Page 38 of Storm in a Teacup
I don’t say anything to that, but I extend my leg so my foot can touch his.
“Your toes are freezing,” he whispers.
“That sucks for you,” I whisper back.
He lifts his feet up to encompass mine, rubbing like he’s attempting to create heat.
I laugh loudly. “Ben!” I try to yank my foot back to my side of the bed, but he has trapped it. I keep giggling, my hand on his chest in a poor effort to push him away. Once I get my foot free, I kick him lightly. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’ve been called worse,” he says through a smirk I can hear.
“Goodnight,” I say assertively, flipping onto my other side.
“’Night,” he responds, his foot hitting mine one last time.
…
I wake to light on my face. I blink my eyes open and find myself face-to-face with Ben. His eyes are closed—he is clearly still asleep. Neither one of us is spooning the other, but we are sharing a pillow. As I come to and assess my surroundings, I realize it is me sharing his.Damn. I’m the cuddler once again. Very closely, at that. My arms are gathered in front and pressed into his chest. One of his arms is shoved under the pillow—and the other is resting on my waist. Our legs are gently intertwined.
I should move away, but every instinct is telling me to move closer. I don’t.
I carefully pull away, untangling our limbs, and twist to get out of the bed, not wanting Ben to wake up to us like this. I’ll keep this morning to myself. If I keep it for myself, it makes it less real.
And that’s better.
CHAPTER NINE
Ben
After we arrive back in Edinburgh, Linny and I walk together from Waverly. She’s heading home, and I’m heading to the café. Once we reach the doors to her flat and Somewhere Special, we stop and look at each other. I’d like to hug her goodbye, but she crosses her arms, shutting that down.
“Want a coffee or anything?” I ask, shoving my hands in my trouser pockets.
“I’m okay.”
I give a jerk of my head. “Well, this has been fun. I’ll let you know about dinner.”
“Please do.”
“Text me when you get home?”
Her face falls flat, eyes flashing to her front door. “You mean, when I get up the stairs?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
We go our separate directions. I walk into the café to see a few people sitting at tables engaging in light chatter, and Rachel behind the counter. She smiles as I drag my suitcase inside.
“Shouldn’t Gemma be behind the counter?” Gemma is one of the two employees Isla and I hired, who is supposed to be working today.
“Isla let her leave about twenty minutes ago. Did you walk here from the station?” she asks as she messes with the espresso machine.
“Yeah.” I guide my suitcase behind the counter as I join her. On the counter are notebooks with scribbles of things I likely won’t be able to make sense of, but I think I see the words “microplastic” and “algae” about a dozen times.
“That’s a gross amount of energy you have. How was London?” She turns around, handing a cup of hot coffee to me. I accept it with a mutter of thanks.
“Good. Expensive. London.” I take a sip. “You make a good coffee for someone who hates it.”
