Page 59 of Storm in a Teacup
“I’m no one’s angel, but I’ll take the compliment.”
Ben sets the platter on the table, saying in a horrible French accent, “Dinner is served.”
“Bon appétit,” I respond as I take a seat at the set table. Then add, “Ce repas a l’air délicieux.”
Ben pauses halfway down into his seat, eyes wide. “Melinda Barbara Jenkins, do youspeakFrench? It’s not just that saucy little tattoo?”
“First of all,” I say with a laugh, “that is not my middle name. Second of all,” I hold my fingers a centimeter apart, “Un peu.”
He groans as he drops fully into his seat. “Linny, why would you do this to me?”
“What?”
“Speak French! That’s so bloody sexy. Oh my god.” He leans back in his seat, looking utterly devastated. I can’t help the butterflies that flutter in my stomach.
“Jesus,” Isla mutters, digging a fork into her salad, as Rachel jokes, “Get a room, you two.”
He is putting his all into this evening. Or…he means it? I don’t know. He’s notsupposedto mean it.
Ben sighs, still acting dramatic. “Dig in.” He throws a wink my way.
Oh. Got it. He’s putting on a show. I am not disappointed by that. I’mnot.It doesn’t matter that we kissed. That was just hormones at work.
Maybe I need to get back on the apps and find something casual. It’s been two or so months since I’ve hooked up with anyone. I’m just getting a little frustrated, is all. And Ben is, you know,Ben,so he’s tempting as hell.
I take my first bite and nearly curse. “This is amazing,” I moan.
I swear Ben gulps. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Umhm,” Rachel agrees. “Wonderful, as per usual, Ben.”
Isla hums. “Aye, really good.” She takes another bite. She swallows and says, “So, I’ve been meaning to say, that new stripe of gray hair you’ve got going on makes you look like the bride of Frankenstein.”
I snort into my wine, causing Ben to look at me, insulted that I would laugh. I squeeze his leg. “Sorry, sorry. That surprised me.” I didn’t even notice it. I mean, his hair has always had a bit of gray in it, but Isla is right. There’s a thick stripe of silver on the leftside of his head.
He lifts his chin and says, “The bride of Frankenstein is hot, so thank you.”
Isla says to me, “He’s impossible to insult. Every time I try to throw something at him, he turns it into a compliment.”
I smile, suspecting he’s doing that as a defense.
“I think it makes you look more like Mr. Fantastic,” I say.
Ben beams hugely. “Oo, he’s also hot. Thank you.”
The rest of the night goes off without a hitch. As Rachel and Isla get ready to go, Ben says, “Rachel, lovely to have you. Islington, less lovely. You’re mean.”
She groans. “I’msorryabout the wine.”
I ask, “Is your name really Islington?”
“No,” she says as Ben says, “Yes.”
I’m inclined to believe Isla. We offer hugs goodbye before we send them on their way with leftovers.
I help Ben wash the dishes, but we do so in silence. I’m comfortable with silence, but this one is heavy. I know what we’re both thinking.
