At fifty-two, Beatrice Kendrick has mastered the art of being fine.

Her husband left her for his CrossFit instructor. Her twin sons stopped returning her calls. Her company pushed her into early retirement. Now her estranged aunt is dead, and Beatrice has inherited a crumbling tearoom in a coastal village full of people who seem to know something she does not.

The secret: her aunt was a Taste Witch. So is Beatrice.

The catch? This magic demands emotional truth. She cannot brew comfort while numb. She cannot bake hope while drowning in denial. Every sip of tea, every bite of scone requires her to feel what she has spent eighteen months avoiding.

The grief. The rage. The terrifying question of who she is when no one needs her anymore.

The Kettle & Crumb has thirty days to reopen or the lease reverts to a rival who has wanted its recipes for decades.

Beatrice has one grumpy mentor who speaks to her dead wife. A ginger cat who communicates disapproval through strategic hairball placement. A handyman who builds shelves without being asked. And a lifetime of buried feelings about to boil over.

For a woman who built her entire identity on being useful, capable, and absolutely, definitely fine, this magic might be the cruelest inheritance imaginable.

Or the only thing that can save her.

The first sip is always the hardest.