Page 4 of Storm in a Teacup
“What was your name?”
“My name?” I ask like a numpty, concentrating too much on her long hair mused by my hand.
Her mouth quirks. “Yeah, I’m assuming you have one of those?”
“Ben?” I say as though I’m not sure.
“Ben,” she repeats, running quick fingers through those fiery strands to fix them. “Well, thanks again, Ben.”
Linny goes to stroll away, but I call, “Wait!”
She turns back, head cocked.
“Let me walk you home. Or to a bus. Or your car. It’s late. And dark.”
Amusement crosses her face. “I’m not scared of the dark.” Her eyes pointedly go toward my crotch. “It’s probably best if you stay here and cool off.”
Well, she has me there. I shift uncomfortably, really wishing I were not on a public bench at the moment.
Turning around again, she says, “Goodnight, Ben.”
I ground out, “Goodnight, Linny,” as I watch her walk away, wondering if I’ll ever see her again.
Wondering if what could be our only meeting was exactly what both of us needed.
CHAPTER TWO
Six Months Later
Linny
My fingers delicately trace over the silky white fabric of the dress hanging before me. The bodice is fitted with buttons going up the back and paired with a light, flowing skirt lined in flower-stitched tulle. It’s the most gorgeous wedding dress I have ever seen. Far prettier than the one I picked out.
The one the shop allowed me to return because no alterations had yet been done.
Melanie, my cousin, slips back into the dressing room, a pair of white, satin heels in her hands. “These should do,” she says, handing the shoes to me. “Not an exact match, but the same heel height. I cannotbelieveI left the shoes back at the flat.”
“Exactly the same height?” I ask jokingly. “Because a single half a millimeter could—”
She cuts me off with, “Oh, quiet, you. You know I measured the damn heel. Now put those down and help me into my dress.”
I set the heels on a small stool in the corner of this compact dressing room. We’re in a bridal shop in London picking up Mel’s wedding dress after its second round of alterations. The dressended up too big in the bust after the first round, so we’re back again, hoping to get it right this time since her wedding is in less than two months.
“You know they have shop assistants who are meant to help you into the dress,” I remark.
“I don’t need a random shop assistant commenting on my knickers. You’ll be helping me into the dress on the day, so you may as well have a practice.”
“And Julien will be helping you out of it,” I tease with a wiggle of my eyebrows, referring to her fiancé. I remove the dress from the plush hanger.
She snickers as she undoes her trousers, dropping them to the ground, followed shortly by her shirt. I hold the dress open for her to step into, and together we guide it up her body.
“I can understand why you didn’t want anyone else to see your neon pink thong,” I say as I start to button the microscopic back buttons of the dress.
Mel reaches into the bodice to pull her boobs into a more desirable position. “It’s the same style as the pair I bought to wear on the day, but I’m saving those.” She starts to fuss with her blonde hair, shuffling her bangs over her forehead, then pushing them back again.
“The fringe was a mistake,” she whines.
“The fringe looks great,” I argue, still buttoning. “But if you keep touching your hair, it’ll get greasy and it won’t look great.”
