Page 25 of Storm in a Teacup (Love in Edinburgh #3)

Ah. August. There’s not much I remember about July and August, but if I said that, I’d have to explain why. I was going through the motions, but nothing was sticking in my brain. I think I vaguely know what they’re talking about, so I say, “Oh. Right.”

Rachel smiles. “You told us they were lowering the tenancy price on the café, which was Isla’s sign to make the jump officially. We call you her café angel.”

My eyebrows lift in surprise as Ben sweeps out of the kitchen, platter in hand. “If Linny is anyone’s angel, she’s mine.”

“I’m no one’s angel, but I’ll take the compliment.”

Ben sets the platter on the table, saying in a horrible French accent, “Dinner is served.”

“Bon appétit,” I respond as I take a seat at the set table. Then add, “Ce repas a l’air délicieux.”

Ben pauses halfway down into his seat, eyes wide. “Melinda Barbara Jenkins, do you speak French? It’s not just that saucy little tattoo?”

“First of all,” I say with a laugh, “that is not my middle name. Second of all,” I hold my fingers a centimeter apart, “Un peu. ”

He groans as he drops fully into his seat. “Linny, why would you do this to me?”

“ What? ”

“Speak French! That’s so bloody sexy. Oh my god.” He leans back in his seat, looking utterly devastated. I can’t help the butterflies that flutter in my stomach.

“Jesus,” Isla mutters, digging a fork into her salad, as Rachel jokes, “Get a room, you two.”

He is putting his all into this evening. Or…he means it? I don’t know. He’s not supposed to mean it.

Ben sighs, still acting dramatic. “Dig in.” He throws a wink my way.

Oh. Got it. He’s putting on a show. I am not disappointed by that. I’m not. It doesn’t matter that we kissed. That was just hormones at work.

Maybe I need to get back on the apps and find something casual. It’s been two or so months since I’ve hooked up with anyone. I’m just getting a little frustrated, is all. And Ben is, you know, Ben, so he’s tempting as hell.

I take my first bite and nearly curse. “This is amazing,” I moan.

I swear Ben gulps. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Umhm,” Rachel agrees. “Wonderful, as per usual, Ben.”

Isla hums. “Aye, really good.” She takes another bite. She swallows and says, “So, I’ve been meaning to say, that new stripe of gray hair you’ve got going on makes you look like the bride of Frankenstein.”

I snort into my wine, causing Ben to look at me, insulted that I would laugh. I squeeze his leg. “Sorry, sorry. That surprised me.” I didn’t even notice it. I mean, his hair has always had a bit of gray in it, but Isla is right. There’s a thick stripe of silver on the left side of his head.

He lifts his chin and says, “The bride of Frankenstein is hot, so thank you.”

Isla says to me, “He’s impossible to insult. Every time I try to throw something at him, he turns it into a compliment.”

I smile, suspecting he’s doing that as a defense.

“I think it makes you look more like Mr. Fantastic,” I say.

Ben beams hugely. “Oo, he’s also hot. Thank you.”

The rest of the night goes off without a hitch. As Rachel and Isla get ready to go, Ben says, “Rachel, lovely to have you. Islington, less lovely. You’re mean.”

She groans. “I’m sorry about the wine.”

I ask, “Is your name really Islington?”

“No,” she says as Ben says, “Yes.”

I’m inclined to believe Isla. We offer hugs goodbye before we send them on their way with leftovers.

I help Ben wash the dishes, but we do so in silence. I’m comfortable with silence, but this one is heavy. I know what we’re both thinking.

My mouth opens to speak, but Ben beats me to it.

“I think we’re blurring the lines of our agreement,” he says roughly.

I swallow. “Agreed. The kiss was probably a mistake, right?”

“Right. I mean, great kiss.”

“Yeah,” I concur. “Anything more like that will confuse things.”

“Yeah.”

And that’s that. We continue to wash the dishes in silence. Once all the dishes are cleaned and dried, I bid him goodbye. It takes a little effort, but I get him to let me head back to my place alone. He offers to walk me back about a thousand times before I finally make it out the door.

“Fine,” he laments. “But I expect a ‘home’ text with a picture of Oscar Wilde.” He opens the door for me and then adds, “Actually, while we’re at it, I expect daily pictures of Oscar Wilde. I think I deserve it.”

“You ‘ deserve’ it?”

“Yeah. For being so handsome. Handsome people get things like that all the time.”

“Sure.”

“I can send you daily pictures of something in return. I’m not sure what, though.” I involuntarily glance at his crotch. My eyes shoot back up, but he catches me. “Oh ho! Is that what you want?”

“No!” I argue. “I don’t want daily pictures of…of that .”

“Well, if I were to send daily dick pics, I would expect daily pictures of a different kind of cat.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Ew. Don’t call it that.”

He wrinkles his nose back at me. “Yeah, I regretted it as soon as I said it. Kitty?”

“Hell no.”

“Honeypot?”

“ No .”

“Fanny.”

“Eh.”

“Lady parts.”

“Ben. Just say pussy or something normal.”

He steps closer and says, “Pussy.” He looks me up and down. “What are your feelings on the word that starts with C? I know Americans don’t like that word.”

“I don’t have an issue with it.”

He leans close and says, “Cunt,” in my ear .

I angle back and cackle. “Okay, unprompted, I’m not sure how I feel about it.”

“Would you like it if I said it to you in the bedroom?”

I gulp. “Ben, we literally just agreed to keep out of the bedroom. We were both a part of that conversation, were we not?”

“I’m only asking a simple question.”

I raise my chin, determined to act normal in this conversation. “Then yeah. I think I’d like it if you said it to me in the bedroom.”

“Just me or anyone?”

“Goodnight,” I say purposefully, turning on my heel, hoping to hide my flushed cheeks.

“’Night!” he calls after me.

The cool air greets me, but does not cool me down enough. I need to go home and pull a little something out of my nightstand drawer. Well, a big something.