Page 7 of Storm in a Teacup (Love in Edinburgh #3)

Ben

I’m still in love with him. But he doesn’t love me back. I thought distance would help me fall out of love, but it has not.

I release a small groan, shoving my hands in my jacket pockets as I run away again. Well, one could argue I am strolling away. Strolling away to avoid an uncomfortable situation.

My life sucks. And it’s my own damn fault.

I knew David was going to be there tonight.

I did, and I thought I would be okay. I mean, I’ve hardly seen more than a glance of him here and there over the past six months, but tonight was supposed to be fine because it was in my café.

We were finally supposed to speak. Be normal. Be friends again.

But I’m a coward. I overheard Rachel tell Isla he was on his way and instantly ran to hide in the kitchen.

Isla is going to kill me tomorrow for ditching her.

Nothing new. She’s been plotting my demise for months now.

I moved here to be closer to her, to start the café, to be a part of the life of everyone I love in this city, but I’m not.

I’ve distanced myself. Of course, I still spend time with her—and with Rachel—but the purpose always has the safety net of the café.

Every time she’s asked me to do something social, something David could potentially show up to, I’ve declined.

What I’m doing isn’t healthy. I know it, but I can’t stop. I keep waiting for something to happen, something to come in and change the way I am and make me better. I’m trying .

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I’ve spent the last six months sitting fully clothed in my bathtub crying over how the man I love doesn’t love me back.

Some of my time was spent that way, but I have been out there trying to get over him.

Actively, if you know what I mean. Seriously, sexing it up all over Edinburgh (and getting tested regularly).

I’ve met a lot of great people, some of whom I’ve really liked, but I am not there yet, despite my desperate craving to be.

Even Linny. Linny, the woman with hair the color of a bourbon sugar glaze drizzled over an orange pound cake. Beautiful, gorgeous, inquisitive, mysterious Linny is not enough to get me off this ledge of pining.

Not that she’s even offering. Sorry, being a man here, aren’t I?

Beautiful woman is nice to you, must mean she fancies you, right?

Wrong. I know that’s wrong. My mind is all over the place—more than it was before.

I feel like a shell of who I used to be, but also someone completely different. New. How is that possible?

I enter my empty flat, the ringing silence all-consuming.

I should get a pet. A dog is too much work, but maybe a cat?

I mean, I can manage to feed and love the thing, but I don’t think I can manage to take it outside to have a wee on a regular schedule.

Cats wee indoors, right? Though it would be fun to have one of those cats who will walk on a lead outdoors.

I need a drink. Or a cup of tea.

Actually, yeah. A cup of tea sounds nice.

I flip on the kettle, leaning full-bodied against the counter as I wait for it to heat. I pull out my phone as I do so, scrolling through social media. It instantly overwhelms me, so I toss my phone away, letting it slide to the end of the counter.

The kettle whistles, and I prep my tea. My mobile vibrates from afar, signaling an incoming call, but I don’t answer.

Likely Isla phoning to have a go at me. I’ll deal with her tomorrow.

I mean, I have to, right? I have to get to the café bright and early to start baking, and she’ll be there when it’s time to open.

Tomorrow will be busy, which I’m looking forward to. Tomorrow will be fine. Tomorrow, I will be fine.

…

I am not fine. I am not fine. Why the hell is it so busy? I figured it would be busy, but not this busy. We’ve hired two additional employees beyond Isla and myself, but today it’s just the two of us.

“Where did all these people come from?” I ask Isla through the side of my mouth.

She shrugs, smiling at the woman whose order she just took. “I’ve told everyone I know about our opening day, and I know a lot of people.” A man steps up from the queue. “Hiya, you alright?”

With a grumble, I head back to the kitchen. It’s been non-stop customers since we opened. It’s only noon. We’ll be open until three in the afternoon, but we’ve run out of the cranberry scones I allocated for today, so I’m already working on another batch. They should be ready any moment.

As if on cue, the oven dings. I pull on an oven mitt, yanking open the door and pulling out the tray.

I place it on the cooling rack and rotate immediately back to the croissant dough I’m prepping for tomorrow.

Once the scones are cool enough to handle, I transfer them to a tray and bring them out to slide into the glass counter where the rest of the goods are kept .

I expect people to cheer upon my and my scones arrival, but they do not. Oh well. I’m used to my expectations being stomped on with spike-bottom wellies.

The day-long rush ends at 2:30 p.m., only a half hour before we are set to close. The café empties out, leaving Isla and me alone.

She grins widely, tucking loose strands of her black, curly hair behind a silver-hoop-lined ear. “Successful first day, huh?”

I nudge her with my elbow. “Aye. Hooray for us.”

“And now that the café is empty, I can yell at you.” She smacks me hard on the arm.

“ Ow ,” I emphasize, rubbing the spot where she hit me.

“Where did you go last night?”

“Home?”

“ Why? ”

“Because I had to get here at 5 a.m. to bake shit.”

Her hands perch on her hips. “It had nothing to do with David?”

“David who?”

Her eyes are flames. “Bog off.”

I hang my head. “Fine, I know David who.”

She tsks, picking at crumbs on the counter. “I don’t understand what happened. Would you just tell me what the hell your disagreement was about?”

Disagreement . That’s what David called it, so that’s the term I too picked up. “Nothing. It was nothing. Sometimes people grow apart. It happens.”

“Actively avoiding is not the same as growing apart, Bennett.”

“Well, not minding your business can lead to avoiding, Islington. I’d watch it if I were you.”

She sighs, resigned, and starts to fiddle with the espresso machine.

Same as with Rachel, this is not the first time Isla has broached this subject. Far from it. She brings it up nearly every time we see each other. I know it’s coming from a place of concern, but it’s bloody annoying.

One would likely think: Well, just tell her. She’ll understand. And to that I say a resounding no. Will she? Sure. Will that save my humiliation about the whole damn situation? Fuck no. So, as a result, I will be keeping this to myself until I can confidently say that I am over him. Heh.

Considering our discussion complete, I aim for the hallway to return to the safe haven that is my kitchen when the over-the-door bell jingles. A ginger head enters the space. I smile upon seeing who that head belongs to. Linny.

She looks to Isla first and says, “Hey. Been pretty busy today, huh?”

“Extraordinarily. Sending customers your way, perhaps?”

She hums in confirmation. “Mainly browsers, but a few ‘oh, that’s cool’ buyers. So that’s something. Sold a few of the picture frames Carolyn’s been hoarding.”

“Good. I’m a personal fan of those picture frames, if you couldn’t tell by my wall decor.” She taps the tablet on the counter. “What can I get you?”

“An americano, please.”

“Great. That’ll be—”

I cut her off, “No, no. Coffee’s on me. I promised.”

Linny appears surprised to see me. “Looming in the shadows, aren’t you? But no, I will be paying for my coffee.”

“I am a professional loom-er. And no, you will not.”

“I’d like to support your business.”

“One free americano is not going to break us. ”

Linny looks to Isla for help.

Isla cancels the transaction, on my side in this argument. “Aye, on the house. But only cause we like ya.” Isla turns away to make the coffee, flashing her eyes at me as she does so, though I’m not sure what she’s trying to communicate.

I offer a tip of my head to Linny before I continue my retreat to the kitchen.

Though a moment later, Isla comes in and says, “Mind if I pop out real quick? I promised Josie I’d bring her a scone, but we got so busy I forgot. I’ll be back to help you finish closing. Can you man the counter?”

I sigh dramatically, but say, “Sure. Rude of Josie to not show up for our opening day to get her own scone.” Josie is somewhat of an aunt figure to Isla and me, who gave us a chunk of the funds we needed to start our café.

“She came to the soft opening—not that you were still here to see her.”

I set my jaw. “Touché.”

When I return up front, I’m surprised to see Linny still out there, a takeaway cup of coffee now in hand. She glances at me. “I’ll be gone before closing; I wanted a look around while no one else was in here. I really like all the pictures you’ve hung on the walls.”

“Isla found those at charity shops for the most part. Though most of the frames are from you.” As I scoop up a fork and knife abandoned on a vacant table, I add, “Stay as long as you like.”

I am so distracted by Linny as she takes her time observing the space that I don’t notice the door opening until it’s too late. And at 2:57 p.m. as well. I go to plaster on a well-mannered expression as I move behind the counter, but instead my expression drops.

David .

“Hey,” he says. He’s wearing a dark blue T-shirt and gray jeans with a light jacket layered over, doing nothing to hide those goddamn biceps. His face is clean-shaven, making his dimples even more prominent as he offers a tentative smile.

I look around, panicked, longing for an escape, but find I have none. Finally, I spit out a somewhat high-pitched, “Hi.” Almost involuntarily, I back up, spine connecting with the wall.

“I’m not trying to ambush you,” he says, hands out in front of himself like he’s approaching a timid animal.