This is part two of a lesbian romance. I've split the story into three parts to keep each one a reasonable length but it is a continuous story so you'll need to read part one first, which can be found at:
http: //www.literotica.com/s/such-a-little-thing-ch-01
Many thanks must go to EarthlyRose for her help editing this story. In addition, gratitude and thanks also to Winterreisser for his further editorial comments and suggestions.
If you enjoy this story please rate and leave a comment.
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CHAPTER 6 -- Still Looking for Mr Right
The weeks passed and we settled into each other's lives. My shop was doing well; Uncle Graham came to visit and check over the books (the keeping of which was a Sunday afternoon chore I detested with a passion) and declared that I was doing better than predicted. That did allow me to persuade him to upgrade the shop's PC so the bookkeeping wasn't quite so tedious.
I took him for a coffee next door where Milla was at a table in the corner. I called across, "Hi Milla, this is my Uncle Graham who owns the shop." I turned to Uncle Graham, "And this is Milla, my very close friend and maker of exquisite coffee." Milla came up behind me and, placing one hand affectionately on my shoulder, shook Graham's hand. I barely noticed Milla's hand but, looking back, I realize now that Uncle Graham didn't miss it; at the time he simply looked intently at the two of us.
"Hello, Milla, love," said Uncle Graham. "I ought t' thank thee for helping our Amber out, with that oval glass and the like, and being such a right good neighbour and friend to her."
"Thank you, Mr, um, Uncle Graham. Amber has spoken about me then?"
"Aye. She don't email or phone as often as she might, but I reckon your name crops up in all of 'em." He and Milla smiled at my flaming cheeks.
Not surprisingly he was completely charmed by Milla and seemed genuinely pleased that she and I were such good friends. He was also impressed with the leaflets for 'In the Frame' that were on the counter with their discount voucher. "I wish some of t' other shop managers would show t' same initiative as thee, Amber," he praised, "I'd be fair minted by now!" Milla overheard and gave me a big smile and two thumbs up.
I would frequently spend most of every Wednesday in the Caffè helping out and just being with Milla. On one occasion I was wiping down tables when I heard a thickly accented voice behind me. "Hey, Camilla!
Da quando abbiamo impieghiato una nuova ragazza?
"
I turned to see an old man in a worn, brown jacket, grey trousers and white shirt open at the collar, and whom, despite being much older, I recognised from the photographs as Nonno Carluccio. Although not understanding a word he'd said, I held out my hand to shake as Milla hurried over to introduce us. "Nonno,
lei non è un dipendente
; she's not an employee. This is Amber; she runs the framing shop next door and she did the framing of all the photographs." She turned to me, "Nonno asked, 'Since when did we employ a new girl?'" she explained.
I nodded. "Pleased to meet you, Nonno Carluccio," I said as we shook hands. "I'm just helping Milla out as my shop's shut today," I explained.
"And for this helping she pay you?" he asked.
"Of course not; she's my best and closest friend and we help each other out from time to time." He nodded and thanked me before walking slowly over to behind the counter where he proceeded to inspect everything.
Milla looked at me, her eyes shining. "Amber, that was so sweet to call me your 'best and closest friend' and the way you called him Nonno too."
"It just sort of slipped out."
"If Nonno wasn't here I'd give you such a big hug!" she told me as she surreptitiously took my hand and squeezed it.
Milla passed the inspection as, apparently, did I along with the photos I'd framed. Milla told me Nonno had declared me "A very nice young lady," but probably in Italian -- or with an Italian accent at least.
Though there was no hug that day, there was generally a great deal of physical contact between us: Milla would link her arm through mine when we walked, would touch or hold my hand or arm when we were close and talked, put her hand on my hip or waist as she slipped past me. Initially, I was a bit uncomfortable with this and I didn't reciprocate but I gradually found myself doing the same with her. And following an afternoon bent over the workbench it was wonderful to feel Milla's fingers on my neck and shoulders kneading away the ache and stiffness and after that, I was always happy to repay in kind.
I suppose I should mention the dreams. They weren't every night but the warm and humid summer nights that year often made my sleeping restless and so I would wake in the dark, the memory of a dream still vivid. Milla featured frequently: kissing her; us naked in the Caffè or in my workshop or in her flat; touching each other; massages that went further... There was one I struggled to remember, but white dresses were involved so I suspect it was something to do with a wedding. I never again came in my sleep but I was usually very wet afterwards and my fingers and little vibe got lots of use relieving me. I absolutely needed that release; without it, I'm quite sure that the temptation to do something inappropriate with Milla or of leading her on would have been too great.
Ah yes, then there was my one date. It was in mid-August with a young guy, Kieron, who had brought in several of his watercolour pictures for framing over a number of days. He was friendly and good looking and, as I handed him his third completed frame, he asked me out. I hesitated for a moment and, though I wasn't really attracted to him, agreed to go; I'd been single for months, I reasoned, so I needed to get out there again.
At seven o'clock the following Saturday night, our agreed time, Kieron picked me up in his little Ford Whatever car (it was red, anyway, and quite old). My first warning should have been when we drove into the car park of The Maid and Dragon pub. The evening Milla and I had spent there had been wonderful, only becoming more magical in my memory, so it was going to be hard for this date to match that.
He escorted me into the pub where he'd booked a table in the restaurant area. We sat and chatted before the waiter arrived, small talk about ourselves: how I came to be running the shop (an abridged and less embarrassing version), his hobby of watercolour painting.
The waiter came and we ordered. We continued talking but it became more and more stilted and uncomfortable. I kept imagining what it would be like with Milla; the easy conversation, the laughter, our legs brushing under the table, the warmth of her hand on mine that could still burn right through me.
We ate our food but we didn't offer each other tasters from our own plates. I drank but the alcohol numbed rather than relaxed me. In the end, I found myself declining dessert and apologising. "I'm sorry Kieron. You're a really nice guy but this isn't going to work."
"You mentioned splitting up with someone. Are you still, like, not over him?" he asked, anxiously.
I hesitated, Milla's face in my mind's eye. "I... well sort of. There is someone and I'm definitely not over them." I told him. "I don't know if I ever will be," I added to myself.
He was gallant to the last: he insisted on paying, taking me home and then, finally, he even thanked me for the evening. All I could do was to apologise for being such crap company.
I had barely closed my door when there was a soft knocking and I opened it to find Milla there. She came in and I made us some hot chocolate. "Are you alright, Amber? You looked sad as you came back. Was your date okay?"
"Let's put it this way: he was definitely not Mr Right." I tried to laugh. "I'm not sure that there is a Mr Right anymore," I muttered. It was mainly frustration talking but maybe subconsciously I meant more. Whatever it was, there was no mistaking the hopeful gleam that twinkled in Milla's eye when she heard it.
CHAPTER 7 -- 'She's not my girlfriend!'
It was now late-August and I had just finished serving a customer. As she left the shop, the postman came in and handed me several letters.
"Thanks, Joe," I said, looking through the boring bills and circulars. There were two more interesting letters at the back but when I looked they were for Milla, one with an Italian stamp. "Hang on, Joe, these letters are for Milla."
