Page 17 of The Lonely Hearts Guide

“I’m not sure what’s happening right now,” Elliot whispered, because Periwinkle was so close it felt silly to speak much louder. “You’re very close to my face. If you’re attempting to kiss me, I would like to remind you that you’re a married man, and I am neither snake nor philanderer.”

Periwinkle rolled his eyes. “Obviously, I’m not attempting to kiss you. For God’s sake, Arthur is right behind me. I’m hardly going to shove my tongue down your throat.” He lifts his hand and pokes Elliot in the cheek. “Have you felt fuzzy headed? Do you have headaches when you think too hard about certain stuff?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

Periwinkle shook his head, poking Elliot’s cheek again. “No.” Periwinkle gave Elliot a sad smile that radiated sympathy. He didn’t know what on Earth he might need Periwinkle’s sympathy for, aside from the abuse Elliot suffered at Jared’s hand.

Periwinkle opened his mouth to say more, only to close it when Mrs. Peppercorn finally approached, sliding her hand into Elliot’s and giving it a squeeze.

“Are you ready, sugar?” she asked Elliot.

No, Elliot wasn’t ready. He wanted to know more about Mr. Alexander Davenport, but he could hardly tell Mrs. Peppercorn no. She was opening her home to him, after all, so he simply gave her the warmest smile he could, and nodded.

He stared down at Alexander’s smiling face one final time, knowing he needed to meet the man. Knowing Alexander held answers about the missing seconds and minutes and hours of Elliot’s cake-frosting memories.

“May I keep this?” he asked Periwinkle. “Please?”

Periwinkle nodded. “I’ve already found my forever. I have no need for a dating cruise.”

The room Mrs. Peppercorn provided Elliot was a lovely little space. It was on the second floor, right next to hers, and she told Elliot it belonged to her no-good, low-down, dirty dog of a son. Apparently, the man hadn’t called his mother in close to two weeks. It made Elliot sad for Mrs. Peppercorn, because she seemed like such a lovely lady, and he couldn’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t want to call her for a quick chat every day.

That night, Elliot sat on his new bed, studying the photograph of Mr. Alexander Davenport. He still had half his cookie left, and he’d received permission from Mrs. Peppercorn to finish it in his room, provided he left no crumbs on the bedding. Elliot was the cleanest househusband he’d ever known, so he knew it wouldn’t be a problem.

Elliot sighed, because if Alexander lived in Dallas, he could have simply tracked the man down and avoided this entire trip to Georgia. While Elliot knew it was a long shot, something about Alexander screamed ‘caregiver,’ so he knew Alexander would have taken him in. He just knew it.

Elliot needed to receive clarification on whether Alexander would be aboard Mother’s second chance cruise for certain, because if he was, nothing would stop Elliot from finding him. Mother might spot him on the boat and ask what he was doing there without Jared, but that was another battle for another day.

So, two days later, when Periwinkle finally spoke with Alexander and confirmed he would be aboard the cruise, Elliot made his decision. He would sneak onto the boat, find Mr. Alexander Davenport, and ask about his missing memories. Elliot just hoped neither Periwinkle nor Mrs. Peppercorn were terribly cross with him after the voyage.

Professor Plum was unhinged. It was the only word Alexander could use to describe his little buddy’s behavior. The moment they boarded the cruise ship, Professor Plum began clawing at Alexander’s shirt pocket, trying desperately to get out. Alexander held the little mouse in his hand, trying to soothe him. Even as he held the mouse, his head looked left to right, like he caught the scent of something delicious and wanted to find the source.

The boat was quite impressive for such a small event. It was a three-tier ship with guest cabins on the bottom tier, group activities, a pool, and dining areas on the mid-section, and all auctions were to be held on the top floor. A man in a tuxedo greeted them at the check-in counter, offering Alexander a key to his VIP suite as six other automatons in tuxedos waited patiently, their backs against the wall.

At least he would have a bit of peace and quiet to look forward to. Alexander paid extra for the suite, as Ms. Broussard’s booking coordinator had advised him that’s where he would have the most privacy. Alexander couldn’t stand the thought of listening to rowdy, drunken men fornicate with their new beaus. All he wanted was a week away from the hustle and bustle, and, hopefully, the chance to see an old friend.

The clerk at the counter—a man named Clarence, if his name tag was to be believed—tapped a small bell on the desk, and one of the several waiting beaus rushed toward them. The beau had short blond hair, conservative in cut and parted at the side. He took both of Alexander’s bags, then motioned toward the elevator bank.

“This way, sir.”

Alexander gave the bountiful beau a warm smile before tagging along, Professor Plum still peeking his head out of Alexander’s fist, looking every which way.

After being shown around the ship, the automaton walked Alexander and Professor Plum to their cabin, and once Alexander shut the door, Professor Plum raced around the room, sniffing all he could. Alexander watched his every step as he placed his clothing in the small closet provided for him, doing his best to avoid crushing the mouse under his foot. He’d done it four times already, and each time, Ms. Broussard scolded him for interrupting her alleged busy schedule to perform maintenance on a mouse. Alexander should have just let Professor Plum pass in peace after their first year together, but he couldn’t. The mouse was his closest friend and his only tether to the man with the plum jam cookies he met all that time ago.

Alexander still clung to the memories of Elliot and the morning they shared on Sugarplum Island. He wasn’t sure what it was about Elliot that kept him locked in Alexander’s heart like a priceless heirloom. Maybe it was the overwhelming cloud of sadness that formed around the bountiful beau, possibly. Or maybe it was that spark. The strange fluttering in his heart that sang outmine-mine-mineas they conversed on the dock. Whatever the reason, Alexander couldn’t forget about dear Elliot, and he didn’t want to forget about him, either. He knew, should their paths cross, Elliot would want to see the fieldmouse. So, when Professor Plum’s health began to decline, Alexander made a call to Emily Broussard.

“Yes,” she told him. “I can save him. For a price, of course.”

She placed the mouse’s brain inside a mechanical body, then she stitched him shut. The procedure cost Alexander well over six figures, but Professor Plum was priceless, so he paid for it with a smile. He just hoped Elliot might get the chance to see their friendly fieldmouse again.

For the trip, Alexander brought six suits, six sets of day clothes, six pairs of briefs and socks, shoes, and six Speedos in case he wanted to swim. He also brought six Valium, because he wasn’t terribly thrilled about having to converse with so many people.

His mother had been the driving force in his signing up for the cruise. Well, his mother, and the image of Elliot on the brochure. It had been so long since he’d seen the man, and he hoped beyond hope he was one of the beaus being sold on the trip. The brochure said there were over forty automatons needing loving homes; all previously owned by men who determined the bountiful beaus weren’t a good fit, whatever that meant. He wanted to ask about Elliot specifically, but Emily Broussard was impossible to reach via phone, and each time he emailed her, her response seemed to be AI generated.

Alexander had had quite enough of Emily Broussard and her silly games.

On his first night aboard the ship, halfway through dinner, the lights in the large dining room dimmed, and an old, forgotten ballad from the fifties played out over the speaker. As Doris Day reminded Alexander that whatever would be would be, Ms. Broussard glided across the small stage at the front of the room, her movement so fluid it almost looked as if she was ice skating.

Tapping the microphone, Ms. Emily Broussard peered out over the crowd of men in tuxes, looking the epitome of elegance. She wore a red sequined ballgown that worked well with her dark auburn hair. Ms. Broussard’s hair had always confused Alexander. He wasn’t sure why she insisted on styling it in a Marcel wave, but it made her look like a character in a silent movie. She clasped her hands to her chest and grinned at the crowd; the applause swelling through the room only making her smile stretch wider. After far too long spent clapping, Alexander turned his attention back to the small dish of chocolate mousse he’d been provided. Slowly, he worked his spoon across the surface, scraping the smallest of bites onto the utensil. He knew Emily Broussard loved to talk other people’s ears off, so the longer he made his dessert last, the longer he would have a distraction from his perpetual boredom.

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