Under the Whispering Door

know,” Hugo said. “And even if you did, I couldn’t give it to you yet. It needs time to steep, you see. Good tea is patience. It’s not about instant gratification, not like the bags with the little strings. Those can be fleeting, here and gone again before you know it. Tea like this makes you appreciate the effort you put into it. The more it steeps, the stronger the taste.”

If we worry about the little things all the time, we run the risk of missing the bigger things.”

It crawled from her chest, the monster of grief, trying to drag her down into the depths.

in a tea shop so far from everything he’d known, he felt a great wave of sadness for all that he’d had, and all that he’d lost.

freshly wiped down. The chairs tucked underneath were old and worn, though not shabby. They too were mismatched, some with wooden seats and backs, others with thick and faded cushions.

A dozen tables sat in the middle of the large room, their surfaces gleaming as if

A dozen tables sat in the middle of the large room, their surfaces gleaming as if

Some people lose their way, but that’s not their fault. They’re scared. My god, of course they are. How could they not be? Everyone loses their way at some point, and it’s not just because of their mistakes or the decisions they make. It’s because they’re horribly, wonderfully human.

“Then why is it so hard?”
“Because that’s life,”

“I don’t want you to go.”
Six little words. Six words no one had ever said to Wallace Price before. They were fragile, and he took them in, holding them close.