Page 15 of Storm in a Teacup (Love in Edinburgh #3)

Linny

I admire my lavender nails as I wait for my dad to open the door. This is a great color. Well chosen, me. I ring the bell again. Then again. Come on.

My finger is poised on the bell as he swings the door open with a huff. Thin, wire-frame glasses rest on his nose as he peers down at me. “Impatient today, aren’t we?”

I move in for a hug. “It’s cold out here.”

He gives me a tight squeeze and ushers me in as I shove a hand in my cardigan pocket, pulling out a tiny, clear quartz crystal. I place it in his palm and say, “It can help with your headaches.”

“I’ll sleep with it taped to my forehead.” He doesn’t give me a chance to explain that that is not what he should do before he inquires, “I thought you were bringing a boy?”

I groan as I close the door behind myself and follow him toward the front room. “I told you I might be bringing my friend, who is a man . We’re not dating. We’re only pretending for this weekend.” I take a seat on the couch. “Ben’s on his way.”

“Hmm,” my dad muses as he takes the seat opposite me. “Lying is never a good idea, Linny. ”

“It’s only a fib to keep Atti off my back. It’s fine. It’ll be over before the wedding.”

“Atti. Uck. Never liked that Atti.” He’s lying. He loved Atti. Until I told him why we broke up. Hasn’t been a fan since. “You see him last night, then? Hope you showed off that old right hook of yours.”

“We both know I am not coordinated enough to get in a good punch. Anyway, I don’t need to hit him.

” I lean back. “Even if he deserves it. He was an ass for the entire night. I broke a glass because of course I did, and he commented that it wouldn’t be the first time he had to tip a waitress on my behalf. ”

“What a prick. Well, as I’ve offered, my fists are open for commission.”

“The answer is still no on the physical violence.”

He seems disappointed by that, but moves on. “Want a drink? I’ve a whole bar. Or wine. You like wine.”

“I do like wine. What are we having for dinner? You think red or white?”

“White, for sure. We’re having salmon. I’ve a great chardonnay you’ll love.” The doorbell rings the moment he stands. “That’ll be your boy. Excuse me— man. I’ll let you get it.”

He heads toward the kitchen as I push myself up from the couch, stressing again that, “He’s just a friend.”

I open the door to find Ben in nice slacks and a forest green sweater under his open jacket. He looks good. He always looks good.

“You used my body wash again,” I say in greeting. The citrus scent hit me as soon as I opened the door.

He smiles, and I can’t help but match it. His genuine smile is contagious. “You smell so good, orange blossom. I want to smell like you.” He looks pointedly at the foyer. “May I come in? ”

“Oh. Right. Yeah, come on.” I point to where he can hang his jacket, then lead him into the front room where my dad is waiting with two glasses of wine.

He sets them down on the coffee table, saying, “You must be Ben.”

Ben stands up straighter and says, “Yes, sir. Pleasure to meet you.” He holds out a hand for my father to shake. My father does not take it, which makes Ben grow even stiffer. I swear, sweat forms on his brow.

Part of me wants to see how long Ben will hold his hand out, but I figure I’ll be nice. Especially because my dad isn’t being a jerk by not shaking Ben’s hand—it’s because he doesn’t see his hand. “Dad, Ben’s trying to shake your hand. Don’t be rude,” I joke.

Other people might be embarrassed by the personal flub (me, I mean me), but Dad, as always, takes it in stride.

He sighs loudly and says, “Well, if you insist.” His eyes take an extended moment to locate Ben’s still outstretched hand before he slaps his own into it.

“Pleasure’s mine. And you can call me Harold.

” Still gripping Ben’s hand, he tugs him forward and says quietly, “If I like you well enough by the end of the night, Harry.” He releases Ben and places his eyes on me.

“My Linny seems to really like you. She was just saying she may be in love.”

“ Dad! ” I scold, my cheeks heating. I explain to Ben, “He knows we’re not dating.”

My dad cackles, his jokes only funny to himself. “Ben, you fancy a white wine?”

“Yes, sir,” Ben says, still a bit rigid. “I mean, Harold.” A flush climbs his neck.

“I’ll go fetch you some.” My dad heads back to the kitchen.

I swipe my glass from the coffee table and sit back on the couch, pulling Ben with me. “He thinks he’s funny,” I say. “Don’t let him psych you out. He’s being overprotective.”

Ben relaxes into the couch. “Does he have RP as well?”

“Yeah, it’s genetic. Had to come from somewhere.” I sigh. “He didn’t see your hand—it was in a blind spot. Though most of his spots are blind. He doesn’t have a lot of vision left, but it’s less obvious in his own home.”

“I figured.” He angles his head toward me. “You told him we’re not really seeing each other?”

“Are you surprised? Of course, I did. Can’t have him getting his hopes up. I told my mom, too.”

“Where is your mum? She here?”

“She’s in Syracuse, New York.”

“Oh, right. Sorry. You mentioned they were divorced.”

My dad comes out with a third glass of wine for Ben. He hands it to him and says, “It’s been a happy divorce.” He sits back down, running a hand over his bald head. “Food should be ready in ten. So, Ben, Linny tells me you’re a baker?”

“Aye—I own a café with my sister. She handles the business. I handle the sugar.”

My dad continues to grill him with much protest from me while dinner finishes up. As he does, I fear he already has his hopes up. I’ve told him I’m not looking for anyone. I don’t need anyone. If he can do this, life , by himself, so can I. I can .

Once dinner is ready, my dad plates it, then we join him at the table.

“Oven-roasted salmon?” Ben asks, observing the plate of pink fish as we take our seats.

“Yes, indeed,” my dad confirms. “You’re not allergic?”

“Not at all. It smells amazing. Roasted over lemons and brushed with butter, garlic, thyme”—he sniffs as he studies the plate—“oregano, and honey?”

Dad lifts his chin. “You’ve got a good nose.”

“I’ve got an amazing nose. It’s good at picking up scent, too.”

I snort at the joke and examine his nose. It is a nice nose.

Dad’s eyes glimmer as he says, “It tastes even better than it smells. Serve yourselves.”

As Ben places some salmon and roasted potatoes on both our plates, I ask him, “How’d the match go?”

“Pretty good,” he answers. “Ended in a tie, but that’s alright. I got to show off some of my moves.” He adds quieter, “Which pissed Atti off.”

“Good,” my dad comments loudly, shoving his fork into his mouth.

I ignore my dad and ask, “Moves?”

He shrugs, taking a bite. Once he swallows, he says, “I’ve been playing all my life. Some would say I’m quite good.” He points to his plate. “Like this. This is amazing, Harold.”

I did not know this. It’s not a surprising fact—I can tell he’s athletic just by looking at him. And he mentioned something about mountain biking and an enjoyment of nature.

“Where was the match again? A field in Stratford?”

Ben lets out a sharp laugh. “Yeah. At London Stadium.”

“London Stadium?” I question. “Wait, you mean where West Ham plays? The West Ham?”

“The very one.”

“How did you guys…?” I trail off when the realization hits me. Oh . “Never mind. I know the answer to that. Atti.”

Ben nods, taking another bite. “Yeah.”

“Prick,” Dad mutters into his wine, which makes me burst out laughing. My dad is the best.

We finish up dinner, then Dad insists on pouring us all another glass of wine. I try to refuse, but quickly give in. By the time we finish the second glass, it’s getting late.

“Sorry this was such a quick visit, same as the last,” I say to my dad as I slip on my coat. “I’ll come down for an actual visit soon. I promise.”

He gives me a tight hug once my coat is on. “I’ll hold you to that. But I’ll see you for sure at the wedding, love.” He extends his hand for Ben to shake. “Good to meet you, son. Hopefully, we’ll meet again soon.”

“Yes, hopefully,” Ben replies. “Thank you again, Harold. The meal was wonderful.”

“You can call me Harry. You’ve earned it.” My dad offers me a head tilt as Ben’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “I like him. He’s good at sucking up.”

“Jesus, Dad. We’re leaving.” I grab Ben by the arm and yank him with me out the door. “Love you!” I call behind me.

“Love you too,” Dad says. “Get home safe, please.”

“I always try,” I respond.

Ben and I take off down the street, heading toward the tube station. I shove my hands in my pockets as we walk.

“You don’t need a hand out here?” Ben asks.

I shake my head, glancing upward. “Nah. Street lights. My eyes do better in the dark outside than they do inside. I’m not sure why. Light fills the space in a different way? Who knows.”

“Okay,” he says. “Good to know.” As we stop at a street crossing, waiting for cars to pass, he clears his throat. “So, what would you think about extending this little fake dating thing we have going on?”

Oh no. I blow out a puff of air. “I don’t think so, Ben. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like you a lot. But that’s why I can’t. I really am not interested in being in a relationship. ”

A walk sign pops up, so we cross the street. Ben laughs lightly. “No, Lin, I literally meant the fake dating. I’m needing to call in my favor sooner than I expected.”

I angle my head toward him. “Oh?”

“Oh. David has invited his boyfriend to our dinner, and you as well.”

“Why would he…? Oh, right. Because you accidentally implied we’re dating.” I swallow. “In that case, sure. I like dinner. But, Ben, are you sure you want to lie to him?”

We arrive at the tube station and enter through the gates. More people are milling around this station than I expected, speed walking in every direction. I grab Ben’s arm as an extra precaution, my eyes darting around in an attempt to see everyone all at once.