Page 17 of Storm in a Teacup
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.
“Okay.” My fist clutches the silverware still in my hand so tightly that it digs into my palm. I’m aware I should unclench, but I don’t. The pain is helping me focus.
“I just want to talk.” His hands wring together as he composes what he wants to say. I’ve seen this gesture before. He’s nervous. “It’s been six months. You’ve been avoiding me forsix months.”
Why doeseveryonekeep throwing that timeline at me? My hand stays clenched. Somewhere in the back of my brain, pain sensors are going off, but I don’t listen to them.
“Right,” I manage to say.
He regards me, eyes big and soft. “Six months is a long time.Whyare we still doing this?”
Because I love you and you don’t love me.The answer is simple to me. I don’t understand why it isn’t simple to him.
I don’t respond, so he says quietly, “I miss you, Ben. I miss my friend.”
I still don’t reply, like my jaw is wired shut. What is wrong with me? I have never been one with nothing to say.
“Ben.”
But it’s not David saying my name. It’s Linny. David seems just as surprised to see her as I am. I forgot she was here.
She’s beside me. Where did she come from? She’s taking myhand, prying my fingers open to remove the silverware, letting it clatter down on the front counter.
“You’re going to hurt yourself,” she scolds softly, massaging my hand open as it still attempts to clench closed.
The pain radiates through me. How tightly was I holding the cutlery?
David’s shoulders sag as he looks at my hand. “Ben,” he says quietly, so much pity in that voice. Or perhaps it’s caring. Hedoescare about me. I know he does, which is what has made this so difficult to get through. Maybe if he hated me, it would be easier to get over him. Maybe that’s what I’ve been trying to cause by avoiding him.
“How long are you going to stay angry with me?” His eyes find mine again.
That shocks me back to reality. “I’m notangrywith you.”
