Page 22 of Storm in a Teacup
I lean back in my seat with a sigh, staring out the window at the long stretch of grassy land. “If we’re going to pretend to date, we should go over the basics.”
He mimics my lean. “Well, I already know you like it when I pay particular attention to your left nipple.”
I whip my head toward him. “Notthat. I meant my parents’ names. My cat’s name. My favorite color. Those kinds of things.”
“You didn’t say I was wrong,” he sings under his breath.
“Harold and Emily. Oscar Wilde is my cat. And I like purple.”
“What kind of purple?”
“All purple.”
“So, you go horny for plum in the same way you do lavender?”
“That issuchan odd way to put it. But yes.”
“Got it. Well, not that I think anyone will be quizzing us on this, but my parents are named William and Jane. Mum is white, Da is Korean. If I had a cat, I would name them Pâte à Choux—Choux for short, Choux Pastry when they’re especially cute. And I like orange. But specifically a soft sunset orange.”
I bite the corner of my mouth. “How Peeta Mellark of you.”
“Ta. But I don’t think I will ever reach his level of cake-decorating skill.”
“One always needs something to strive for.” I move on to my next question. “Did you go to uni?”
“Aye.”
“What for?”
“Sport and Exercise Science.”
I furrow my brow. “Using that degree for all it’s worth.”
“I also did an eighteen-week course in culinary arts, post-grad.” He shifts in his seat. “What about you?”
“That makes more sense.” I point to myself. “Art History.”
His lips purse. “What age were you diagnosed with RP?”
“Nineteen or twenty. I remember how it happened—my regular eye doctor noticed, sent me to an ophthalmologist, I got diagnosed. After, I sat in my car with my mom and shed a few tears, then we got froyo—but I’ve also sort of blocked it from my memory and have never really taken the time to fully process it.”
“Healthy.”
“The healthiest. My therapist tells me that all the time. Linny, wow, you are my healthiest patient. So good at processing your emotions and trauma.”
He laughs. “Hey, me as well! Next question, a doozy. How old are you?”
“Twenty-eight. You?”
“Thirty.”
“My god, you’re old. No wonder you’ve got that sexy salt and pepper thing going on.”
We keep going through the basics. He has one sister, Isla. I have two sisters, Chelsea and Sarah, both older and both of whom still reside in the U.S. Chelsea is married with two kids, and Sarah is a proud dog mom. I also have Mel, of course, who is less a cousin and more like another older sister.
“Oh,” I add as we near London. “I like crystals. I’m not like a diehard believer of every potential benefit, but I enjoy having them around my flat or on my person.” I show him the amethyst ring I wear on my right ring finger as evidence. “For stress relief.”
“Really?” he asks, eyeing the ring.
