Page 4 of Storm in a Teacup (Love in Edinburgh #3)

Ben

“Hello, hello!” Rachel calls out as she enters the kitchen of the café by kicking the swinging door open with her foot. She’s lugging a sack of flour that probably weighs more than her, so I am deeply impressed.

I take the sack off her hands with a grunt and drop it down on the metal counter behind me, causing a small cloud of white to float up around it.

“Thank you, flour queen,” I say, bowing to her.

“Of course,” she says, offering a half-hearted curtsy before brushing a bit of flour from her navy-blue jumper.

“I was up early anyway. I’m heading to Loch Gelly to get some water samples.

The last time I tested there, I found a smaller percentage of microplastics than in my initial sample, so I want to see if it’s still going down or back up.

Noting the rate of fluctuation is important when measuring how exactly this is affecting the marine life in those waters. ”

I nod with a squint, my attempt at a studious face. “Aye, well let me know what you find out.”

She rolls her eyes. “Sorry. I could have just said I’m testing the water.” Rachel is in the process of getting her Ph.D. in Marine Biodiversity, hence the water testing.

I wave her away. “Talk to me like I’m a fellow genius. I appreciate it.”

Rachel slides up next to me and starts to shuffle through my handwritten recipes—likely searching for ones to steal, the little thief. Without looking at me, she says, “Oh, I ran into your neighbor outside.”

I pluck the recipe for lemon curd from her fingers and place it back in the correct slot in my box. “Who? The elderly woman who owns the antique shop? She’s nice.”

“No, the one around our age with that gorgeous red hair. I don’t know her name. She’s told me, I know she has, so I’m scared to ask. It’s been too long.”

“Isla probably knows it.” I close the recipe box on her, nearly snapping her fingers, because I need it kept in perfect order.

Then I start to count my ingredients, ensuring I have everything I need.

Flour, sugar, baking soda, baking powder, salt, cornstarch, the list goes on.

It’s too soon to start baking anything, but I need to make sure I have all the supplies I need before our grand opening at the end of this week.

Rachel leans against the counter, facing me. “I’m sure she does, but I never remember to ask. You could also ask for it.”

“I will when I eventually meet her.” I crouch down because I am not seeing bread flour. I have cake and bleached white, but…ah, there it is.

“You could meet her sooner rather than later. She’s cute,” she says in a sing-songy voice.

I stop my counting, scowling up at her. “Och, I knew you were up to something. I’m not interested. I’m sure she’s very pretty and very nice. It doesn’t matter.” I stand up straight .

“Fine. I figured I’d give it a try.” Rachel clears her throat and assesses me like she’s running an experiment in her mind. “Ben, there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

I slap my hand over my heart. “If you’re asking my permission to propose to my sister, the answer is an enthusiastic yes .”

She holds her hands out in a halting motion. “Slow down, cowboy. I may be in love with her, but marriage is not on our minds yet. No, I mean something with you. Now, you can tell me to back off if I’m overstepping.”

“Okay…?”

“I saw you a few weeks ago.”

She pauses for so long that I think that’s all she’s going to say. “I saw you too? We see each other all the time. I saw you three days ago.”

Her lips purse. “No, I mean, at night. I was heading to Isla’s from Hoot and I took a wrong turn, as I do, and I saw you. In an alley. Making out with someone.”

My eyes narrow at her as I’m still unsure of where she’s going with this. “I do that from time to time. I’m no monk.”

“I wasn’t aware you did it with men.” Ah . That’s where she’s going with this. She holds her hands up in surrender. “I’m just saying, as someone who also fancies multiple genders, I’m here to chat if you want.”

I swerve away from the topic. “Look at you saying ‘fancies.’ British already, are ye?”

“Fine. It sounds like I’m overstepping. I won’t bring it up again.”

I sigh. “It’s fine, Rach. I just don’t want to make a thing out of it.

The bloke you saw me snogging was just some bloke.

There have been other blokes. There have been other lasses.

I’m just having some fun.” I look at her seriously.

“Can we keep this between us, though? I mean, have you mentioned it to Isla?”

“We can keep this between us, sure, but I did technically tell Isla already. However, I did not specify the apparent gender of the person, nor did she ask. She only said she was glad you weren’t holed up alone in your flat.

” She chews her lip. “I won’t say anything else to her about it.

I’m not trying to out you, Ben. It’s yours to tell when you’re ready, not mine.

I just want to be sure that you’re okay and to let you know I’m happy for you, no matter what. ”

I mumble, “Thanks,” as I continue my count of supplies.

“David has been asking about you. I mean, he never stopped.”

I freeze, numbers fading from my head. My voice is pitched too high as I say, “Oh. Strange change of subject.”

“Is it?” I don’t answer, so she moves on. “Are you still mad at him?”

I turn away, focusing on anything but her. “I’m not mad. We’re just not speaking for reasons I wish not to divulge.” I say carefully, “I don’t want to talk about David.”

Her tongue clicks. This is far from the first time we have had this discussion, so it’s obvious she is beyond tired of me shutting it down. “Yeah, I know. I’m his friend, but I’m your friend too, Ben. I want you to be happy.”

“You’re not my friend,” I say, earning a scoff, so I clarify, “You’re my sister. Practically. And I love you, so I feel comfortable saying: butt out of my love life.”

She bites the corner of her mouth. “Fine. Fine! I’m done. I should get going anyway. What are you up to for the rest of the day?”

“Heading up to Laggan Wolftrax. It’s a nice day for once, so I figure this may be the last chance I have to get up there before Somewhere Special officially opens.

I haven’t been mountain biking since the summer.

” I’m not an extreme mountain biker, but I do like to hit the trails every now and then.

I used to work at the café at Laggan Wolftrax Centre, a park in Newtonmore, before we agreed to open the café here.

“That sounds horribly dangerous. Have fun.”

“Permission to hug?” I ask, holding my arms open. Rachel is not a fan of physical touch, but can be accepting of it depending on how close she is with someone or if she has warning.

“Permission granted.” She pulls me into a quick, tight hug before she pivots and leaves the café.

I’m not far behind her. I dressed in long, fitted pants and a windbreaker this morning in preparation for the chill on the trail.

As I take a left, I notice the door beside my café slightly open.

It leads to a flat above the antique shop that neighbors us.

I often see it ajar and figure it doesn’t close all the way easily.

I pull it shut, as I always do, keeping whoever is inside safe upstairs.

…

Before I get on the trail, I park my bike outside the café. I poke my head in to say hiya to my former boss, Angus, who is standing behind the counter.

His eyebrows lift when he sees me. “Ben, what the hell are you doing here?”

I scoff dramatically. “That counts as hello, does it? I’m here to ride the trails, figured it’d be rude not to stop by.”

“You just want me to set aside a banana muffin for you when you get back,” he accuses with narrowed eyes.

“You caught me,” I yield. “If you don’t mind. I can prepay.”

He waves me aside, already grabbing the muffin out of the case and wrapping it in paper. “I’ll save it for you. Today won’t be that busy, though. It’ll likely be here when you get back.”

I tilt my head seriously. “Better safe than sorry when it comes to baked goods.”

“They’re not the same without you, you know.”

“Are you still using my recipe?”

“Of course.”

“Then I’m sure they’re grand.”

I leave him at that, hopping on my bike and starting my ride.

I travel up and down bumpy hills and trails until I reach my favorite spot: a cliff overlooking high peaks and waters.

I pause, chest heaving, holding on to the handles of my bike as I balance and set my feet on the ground.

I wheel closer to the ledge. This is a good place to come when I need to think.

The only problem is, now I’m at a stage where there’s nothing I want to do less than think. Thinking is what got me into this mess.

Though, on the bright side, Rachel knows I’m bi, even if I didn’t specifically say the words. Her knowing is a small weight off my shoulders. I mean, I know it. I’ve been playing around with it. I just haven’t done the whole coming out bit yet.

Do I have to do that? I mean, I’m nearly thirty.

I figured this out rather late, by some’s terms. I'm aware there’s no preset timeline for learning things about oneself, but I wish I had learnt this sooner.

Do I have to make it a thing, or can I just be ?

Like, there’s no way in hell I’ll do a grand announcement on social media, because no one who doesn’t know me well enough to be told in person cares.

I should tell my family and friends, yeah? It’s a rite of passage.

I sigh. The reason I haven’t said anything yet is because when I had imagined sharing this tidbit, I was holding the hand of the man I loved, with him grinning at me while I said the words.

Then all of our friends were going to be like, “Aha, we knew you guys were meant for each other.” And then we’d kiss and celebrate and —

My hand drags down my face. I am so sick of being sad.

So sick of moping over David. But every time I get a moment to think, or someone or something reminds me of him, a wave of something akin to grief crashes over me, leaving me to thrash and struggle until I can heave myself up and away from that darkness.

Which is so dramatic . Everyone always says I’m dramatic.

They’re right. He’s not dead. The only reason our friendship died is because I killed it.

These thoughts are the reason I’ve been forcing myself to go to therapy for the past three months.

Haven’t told anyone about that either. Not sure why I’m keeping these secrets from the ones I love.

They’re not shameful. However, even the non-shameful secrets will find their way back to the utter embarrassment of my failed love confession.

I hear bike tires crunching the ground behind me, turning me around and pulling me out of my head. The person pauses and undoes their helmet.

“Ben,” they call. “Is that you?”

I squint, taking a moment for the recognition to hit. Shite. Molly. My ex. We dated for three years but broke up last May.

The thing is, I’m the kind of person who others prefer in low doses—too much of me can be excessive. In the end, I was too much for Molly.

It’s not like our breakup was traumatic or anything, but…she stopped laughing at my jokes. She would roll her eyes at me, and not in a you’re-silly-but-I-still-love-you way. We fell out of love. It happens.

It takes great effort to not throw myself off this cliff.

“Molls? Hiya.” I walk my bike closer to her.

She looks gorgeous, though she always did whilst sweaty. However, no pangs of longing make an appearance. Which is too bad—she’d be an easy way to get over David.

That was a horrible thing to think. Never mind. I hope she has moved on from me as well and won’t let me ever attempt to use her. Jesus .

She comes in for a hug. “How are you?”

“Good, fine.” Bad, terrible would have led to some follow-up questions. “Isla and I are finally opening our café. End of this week, in fact. So, if you’re ever in Edinburgh…” She won’t ever be in Edinburgh. She hates the city.

“Yeah, for sure,” she lies. “Congrats on that.” She crosses her arms. “I wasn’t expecting to catch you out here.”

“It’s a nice day.”

Her mouth quirks, the same thought likely on her mind. Which is one of the reasons we used to work so well. We had a similar thought process a lot of the time.

“How are you doing?” I inquire, more out of politeness than anything else.

“Oh, good. I’m seeing someone.”

I smile genuinely, even though that wasn’t at all what I asked. “Happy to hear. I’m not, but that’s okay.”

She gives a pitying look. “That is okay.”

“That’s why I said it.” I buckle my helmet, wheeling my bike back onto the path. “Listen, it was good to see you. I’ve got to get going.”

She waves goodbye, then stations herself at the lookout spot.

That’s actually where we first met, so it’s not like it was my spot. It was my spot, her spot, then it became our spot, especially after we repeatedly lost a few items of clothing here, and now it’s my spot, and her spot again. That’s how life works sometimes.

I finish the trail and head back to the trailhead, stopping in the café to get my muffin and chat with Angus for a while. I eventually head back to Edinburgh, feeling refreshed and lighter.

Though by the time I get back, the heavy feeling that lives inside of me has returned. I can hardly make it up the singular step into my flat, the weight nearly too much to bear.