Matcha Made in HeavenGrace had arrived at her parent’s house in Lavender Hollow with her tail between her legs. Her flat in London, her career, her boyfriend—poof—up in smoke, down the pan, in the toilet … along with her sanity. After a month or so of sitting on the sofa crying in her cat pyjamas, her mum had gotten so worried about her she had been forced to apply for a job.
Her first port of call had been the antique bookshop, The Lavender Ledger. She adored books and wouldn’t mind burying herself in there to forget everything for a little while. However when she had enquired, the stocky little man who eyed her over his pince-nez from behind the counter had been so downright rude she didn’t think she could go in there—even as a customer—ever again.
Finally, after many ‘we’re sorry, but no’s’ she landed on the final storefront in the village that she hadn’t tried yet. The cherry blossoms were in full bloom, a peppering of pink confetti fluttering down in the breeze as she stopped before the pistachio-coloured—or she supposed matcha-coloured teashop called Matcha Made in Heaven. A tiny card in the window advertised ‘help wanted’ and Grace immediately enquired within.
The little bell above the door chimed as Grace pushed inside, and she was immediately enveloped in the warm, earthy scent of green tea and something deliciously sweet—perhaps honey cakes or lavender shortbread. The interior was even more charming than the exterior suggested, with mismatched vintage chairs clustered around small round tables, fairy lights strung along exposed wooden beams, and shelves lined with an impressive collection of teapots in every imaginable shape and size…
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