Page 19 of Storm in a Teacup (Love in Edinburgh #3)

Linny

“Melinda?”

I search for Carolyn but don’t see her amongst the clutter of our store. I’m in the rear where the furniture can be stacked high. It doesn’t help that she probably does not clear five feet anymore. “Yes?” I call back, hoping for a bit of echolocation.

“Melinda?” she says again.

“Marco,” I respond.

“No, it’s me, Carolyn,” she says in her normal songbird voice.

“No, you’re supposed to say…never mind. Meet at the register.” I set down the picture frames I have been carefully placing in various locations around the store since Carolyn brought in that hoard. I find her standing by the front counter with her hand on her hip. “Yes?” I ask.

“The shop is very dusty.”

“I just dusted last night.” Last night, it was dusty. I could hardly enter the store without sneezing. I take full responsibility for that. However, I did clean.

Her lips wrinkle. “Maybe the evening hours are not the best for dusting.” For you is the unfinished end of that sentence .

I grumble and survey the shop, scanning the surfaces caught by the streaming light. Fine. It’s still dusty.

“Point taken. However, I will argue that this stuff seems to generate dust. I think it’s perfectly possible the store was spotless last night.”

“I suppose it is.”

“I’ll start dusting.”

I go to the back to grab a duster, pausing to check my phone. Nothing. My shoulders fall. I’m not sure why I expected something. From Mel, I mean. Something about the wedding. I don’t know. I’ve gotten used to a notification-lacking phone. Not sure why it’s bothering me now.

I grab the duster and proceed to swipe every inch of the shop until Carolyn is happy.

…

I make myself leave the shop as soon as we’re closed today.

I’ve spent too many late nights here when I should be spending them watching TV or going to yoga or reading smutty romance novels (all Carolyn’s suggestions).

As I’m locking the door behind me, I notice the light in the café is still on.

They close before we do, so this piques my interest. I peer into the café to see a group of people sitting at the tables, all facing Ben, who stands defensively behind the counter.

I don’t think before I knock on the locked front door.

Ben’s eyes dart to me and grow grateful. Isla beats him to the door and says, “Linny! The perfect person for this. Tell Ben he has to celebrate his birthday.”

I step inside, but don’t get too far beyond the threshold. I look at him with wide eyes and ask, “Birthday? When’s your birthday?”

“Never,” Ben says.

“Tomorrow,” Isla corrects, falling back into the seat beside Rachel.

I step in a little farther, crossing my arms in front of myself. “What birthday is this? Thirty-one?”

Rachel pipes in, “Thirty.”

I furrow my brow, still looking at Ben. “You told me you were thirty already.”

“I’m close enough,” he states.

David sighs from where he sits in a chair facing away from a table, Callum on the other side. “Ben, you love your birthday. And thirty is a big one. We want to celebrate it with you. Please let us.”

Callum hums in agreement. “Yeah. Your last birthday was a week-long celebration spanning multiple cities.”

“Right,” David agrees. “We did that nice hike in the Highlands, went out with your buddies from work, wandered around Edinburgh for two nights. We’re just asking you to do one thing this year to celebrate.”

Ben’s palms splay flat on the counter. “Well, you lot are free to make a party out of it. I’ll be hiding away with Oscar Wilde, patiently awaiting thousands of pounds in bank transfers.”

Callum questions, “Oscar Wilde?”

“My cat,” I clarify.

Ben shakes his head. “Nope. I meant the real deal. I’ll be in Ireland drinking a Guinness by his grave and reading The Picture of Dorian Gray. My flight’s tonight. Or maybe I’ll take a boat, spice it up a bit.”

“Hate to break it to you,” Isla says, “but Oscar Wilde is buried in France.”

He squints at her. “Then what am I thinking of?”

“That memorial statue of him in Dublin?”

Ben just frowns in response.

I make my way behind the counter with him, setting a tentative hand on his arm. “Thirty is a big one, Ben. You should celebrate.”

He looks at me, aghast. “You’re supposed to be on my side, butterscotch.”

“I am on your side. You should spend your thirtieth birthday with the people you love.”

His eyes quickly flash to David, making me feel an unwelcome pinch in my gut.

Isla calls out, “Listen to your girlfriend, Ben.”

“Fine,” he laments. Everyone cheers, but he focuses his attention on me. “You’ll come?”

“If you want me there.”

“I do, but…”

“But what?”

“It’s bowling.”

“That’s extremely lame. I see why you’d want to spare me.”

His mouth quirks. “That’s a good point, and a good pun, but that wasn’t the but. It’s dark in the bowling alley. Maybe we could do something else?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure? If I’m saying it’s dark, it’s dark.”

I squeeze him on the arm. “You don’t get to decide my limitations.” Understanding crosses his eyes. Louder I say, “So, bowling tomorrow night. Do we have a cake?”

Rachel raises her hand. “I’m making one. Unless you want to, Linny? I don’t want to take that from you if that’s something you’d like to do.”

“No, no. Please. Bake away. I commend your bravery to bake for a baker.”

Ben laughs. “She’s going to steal my recipe, so it’ll be good.”

“Damn right,” Rachel agrees.

…

The next evening, Ben picks me up at my door so we can walk to the bowling alley together. He’s wearing a green and blue bowling shirt with his initials “BP” stitched into the spot on his right chest.

I eye the shirt. “So, like, you like bowling. You are into bowling.”

“I do like bowling.”

“Why bowling?” I ask as we set off.

He smiles shyly. “They were trying to plan an activity that would mean something to me. I had been saving for years and years because I wanted to travel during that gap year I took before uni. As you know, I went to the States for the national parks, but I didn’t want that to be the only thing I did while there.

So, in each new city I visited, I went bowling. ”

“Because?” I prompt.

“It was a cheap option, and I like the atmosphere. Old men and stale beer. Glow-in-the-dark floors. Half-broken arcade games.”

“And screaming children,” I add.

“Naw, I’d go while they were in school. It was silly, and random, and made me feel like I actually took the time to visit these new places.”

“Huh,” I muse. “That’s a good idea. Unique. I like that you did that. So, you’re good at bowling?”

He laughs. “I’m much worse than you’d expect.”

“Well, I’m much better than you’d expect.”

“Then, game on, Jenkins.”

We arrive at the bowling alley, but he pauses outside it.

“Ben?” I ask. “Are we going in?”

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t move.

I nudge him with my elbow. “What is it? Why don’t you want to celebrate your birthday?”

“I don’t deserve it,” he says simply.

“A birthday party?”

“Aye. I mean, I’ve been a shite friend. A shite brother. The only good thing I’ve been lately is a business partner. Also…” he trails off.

“Also?”

He kicks the ground absently. “I still don’t feel like myself. Everything feels different and it feels wrong celebrating this big milestone birthday when I don’t feel like me.”

I purse my lips before throwing out, “Have you ever considered that you actually feel more like yourself than ever? That you should be celebrating this milestone because of that?”

“I…no?”

“You’re adding layers, Ben. That’s what life is. Layers and layers that make up a whole person. Not every layer is a warm blanket—most probably aren’t, but these layers are you .”

He considers this for a moment, letting my words spread over him. He gives a slight indication of his head before he takes my hand casually, leading me inside.

The space is dark, but it’s also bright, lit with that weird mix of black, glow-in-the-dark carpet floors and neon light fixtures.

This lighting is mostly fine for me. After we collect our bowling shoes, I could easily make my way to the table where his friends are gathered in front of our reserved lane without his assistance.

However, I keep hold of his hand. For myself or because of the nerves radiating off of him, I’m not sure.

We join Rachel, Isla, David, and Callum where they’re sitting. I take a seat next to Isla to tie my bowling shoes and try not to think about all the other feet they have been on.

Rachel plugs Ben’s name into the computer first, but instead of “Ben” she types “Birthday Boy.”

“Rach, I’m not turning ten,” he admonishes, but the smile hinting at the corners of his lips tells me he’s enjoying this.

Rachel confirms, “Linny with a y?” as she types my name in below Ben’s.

“Yep.”

Once Ben’s shoes are on, he offers his hand to me again. “Let’s go pick out our balls. Find you a purple one.”

I let him lead me to where the balls are lined up for our choosing. “Think we can find you one the color of sunset?”

He laughs loudly as he locates a pink-and-orange-hued ball. “Looks like the birthday boy is in luck!”

Next to it, a deep purple one sits.

I grab it, holding it with both hands as I trail behind Ben on our way back to his friends.

Ben is up first. First bowl is a gutter ball. The next, he manages to hit one pin. When he does, he pumps his arms in the air and shouts, “Yes!”

“Amazing,” I say as we swap places. I bring my ball back, then swing forward, releasing it. It rolls down the center of the lane, striking the pins and…

Ben shouts, “Strike! Damn. You are good.”

“I told you!” I revel in the compliment as I walk back to the table, passing Rachel as she goes up for her turn.

We progress through all of our turns until it’s Ben’s again. He manages to hit two pins this time—and again, he celebrates like he got a strike.

As I go to take my turn, I say, “You are bad at bowling.”

He chuckles. “I know.”

“Why do you like it so much?”

“You don’t have to be good at something to like it.”