The Little Teashop in Tokyo

by Julie Caplin

  ‘That’s amazing,’ she whispered. ‘Well done. And don’t keep yawning, you’ll set me off; I’m a shadow of my former self after yesterday.’

  He grinned at her. ‘How was the Robot Restaurant?’

  ‘Mayu had the time of her life,’ she murmured and then pulled a face. ‘My eyeballs were burnt out. All that neon and flashing lights. My poor retinas could be scarred for life. Have you seen those things? Some of them are downright terrifying.’

  He laughed. ‘Why do you think I didn’t take you?’

  The visit to the restaurant had definitely been one of the more bizarre experiences of Fiona’s life. Huge samurai warrior robots riding glass horses. An enormous tyrannosaurus rex with Barbarella-style dancers in silver and turquoise lamé dancing on its back or at one point in its mouth. People riding Pokémon-style monsters shooting laser canon streams of neon light. It wasn’t something she was going to forget in a hurry.

  ‘I’ll probably include a shot for the exhibition … to show the contrasts between the modern and the traditional and I got some great shots of Mayu for Setsuko and Haruka. She’s quite a wild child, that one. I always thought Japanese children were supposed to be well behaved.’

  ‘I think Mayu lets her hair down when her folks aren’t around but like most Japanese kids, she’s very respectful and deferential to her parents.’

  ‘Well, I got some pictures of her that aren’t quite so wild as well. If you don’t mind, I’d like to work in the studio to create an album of pictures as a thank you when I leave.’

  ‘Creep,’ said Gabe, stifling another yawn. ‘They’ll bloody love that. No wonder Haruka thinks you’re the bee’s knees …’

  ‘I think you’re still her favourite.’

  ‘I don’t know why,’ he slumped into his seat, rubbing at the pale shadows underneath his eye.

  ‘Because you adore her.’

  ‘She’s a grumpy, demanding old woman.’

  ‘Gabe!’ protested Fiona, her voice rising, and immediately she lowered it, glancing around at the other passengers. Luckily no one seemed to have noticed her quiet-carriage faux pas. ‘She’s not at all.’

  ‘You’ve only seen her good side.’ But despite his quiet harrumph and fierce whisper, she could see the gleam in his eye.

  ‘That’s because I’m the perfect guest.’ Fiona grinned at him.

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘Setsuko.’

  ‘See, I said you were a creep.’ He folded his arms and leant his head back against the headrest.

  She rolled her eyes at him and pulled out a guide book.

  ‘And a swot,’ he whispered, his eyes closed as he nudged her arm.

  ‘I like to know where I’m going, don’t you?’

  ‘No, I like it to be an adventure. Besides I’ve been before.’

  ‘To Lake Kawaguichiko?’

  ‘Not there. I’ve actually walked up Mount Fuji. But you can only do that in July and August. You’ll have to come back.’

  ‘You know … I might do that. I feel like I’ve barely scratched the surface. Every time I talk to Setsuko or Haruka they tell me something fascinating about the philosophy or the culture of the country. There’s so much … it’s an amazing place.’

  Gabe opened his eyes and turned his head against the headrest, studying her face, a slow smile spreading over his, as if sleepiness had dulled his senses. Her heart turned over at the drowsy warmth of his expression.

  Then he reached for the camera on his knee and before she could protest took a couple of quick shots.

  ‘Gabe!’

  ‘Sorry, just had an idea for a shot … on a train. Wanted to see if it would work. The blur in the background, you know. Arty sort of picture.’

  ‘Oh,’ she leaned back into her seat, eyeing him warily. He smiled at her, still sleepy and a touch dopey.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’re something else.’ He continued to give her that gentle smile which made her heart miss a beat. ‘Very good at reminding me of things that I’d forgotten. Stuff that I take for granted.’ He closed his eyes again and for a moment she thought he was going to sleep.

  There was a touch on her hand and she looked down to see him threading his fingers through hers. ‘I’d forgotten what a special place this country is,’ he murmured. ‘Haruka. She’s been trying to … to remind me for a while. I wasn’t paying attention. When I first came I was fascinated by those contrasts, by that spirituality. I lost my way for a while.’

  ‘And now?’ Fiona watched his face, saw the regret lining his mouth.

  ‘Tupperware,’ he murmured, or at least it sounded like that. It was obviously some Japanese word.

  She waited for him to explain but all he did was smile that gentle smile at her, squeeze her hand, and then he leaned his head back against the headrest and went to sleep.

  Watching someone sleep was supposed to be creepy and she knew it was an invasion of privacy, although she was pretty sure Gabe wouldn’t have any such reserve. He’d probably be taking photos. It didn’t excuse it … but she couldn’t help herself savouring the rare moment of unadulterated pleasure. He was, and always had been, a beautiful man with that thick, dark wavy hair swept back from his forehead. It brushed his collar but she’d never seem him fuss or fiddle with it. His eyebrows were slightly paler, untamed, over that strong brow. It was a masculine face rescued from harshness by those deep, intense eyes. Fiona sighed. He was gorgeous even despite the slight purple bruises shadowing his eyes which were fringed by the thick resting-spider-leg lashes. This close she could see the liquorice-black bristles breaking out over his chin and very faint freckles on his tanned skin, one in the corner of his mouth that for an uninhibited moment she wanted to lick … which was so not standard Fiona behaviour. Gabe brought out something in her. A yearning which was nothing like that desperate infatuation before.

  And what was with the hand-holding? She wasn’t complaining … but what did it mean? God, she was out of her depth. She’d had a couple of dates with people … lost her virginity on one because she felt obliged to go through with it and had wanted rid of it. Went out with a guy called Olly who’d wanted her to move in with him but it had felt like settling for second best. Since then, she hadn’t even been friends with a man – well, apart from her friends from Copenhagen but they didn’t really count as one had a girlfriend, one was gay, and one was old enough to be her father. Her life had always been singularly lacking in male influences. Perhaps that was why she’d fallen so hard for Gabe the first time. He was the first man who’d ever shown any interest in her. If her father hadn’t died, maybe things would have been different, or if her mother had remarried. Automatically, her hand slipped into her pocket to toy with the little netsuke.

  Oh hell, her mother. Abandoning the tiny figure to the depths of her pocket, she began to dig in her bag for her phone. This morning had been such a rush, she hadn’t sent her usual morning WhatsApp. No doubt there’d be a dozen messages by now. Damn. The inside pocket of her rucksack, where she normally kept her phone was empty. Rifling through the bag, she checked the other pockets. What had she done with it? She could have sworn she’d zipped it in there this morning. It must be back at Haruka’s because she hadn’t taken it out or used it on the journey.

  Despite worrying about it, she quickly realised there was nothing she could actually do, not while Gabe was sleeping. Once he was awake, she’d ask if she could borrow his phone to text her mum and explain that she’d left her phone behind.

  ***

  Somehow she dozed off, and when she woke she blinked furiously. The sunlight streamed in through the windows and she turned away, about to dig into her bag for her sunglasses when Gabe suddenly picked up his camera and stepped out of his seat into the aisle.

  ‘There, like that. Don’t move.’

  Before she could even think about moving she heard the tell-tale click, click, whirr of the shutter.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she asked, horrified and glancing aroun
d the carriage. Luckily it seemed to have emptied at the last station.

  ‘Taking pictures,’ he grinned, the very devil of mischief peeping out of his eyes.

  Lifting her chin slightly, she rolled her eyes. ‘I can see that. But …’

  ‘Yes. Yes. Perfect.’ And once again she heard the electronic purr of the camera.

  ‘Gabe, stop it.’ She reached out towards the camera.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You know I don’t like having my picture taken. I look hideous in—’

  ‘I thought we’d cleared all that up, my lovely Valkyrie.’

  Spluttering would have been undignified, so Fiona just stared at him.

  ‘That’s better.’ He grinned, raising his camera again, talking while he snapped. ‘I’ve decided to ignore you. You won’t look hideous in my pictures,’ he said with an arrogant tilt of his head.

  She winced. Maybe not to him who was more interested in lines and planes, angles and shadows. She wasn’t unrealistic enough to aspire to being a great beauty or anything, but seeing her own face always reminded her that she wasn’t anything special. Online she might have thousands of followers, and post interesting blogs, but the reality was that behind Hanning’s Half Hour was a very dull, ordinary person.

  She realised Gabe was studying her through half-lidded eyes with the intensity that made her imagine he could see all the way through to her soul and the wretched lack of self-confidence writhing away in there. It was as much as she could do not to clench her stomach and tuck into herself like a turtle.

  ‘Turn your head again and lift your chin an inch.’

  ‘No, please don’t take photos of me.’

  ‘Do as you’re told,’ snapped Gabe.

  ‘Why?’ she turned back to him with a flash of anger.

  ‘Because this shot could be a masterpiece and we’ll never know, if you don’t.’

  And because it had been ingrained in her that photography was capturing that one moment in time that might never happen again, she turned her head and lifted her chin as everything inside shrank with dismay.

  ‘Fiona,’ said Gabe gently and she turned her eyes towards him, touched by the understanding in his voice. For a moment she could have sworn his face softened before he lifted the camera and took a succession of quick shots.

  ‘Look away for me.’ With a disdainful, resigned sigh, she did as she was told. ‘There’s my Valkyrie.’

  ‘Will you stop calling me that,’ she spluttered, the unexpected term bringing a snort of denial. ‘No one’s ever called me that before.’

  ‘No one else can see it,’ said Gabe, lowering the camera, his voice silken. ‘Pull your top down a little.’

  ‘What?’

  He took no notice of her horrified tone and leaned forward, doing it for her, tugging the off-the-shoulder top a little lower, but still within the bounds of modesty with a capital M.

  ‘Gabe!’

  Too late, her collar bone was exposed.

  ‘That’s better, it frames your shoulders.’

  ‘My neck’s too long. I’m too big, remember,’ she blurted out, her skin prickling in sudden awareness. ‘Mum calls me a giraffe.’

  Gabe lowered his camera and with careful, deliberate moves laid it on the seat beside him. She felt the icy anger in the careful controlled movements. He leaned forward, his eyes meeting hers and she almost flinched from the storm of anger in them.

  ‘She’s wrong. You’re …’ Lifting a hand, he ran a finger along the length of her collar bone, the calloused pad a sandpaper brush that coaxed all her nerve endings into life. She raised her chin and swallowed as she met his gaze, uncertain but unable to stop herself.

  He smiled, ‘Perfect. The other day I regretted not taking pictures of you at the tea ceremony.’ Those blue eyes bored into her, so close now she could see the striations of blue were flecked with navy. ‘And I regretted … not kissing you.’ She caught her breath as his fingers slid up her neck with infinitesimal slowness, a reverent exploration of the landscape of her skin and tendons, a determined pressure against her throat as if he wanted to catalogue every cell, sinew, and muscle. Unable to help herself, she tilted her head offering him a longer line, letting the breath slip out as his fingers stroked the underside of her chin. Her mouth parted in longing and invitation as one knuckle skirted her mouth. It sent blood coursing down between her legs, the touch far more sexually explicit than a mere kiss. The hoarse intake of his breath as his eyes maintained their hold told her that he was as affected as she was. Satisfaction warmed her as she wondered whether he would kiss her. Hope and trepidation warred. Now his hand cupped her chin and he rubbed a thumb across her lower lip. Instinct and desire brought the tip of her tongue to touch and taste his salty skin.

  Every part of her ached. Ached to be kissed, to be held, to be held close, to be held against Gabe’s chest. And she’d felt this before. The sharp dig of passion and longing brought memories tumbling and ploughing like an avalanche spilling down a mountain. Oh yes, she’d felt this before. But this time came the freedom, the knowledge, that she hadn’t made a fool of herself. Gabe had kissed her back. Had wanted to kiss her.

  ‘Fi?’ Gabe’s voice came from far away and she saw the concern in the lines crinkling around his eyes, his fingers tracing her mouth.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, lifting her chin, channelling warrior-princess vibes for all she was worth.

  He stared at her, hunger in those beautiful blue eyes.

  ‘I can’t remember … but I think it’s my turn to kiss you.’

  One finger brushed her lower lip and then he leaned in, his breath carrying the faint tang of coffee. Her heart hammered against her ribs as, with a feather-light touch, his lips skimmed over hers. This was really happening and she could scarcely breathe as hope and anticipation bubbled up. Frozen into her seat, she felt his lips settle, pressing against her mouth, and heard his tiny huff of satisfaction. Her mouth opened under his with a small sigh.

  It felt as if she’d been waiting for this for the last ten years. Warm and firm, his lips explored hers, teasing and coaxing. She wasn’t sure who moaned – possibly her – but this was quite the most delicious thing and she wasn’t backing away from it. Not this time. Boldly she kissed him back, sliding an arm around his neck. The rest of the world receded and there was only his mouth on hers. When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against hers, his fingers gliding over her cheekbone.

  ‘Valkyrie,’ he murmured. ‘It was worth waiting for.’

  ‘I’m not sure this is entirely appropriate,’ she said, dazed and trying to grab on to normality instead of drifting off into this lovely fairy tale. ‘If the Japanese don’t like people talking on the train, I’m not sure kissing is going to go down terribly well.’

  ‘Good job this bit of the carriage is empty then,’ said Gabe, stealing another kiss. ‘Because this is the best train journey I’ve had for quite a while.’

  ‘We can’t kiss for the whole journey; it’s still another half hour to Fujiyoshida.’

  ‘Why not? I haven’t kissed you for ten years, that’s a lot of kisses to catch up on.’

  And when he put it like that, Fiona couldn’t think of a single reason why not.

  In fact, all she could think was that Gabe Burnett was kissing her and that the butterflies in her stomach had dived, soared, and jumped right out of her stomach and were now swirling around her head making everything spin in a dream-like way. Flushed and heated, she also felt relief. No pulling away in disgust at her inexperience. Kissing Gabe was every bit as wonderful as she could possibly have imagined. Her insides seem to have liquified with pure delight, leaving her molten and pliable. She, Fiona Hanning, was kissing Gabe Burnett! Pressing her lips to his, silken, soft, firm and oh so delicious … Then her heart almost burst when he cupped her face with all the tenderness of a thousand rom-coms.

  They didn’t quite kiss all the way to the next stop but it was a close thing.

  ***

  When the tr
ain slowed to pull in to the station, they hastily gathered their bags with surreptitious grins and made their way to the doors. It was as they stood in front of them that Fiona gave a guilty start.

  ‘Gabe, I’ve left my phone behind.’ Now it sounded as if she meant she’d lost it but before she could clarify her meaning, the doors opened and Gabe took her bag from her and helped her down without even acknowledging her comment.

  ‘I think I’ve left it at Haruka’s.’ Peering up and down the platform he sought out the exit.

  ‘Well at least you know you haven’t lost it,’ he said. ‘Ah, this way.’ He led the way to the right, obviously more cognisant with the Japanese than she’d realised as the English translation was in a much smaller and harder-to-read font.

  He didn’t seem the least bit bothered by the information.

  ‘Would you mind if I borrowed your phone to text my mother?’

  Gabe strode on as if he hadn’t heard. ‘Let’s find a taxi.’

  Once in the back of the cab, with her bag on her lap, she asked again. ‘Your phone. Please can I borrow it?’

  ‘No,’ said Gabe.

  ‘What?’ His implacable answer shocked her. ‘I’ll give you the money,’ she said with a touch of indignation.

  ‘No,’ he said mildly. ‘I don’t care about the money.’

  ‘Then why not?’

  He turned to her. ‘Because then your mum will have my number and she’ll be texting me every five minutes instead of you and that’s the last thing I want.’

  ‘She wouldn’t.’ Even as she said it, Fiona knew she would. Even so … he could have been a bit more helpful. Well, if he was going to be like that … It took a lot for her not to fold her arms and pout. Instead she lifted her head, pursed her lips, and stared out of the window.

  ‘The warrior princess is back.’ His fingers stroked the underside of her chin. ‘Don’t sulk. If she’s worried about you, she can phone Haruka. And Haruka can phone me.’

  From under her lashes she peeped up at him and read intractability all over his face. ‘Come on, Fi. You said yourself she cries wolf all the time. This will give you a proper break. Two whole days away from the tyranny of the text.’