Page 19 of Storm in a Teacup
“Right. I’ll leave.” She swiftly unlocks the front door and departs before I can say another word.
The sight of her abandoned coffee on the front counter makes my head hang. It’s fine. I’ll apologize tomorrow.
…
I slip away as soon as the café gets less busy and Isla gives me permission to leave, coffee in hand. Carolyn is behind the counter when I enter the antique shop. Her eyes crinkle. “Bennett. Hello.”
“Carolyn, just the woman I was looking for.” I hand over one of the coffees. “Same order as yesterday, so I hope you liked it.”
She simpers as she accepts the drink. “Oh, sweet boy. Thank you. Aye, yes. It was lovely.” She eyes the cup still in my hand. “Though, I assume I’m not the only woman you’re hoping to find in this shop.”
My expression drops in faux guilt. “You caught me. Is Linny here?”
“In the back, dear.”
I take that as permission enough to push through the curtains to the office. When I do, I see Linny with her back to me, hair pulled into two French plaits behind her head. She’s organizing items on a shelf while talking on her wireless headphones. She scoots a cardboard box of teacups to the side to make room for a few vases, arranging them in a straight line.
“No, it’s fine,” she says. “I mean, of course I don’t want to see him, but I can be an adult about it…Yes…Yes…Yes…Okay…I know…Mel.” She sighs. “What are you going to do? Uninvite him? He’s Julien’s cousin…You can’t do that…I know. Thanks.”
The call must end because she groans loudly as she drops her forehead to the shelf in front of her.
Well, shite. It’s weird that I’m standing here watching her. I have two options. One, hope those headphones started playing music so she won’t hear as I retreat as fast as I possibly can. Or two, clear my throat.
Old Ben would choose option two, so I choose option two: I clear my throat. She whips around quickly to face me, hand on her heart.
“What are you doing back here?”
I hold out the coffee in a gesture. “Apologizing?”
She removes her headphones and stomps over to me, snatching the takeaway cup from my hand. “For?” From her tone, I can tell she knows what for.
“Snapping at you yesterday after you were very kind to me. And for not thanking you for keeping me from spiraling. I’m sorry. I’m an arsehole. Everyone says so.”
Her expression softens. “I don’t think you’re an asshole.”
“Arsehole.”
“Arsehole,” she repeats, a smile pulling at her lips.
“Correct,” I commend. I peer at her seriously. “Today it seems my turn to ask: you alright?”
“Oh, grand. My cousin has informed me that her hen do next weekend will actually be a joint hen and stag do.”
“Oh?”
“My ex-fiancé is one of the groomsmen.”
“Oh. The tall one.” I purse my lips. “Still not his biggest fan?”
“Heis an asshole. And now I have to spend the entire weekend with him. Which would be fine if I knew someone besides my cousin and her maid of honor, but I don’t really know her other friends. I’ve met some before, and they’re nice and all, but they don’t get it. Even Kensie doesn’t really understand. I mean, why would any of them? But, if it wasn’t her hen do, it’d be fine and she could be with me and help me if I needed it, but for this, I don’t want to be a distraction. I don’t want Mel to worry about me. But she will even though I’m an adult who can take care of myself. The bars we’ll be bouncing between will be dark and Atti’ll be an absolutedickevery time I bump into something and I can’tfuckinghandle—”
I hold my hands out in a halting gesture. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Ginger Spice, take a breath.”
There is fire in her eyes as she glares up at me. But she forces herself to take a deep breath in through her nostrils, her lips pinched in a tight line.
Calmly, I say, “I’m missing something. Why are dark bars a concern? Do you think he’s going to try and hurt you in one of them?”
Her brow furrows. “What? Oh. No. He’s an asshole, but not that kind.” She sighs. “Sorry. Uh, I’m night blind.”
