Page 12 of Storm in a Teacup
“Did you know I worked here?” I question, keeping my line of suspicion.
He beams widely. “I did not. I only knew a bonnie ginger-haired lass worked here. Couldn’t have guessed it was you.”
Carolyn—finally taking a bit of a hint—says, “I need to retrieve something from the back. Excuse me. It was a pleasure, Bennett.”
As she slips through the curtain, I ask, “Bennett?”
“Full name. Bennett Pyeon.”
“She’ll never call you Ben now.”
“That’s okay.” He regards me with half a smirk as he adds, “Melinda.”
“Linny. Jenkins.”
“I like Melinda.” He looks me over. “But you do seem like more of a Linny.”
“Thanks.”
He smiles again, then gestures to the flyer I still hold in my hand. “You really should come. It’s tonight before the real opening tomorrow. My sister is going to sing. She’s good enough that strangers often pay her. There will be free pastries, coffee, tea, and wine. Whatever takes your fancy.”
I analyze the flyer. “Did you make the pastries?”
“Aye. That’s my role in the café. Isla takes care of the rest. Not that I don’t try to unsuccessfully assist. She continuously tells me how hopeless I am at the business side of it all. And I agree. I’m better in the kitchen.”
“The perfect house-spouse.”
“Yes!” he cackles. “I’ve said the same thing!”
That gets a smile out of me. “Well, this is a really weird coincidence, but it’s nice to see you again.”
“You too.” He gnaws his lip for a second before saying, “I’d like to thank you for that night. It’s ridiculous, but I really needed to snog a random woman on a bench.”
I huff out a laugh. “Yeah, well, I needed it too.” We observe each other for a moment—his eyes are too intense, too focusedon me. I need to break this. “I’ve got to get back to work.”
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 forthe 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?”
