Page 58 of Storm in a Teacup
Isla continues to knock, yelling out Ben’s name.
“Just a second!” he yells back.
I pull the sweater over my head, feeling flushed and a little dazed myself. “I’m going to the bathroom to fix myself up. Re-tuck my sweater.”
His head bobs. “Okay. Okay.”
Isla knocks again.
“Hold on!” Ben yells, looking around in a panic. I’m pretty sure he just doesn’t want to open the door with the semi he has going on.
I slip away and into the bathroom. My hair is a mess. I run quick fingers through it in an attempt to calm it down. I re-tuck my sweater into my bra so it appears cropped. I need to buy one of those crop-tuck things. Oh hell, my underwear is soaked through.
I hear Ben open the door at last and Isla proclaim, “Finally! Jesus.”
Ben clears his throat. “Sorry. Cooking.”
Rachel laughs. “We saw you and Linny through the window very much not cooking.”
Isla cackles. “We had agreed to keep that to ourselves, love!”
Well, no point in hiding now that I’ve put myself back together. Though there is still a pulsing in between my legs that I am begging to dull. I exit the bathroom at that moment, saying, “Well, that’s embarrassing.”
Rachel tips her head at me. “We didn’t see anything. Just a lot of kissing and moving.”
Isla shrugs off her coat, tossing it over a chair. “Aye. Still saw too much, in my opinion. Maybe invest in some curtains that close?”
I slip next to Ben, letting him put his arm around me and falling into our act of normalcy even though,oh my god,we were just making out, which is far from normal for us.
“Maybe don’t go peeping in other people’s windows? Feckin’ pervs,” he jokes. He presses a kiss to my head that causes a pang in my chest, then pivots to go take his chicken out of the oven. “Did you bring the wine I asked for?” he calls, setting the tray of chicken atop the stove.
“Naw,” Isla says. “I saw a red I wanted instead.” She pulls out the bottle as evidence.
Ben exits the kitchen, eyes wide. “That is not—I had asked you to get a Sauvignon Blanc. That won’t go with the chicken.”
Isla looks defiant, but Rachel immediately caves, pulling out another bottle of wine from her own bag. The Sauvignon Blanc. “I can’t do this. Here you go.”
Ben takes the wine gratefully, pressing a kiss to the stem. “I like you better than my sister,” he says to Rachel. Or maybe to the bottle of wine.
Isla smirks. “Sorry, sorry. Couldn’t help it. I bought the red for me for another time.”
I take the bottle from him. “I’ll open this.”
I open the bottle to pour four glasses of wine as Ben finishes up dinner. I ask Rachel how her Ph.D. program is going, and don’t understand a word, but she seems passionate about it. I like that. Also, the way Isla looks at her when she’s talking about it is adorable. She loves her so much.
As per usual, a longing settles in as I mourn something I will never have.
“Linny,” Rachel says, pulling me from my grief, “do you remember that night we ran into you all those months ago outside the café?”
I don’t recall what she’s talking about.
“In August,” Isla adds, seeing the confusion on my face.
Ah. August. There’s not much I remember about July and August, but if I said that, I’d have to explain why. I was going through the motions, but nothing was sticking in my brain. I think I vaguely know what they’re talking about, so I say, “Oh. Right.”
Rachel smiles. “You told us they were lowering the tenancy price on the café, which was Isla’s sign to make the jump officially. We call you her café angel.”
My eyebrows lift in surprise as Ben sweeps out of the kitchen, platter in hand. “If Linny is anyone’s angel, she’s mine.”
