Page 27 of Storm in a Teacup (Love in Edinburgh #3)

Linny

It’s been nearly a week since I’ve seen Ben.

We’ve texted a bit, but I haven’t seen him.

I consider going over to the café just to visit him a humiliating number of times.

Humiliating. But I hold back. I don’t need to go see him.

It would be for no reason other than just to see him.

Though I suppose if we’re “dating,” I would be going over to visit him, right? So maybe I should?

No. No, I don’t need to. Isla knows we’re not really together, so there’s no point. We should be avoiding the one-on-one thing, anyway.

I check the time. It doesn’t matter. I have to get to an appointment at my ophthalmologist’s. I go every six months. It’s not that big of a deal, just a task. Not one I love, but not one I hate. I mean, what are they going to tell me? I’m losing my vision? Fully aware.

I pop in the back to tell Carolyn I’m taking off, then head out the front door, careful not to bring any ghosts with me.

The eye doctor is within walking distance from the shop, so I’m over there in fifteen minutes.

I wore my glasses today because I’d have to take my contacts out anyway, so it’s easier to wear glasses that I can take on and off as necessary.

I walk in, and the receptionist smiles at me.

“Hi, Linny. We’ll call you back in a sec. ”

“Thanks,” I say, taking my seat. I don’t believe I’m here often enough for the receptionist to recognize me on sight, but two visits a year for five years must be sufficient.

The tech calls me back and sits me down in front of a big gray machine, the one where you have to look in and stare at the hot air balloon.

She explains how it works and what they’re testing for, and I nod along like I haven’t had to take this test at every eye doctor appointment since I was seven, when I got my first pair of glasses.

Then she drops two eye drops in my eyes, the first to dilate and the next to numb. The numbing drops are so they can touch my eyes with this tool to take the pressure. Gross, I know. My eyes are spread wide as they do so. Okay. Done.

After the pressure is taken, I am led to the back to sit while my eyes fully dilate.

As my near vision gets blurrier, I still try to look at my phone.

I have a few texts from Mel that I cannot make out.

I lift my glasses off my eyes and find I can see better that way.

Though texting is still a bit touch-and-go.

I find myself thankful for autocorrect as I attempt to converse with my cousin.

MELANIE: Should I have invited more coworkers to my wedding?

ME: No? Not if you don’t like them

MELANIE: But I do like them. Or, a few of them. Some of my American colleagues

ME: Why would you invite your American colleagues?

ME: I guess so they can send present s

ME: But because they’re in the US, maybe they would think you only invited them to get presents

MELANIE: Yeah. But I have one colleague whose sister lives in Edinburgh. I should have at least invited him. He and his girlfriend probably would have liked the excuse to come visit his sister

ME: They don’t really need a wedding to do that. It’s fine. Your day. Don’t worry about random coworkers

MELANIE: Fine. Okay. You’re right. Thanks

ME: Doing okay beyond that?

MELANIE: Yeah. It’s just getting so close! I’m anxious

ME: Understandably. It’ll all work out though. It will be a great day

The tech calls me back to do more tests.

It’s time to do a field vision test, which is basically the worst video game ever invented.

I stare at a green cross in the middle of the screen as dots flash around it.

Every time I see a flash, I press a button.

There are gaps between me seeing flashes that last a little too long, so I know I’m missing some.

The gaps get bigger every year. We do one eye at a time, and I have to keep a silly eye patch over the eye not being tested.

Once we finish with the right eye, I swap which eye is covered by the eye patch.

The tech titters and says, “You know, you’re the first person who has ever moved that on their own. Normally, I have to do it for them.”

“Not my first rodeo.”

We test the next eye. I prefer testing the left eye because it’s my better eye, so it makes me feel like I passed the test. This test is not pass or fail, but it certainly feels like it.

Then I pivot to another machine so they can take a picture of my eye.

I hold still, eyes wide open as they snap the photo of each one.

Then, my least favorite one. The tech cleans my forehead and under my eyes with an alcohol wipe, then sticks patches connected to wires to my forehead and cheeks.

I stare ahead at a red cross, covering one eye at a time, as they flash a bright light to check my eyes’ responses.

This test always makes me feel like a science experiment, the wires and all making it intense and somewhat sci-fi.

Lastly, we move into another room so I can wait for the doctor. I twiddle my thumbs while I wait, but before long, he enters with a knock on the door. We go through the standard greetings, then he pulls up the photos they took of my eye. He rubs his chin as he assesses them.

“Looks about the same as last time,” he comments. “Have you noticed anything getting worse?”

“Not significantly.”

“Good.” He points out a few things on the scan, explaining what we’re looking at. Tells me the pressure in my eyes isn’t too bad, so I just need to keep using the eye drops I have been prescribed to keep the pressure down. I assure him that I use them as directed, twice a day.

Then he slides over on his chair and takes a look at my eyes himself. “The cataract forming on your right eye isn’t terrible. I see a little clouding, but it’s not bad enough to be removed any time soon. ”

“Cool,” I say. People with RP have a higher likelihood of developing cataracts at a young age. My dad had to get his cataracts out when he was in his forties. I’m expecting the same.

Then we finish up. “I’ll send in a refill of your eyedrops, and then we will see you again in six months.”

“Sounds good,” I say, hopping up from my seat. “Thanks.” I head back to reception to schedule my next appointment, then exit the office.

I exchange my glasses for my sunglasses because the sun is extremely intense with my dilated eyes. Can I see well enough to walk around without my glasses? No. The world is a big old blur and fellow humans are oblong smudges. Am I going to anyway? Yes.

I walk back to the shop, slowly, but find myself bypassing it in favor of Somewhere Special. As I enter, I switch my sunglasses and glasses back out. Gemma is behind the counter and Isla is in the corner chatting with a customer. I catch her laugh before I catch sight of her.

“Hiya,” Gemma says when the customer in front of me departs. “What’ll you have?”

“An americano, please,” I say, offering my regular order. “Let me pay for it this time.”

“If you insist.”

I tap my card quickly before Ben or Isla notice me.

Isla spots me then because I hear her shout, “Ben! Linny’s here!” She pops up next to me and says, “I like the glasses.”

“Thanks,” I say.

She looks both ways before she whispers, “You’re good for him, you know. He’s been so happy since he met you. Or, re -met you, I suppose. It’s obnoxious, but I’ve missed him being obnoxious. ”

Before I can respond to that, Ben sweeps out of the kitchen in his apron and throws his arms around me, surprising me and spinning me a bit. With a smug expression, Isla moves behind the counter.

I laugh out, “Someone’s in a good mood.”

“I am! Made these gorgeous orange and cranberry scones. They turned out incredible. I’ll fetch you one when they cool,” he says, then looks me over. “You’re in your glasses. I love when you wear your glasses.”

I blush involuntarily at the comment and accept the coffee Gemma reaches over the counter to hand me. “Eye doctor. Easier with the glasses.”

“That explains why your pupils are gigantic.” His voice lowers, ensuring this conversation is now one only for us. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just a normal check-up.” I mean, technically things are worse because that’s how it works, but not aggressively, so good news in a way only not-terrible news can be. “Work going all right?” I ask, determined to shift the subject away from my eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mimics. He grabs my hand. “Come to the kitchen with me.” I wave goodbye to Isla and Gemma as best I can with my coffee as Ben pulls me into the back.

“Don’t tell me you need my help again. I feel like I ruined all your food that day.”

“Are you kidding? My pride is still recovering from all the compliments we got on your muffins.”

I settle in a spot that is hopefully out of the way as he taps a scone with his finger, determining the temperature. It’s cool enough, so he picks it up and hands it to me, watching me with hopeful eyes as I take my first bite. The scone crumbles slightly as I bite into it, but it is delicious.

I cover my mouth as I chew before swallowing and saying, “Amazing, Ben.”

He simpers. “Thank you.” He refocuses on the scones, moving them one by one from the cooling rack to a sheet to take out to the case in front. “Do you want to chill here for a bit or do you need to head back to the shop?”

I finish another bite of my scone before answering. “I can stay for a bit. At least while I drink my coffee. Give my eyes time to un-dilate.” I take a swallow. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, I’m all good,” he says, opening the fridge and taking out butter. “It’s been a while. I wanted to spend time with you.”

Only the inside of my mug sees my grin. “Are you saying you miss me?” I joke.

He rotates to look at me seriously. “Yes. I am saying that.” He swivels back to his work.

I find myself somewhat dumbstruck, as I always am with him.

We don’t talk as he works and I finish my scone, but I like watching him.

He seems so happy as he bakes. And it’s fun to see him stop what he’s working on to pivot and make a sandwich or avocado toast or anything someone comes in to order for lunch.

Because he does so quickly and efficiently, then goes back to whatever he’s baking.

Once my coffee is finished, I can’t delay my return to my store any longer. He takes my mug to put in the sink and gives me a quick goodbye and see you soon. I bid Isla and Gemma farewell on my way out and go back into the store, a scone for Carolyn in my hand.

She accepts the pastry gleefully, then heads into the back, letting me resume control of the counter.

A few customers are milling around, but no one who needs any assistance, so I continue the cataloging I had started that morning, even though my eyes are still a bit blurry.

I’m happy for the mindless work and am not thinking about the handsome man next door who gives me coffee and scones and friendship.

I’m definitely not thinking about how nice it would be if he were also able to give me love.

And if I were able to give it to him in return.