At the dusky tail end of a cool, rain-drenched day, after everyone else had gone home to their dinner, Old Possum lounged in the tea shop’s giant purple-upholstered chair, sipping the last of his pot of tea, and chatting with Rabbit.
Neither of them had anywhere else to be and so they stayed right there, sharing favorite recipes and old family stories and reminiscences of the garden in their youth.
As darkness fell outside, Rabbit lit several cheery candles throughout the shop, and Possum said, “I’m curious, my dear. Why were you so eager to open a tea shop as lovely as this?”
Realizing that she hadn’t yet told that particular story, Rabbit pointed to a set of mismatched teacups on a high shelf in the bookcase. “Those are why.”