The Green Fingers Cafe

<p>Welcome to Green Fingers a teetering little tea café tucked between a hairdresser and a forgotten travel agency on a rainy Auckland street. It smells faintly of matcha secrets and possibly mildew. Lara and Martin have just arrived from the other side of the world trading their old lives for cracked tiles overgrown ferns and one wildly unpredictable kettle. They're hoping to start fresh. They did not plan on the talking cat.</p><p>His name is Malcolm. He speaks with a Brooklyn accent judges latte art and insists on tuna twice a week. He may-or may not-be the least magical thing in the café.</p><p>Because something is blooming at Green Fingers. Quietly. Unexpectedly. A white flower for sorrow. A yellow bloom for whispers. An orchid that unfolds in time with truths spoken out loud. Every cup of tea poured seems to stir the soil. Every new visitor brings a new note to the harmony: a teen with dirt under her nails and poetry in her sketchbook a choir director with bangles and opinions a man who may or may not be haunting the window seat and Colin-a wandering soul with too many metaphors and just enough charm.</p><p>In this quietly enchanted corner of the world plants listen. Mugs remember. And sometimes the most extraordinary magic is found in the ordinary act of staying.</p><p><em>The Greenfingers Cafe</em> is a novel about new beginnings old regrets rain-slick mornings sentient ferns small kindnesses and the things that grow when we aren't looking.</p><p>Come in. The kettle's on. Try not to startle the basil.</p>