Page 6 of Storm in a Teacup (Love in Edinburgh #3)

He nods, penetrating gaze shifting away. “Right. I’ve a few more places to stop by on my invitation tour…that was meant to be done a week ago.” He goes to leave, but halts before he gets to the door. “I’m so happy I ran into you, Linny. Stop by the café anytime. Coffee’s on me.”

With that, he exits.

Bennett Pyeon. The man who helped me swim out of the deep end six months ago works next door. I mindlessly twist the amethyst ring around my finger. I didn’t think I would ever see him again.

…

I consider not going to the soft opening for a very long time, mostly because non-family social settings and I have not been getting along lately.

I try on five different outfits, which is absurd.

Eventually, I settle on a long, black floral skirt with a white, cropped tank under a cream cardigan—something I would wear on a regular day.

I slip on a delicate gold necklace, gold hoop earrings, and all my normal rings.

At the last minute, I grab a small sodalite stone and slip it into the pocket of my sweater—to promote calm and dispel internal negativity—before I force myself to venture downstairs to Somewhere Special.

I know, I know. I should not have to force myself to go somewhere with free alcohol and baked goods, but here we are. I don’t know what happened to me.

No. I do. What and who.

The café is pretty full when I enter. I recognize a few of the other business folk on the street in attendance, but I assume everyone else is friends or family of the owners.

Isla, Ben’s sister, is on a makeshift stage providing music for the night via her guitar and a beautiful voice. Her curly hair is pulled into a bun atop her head and her arms are exposed to display a sleeve of black, floral tattoos.

I don’t see Ben, but that’s okay. I’ll see him when I see him. I inch forward into the space, the lights dimmer than I assume they normally will be, then take a step too confident and run into a chair.

Sigh. This is why I need to walk with my eyes on the floor. Oh well. Where’s the wine? I search for a moment, then spot it. Next to the girlfriend of Isla.

Forcing myself to be social, I approach with my best air of pleasantness. “Hi,” I say. “Rachel, right?”

She grins back at me, fingers absently twisting a long strand of golden hair. “Right. And you’re Linny?”

“I am.”

“Ben said you guys know each other?”

I wrinkle my nose. “Sort of. We met once, like six months ago.” Wanting the subject off of myself, I direct it toward Isla, still singing on the makeshift stage. “She’s amazing.”

Rachel grins even wider as she refocuses on her girlfriend. “Yeah, she is.”

The front door opens and a tall Black man in a mustard yellow puffer enters, unzipping the coat and hanging it on the rack by the door.

Rachel gestures him over as soon as he catches her eye, calling,

“David!”

He scans the café before he approaches, a look of disappointment, perhaps, etched on his face.

“No Callum?” Rachel inquires.

“No. We figured it wouldn’t be…He’s busy. ”

“Oh, okay. Well,”—she gestures to me—“this is Linny. She owns the antique shop next door.”

I lift my wine in acknowledgment. “My great aunt owns it, but I do run it.”

His eyebrows perk up. “Ah, another one of us.”

“Hm?”

“American accented,” he clarifies.

I laugh. “Right. My dad’s actually English, but my parents are divorced, so I grew up in both upstate New York with my mom and London with my dad.”

David hums. “I get that. My mom is American and my dad is Nigerian. I was born here, but grew up mostly in Massachusetts. Came back here for uni and then stayed.”

“And never left school,” Rachel adds into her glass.

“You’re one to talk,” David teases. “I doubt you’ll stop at one Ph.D.”

“I don’t need more than one! I’m not a Marvel superhero.” She explains, “David and I are both Ph.D. candidates at Heriot-Watt. Me for Marine Biodiversity and him for computer crap.”

“Computer Engineering ,” he lightly corrects.

“Oh, wow,” I say sincerely. “That’s impressive.”

They both shrug off the compliment like two people who are very used to getting it. I smile politely, glancing around to see if there is anyone else I know in this room.

David starts looking around as well. “Have you seen Ben?” he asks, making my ears perk up. I too am wondering where he is. I’d like to say hello and thank him for the invite.

Rachel purses her lips as she cranes her head in an attempt to see around the room. “He was here earlier.”

David sighs. “I’m sure he saw me coming and ran away as fast as he could. Has he said anything to you? ”

Rachel clicks her tongue, making a face that implies this question has been asked and answered before. “Still no. I can’t believe you haven’t spoken to him. It’s been six months, my guy.”

“I’ve tried , Rach. Many times. He won’t talk to me. Every call ignored. Every text unanswered. Every DM unread.” Desperately, he adds, “I just want to speak to him. I just want to see him.”

I take that as my cue to slip away, both seeming to have forgotten my presence as they discuss what seems like a touchy subject.

I move to a corner of the room, a bit out of the way, and stand there sipping my wine and watching Isla sing.

Isla’s gaze is locked on Rachel, even when Rachel is not looking her way.

My heart twitches in my chest, a sting of jealousy along with appreciation of that kind of happiness.

Many months apart and months in therapy have made me acknowledge that I never loved Atti that much.

So much so that he was the only person in the room for me.

I’m not sure I even believed that was possible.

However, I’m still not sure it’s possible—for everyone at least. It’s possible for Rachel and Isla, for Mel and Julien, but not for me.

“Melinda.” I turn quickly to see the woman who said my name. Ah, the only person besides Auntie Carolyn who calls me Melinda. Gladys, who owns the beauty parlor down the street.

“Oh, hi, Gladys,” I say, plastering a smile on my face. “Nice to see you.”

She harrumphs. “I waved, but you didn’t acknowledge me.”

“Just now? I was watching Isla sing, sorry.”

“No. This morning.”

My smile drops. “Oh. Well, I didn’t see you.”

“You young people, always so distracted by your phones that the outside world means nothing to you,” she scolds.

“I wasn’t on my phone.” I make it a habit to not stare at my phone and walk. Far too many accidents have been caused by me doing that. “I just didn’t see you, Gladys. I swear I would never purposely ignore you.” After this conversation, I might.

She harrumphs again, but continues to talk at me. This time about how late the light in our shop was on the other night. “I thought you were being burgled.”

“Just doing a little work.”

Once Gladys finishes her list of grievances against me, she continues on with her grievances against everyone else on the block. I finish my wine. God, that’s upsetting. I nod along, anxiously searching for a moment to escape.

I finally catch one when she takes a breath.

“I need to go find a restroom,” I say, slipping away before she can comment on my departure.

I turn down a little hallway, figuring that even if I don’t have to use the restroom, I wouldn’t mind a breath.

I spot the small WC at the end of the hall, but find myself distracted by the swinging door to my right.

Mostly because of the loud clanging coming from behind it.

I push my way in to witness a tall man in a white apron whacking pastry dough with a rolling pin.

“Is that the best method?” I ask, leaning against the door frame.

Ben swivels around swiftly, rolling pin held up like a defensive weapon. He lowers it when he sees me.

“No. Probably not.” He sets the rolling pin beside the dough he was assaulting. “Hi. What are you doing back here?”

I look pointedly at the dough. “Call me curious—I wanted to see what the banging was about.” I step closer, narrowing the large gap between us. “Also, I was wondering where you were.”

“Hiding,” he says frankly .

“From David?”

His eyebrows shoot up. “How do you know David?” He looks around nervously, then in a low whisper says, “Bench girl, are you a spy? Was this a long-winded heist to steal my bread and butter?”

At a normal volume, I answer, “I just met him like five minutes ago. He was talking to Rachel about how you guys haven’t spoken in six months.”

Ben fidgets with the tie of his apron. “Well, we haven’t. And we’re going to keep not talking for longer.”

“Why?” I ask. Then add as an afterthought, “If you don’t mind me prying.”

Ben looks away. “I’m…but he doesn’t…I thought distance would…but it hasn’t…” He sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “It’s a long story,” he settles on.

I nod, understanding that it is not my business. However, I can’t help but ask one more question. “Are you okay?”

“Honestly? Never.” He chuckles, but it comes out ingenuine.

“I get that,” I say quietly, hating to agree but knowing that I do recognize what he means.

We look at each other, an understanding passing between us. Then a round of applause from outside the kitchen doors breaks the thread. Isla must have finished another song.

Ben clears his throat. “Well, I’m going to keep being a coward and sneak out the back.” He whips off his apron and hangs it on a hook by the door. “Thanks for coming tonight.” Then he’s gone with the swinging door closing behind him, and the back door slamming shut moments later.

Okay, then. My attention falls back to the dough he left on the counter.

That needs to go in the fridge. I find plastic wrap, wrap it up, and place it in the gigantic stainless-steel fridge before going back out to join the party, avoiding Gladys like the plague and eavesdropping on the conversation Rachel is having with a wild-haired middle-aged woman in a lavender vest and black wide-legged trousers.

I sip through another glass of wine, then slip out, heading my short distance back home.