around the counter and took my hands in hers, tracing her fingertips over my palm. She inhaled sharply. She seemed at a loss.

“I’m Briseis,” I said, gently breaking her firm grip.

“I know,” she said.

“How?”

“Word gets around. Marie was up here a few days ago gushing about the beautiful girl at the apothecary.”

Heat rose in my face and I looked down at the floor.

“Ah, young love,” she said wistfully.

“What? No. I—I don’t even know her,” I stammered.

“Just wait,” said the woman, a knowing glint in her eye. “So, tell me, is the shop back up and running? I’m low on supplies. I have to source everything individually now. Mugwort from Alabama, rue from Georgia, sweet grass from California. It’s exhausting.”

“I—I’m gonna reopen it,” I said. Now all I could think about was Marie.

“That’s very good to hear.” She winked at me. “People call me Mama Lucille. You feel free to do the same. Think you could set aside some lavender, vervain, and calendula? Do you have enough of those? Three ounces of each should work. That would tide me over until you get stocked back up.”