Page 14 of The Lonely Hearts Guide

Alexander had no desire to spend two weeks with Emily Broussard or her endless selection of potential beaus. Every time he visited New Orleans for Professor Plum’s scheduled maintenance, she made a point to show him photographs of the latest models, always trying to upsell him on something.

Ms. Broussard’s Second Chances Cruise, the pamphlet said. Below, it was stated the cruise was a chance to rehome returned bountiful beaus. Alexander didn’t want to buy a beau, but a cruise sounded fun. Maybe he could see if there were any other cruise liners currently taking passengers.

Inside the brochure were faces and names of i-Series beaus, all available for purchase. “This makes them look like cattle at an auction,” Alexander said to himself, not having meant to voice it aloud.

“I know,” Twylah said. “Baby, I think it’s a good idea. You have the chance to show kindness. If you find the right man, you can give him a life he won’t get with anyone else. You remember how shaken up Elliot was last time he came to the island.”

“Elliot.” Alexander’s voice cracked as he said the name, and the memory of a long walk on a lonely night in late November replayed in his mind. “Have you talked to his owner about placing his orders in advance? If we knew when Elliot was going to arrive, I could meet him on the dock. I don’t know why he insists you ferry them back to the mainland instead of just shipping them to him.”

“If you moved to the island, you could ride the ferry over to greet him when Jared places the order, cookies in hand. As for his reasoning—who knows why any man does anything he chooses to do? Your minds are basically made up of chaos and stubbornness.”

Alexander wanted that, to see Elliot again. He wanted it so much. But what if Elliot was finally happy? What if his master wasn’t as horrible as Alexander assumed he was? He couldn’t give up his company and move to an island in hopes he might have the chance to tell an old friend hello.

“He was such a sweet man, Lexy. He had heartache stretched around him like a winter poncho, but he was precious. If you won’t try to rescue him, you can rescue one of these men. They all need homes. Do you want them going to homes like the one Elliot lives in? You can prevent a lifetime of cruelty and give one of them a happy ending. That’s not something a lot of people can say.”

“I’m not looking for a romantic partner,” he argued, but he knew it was a half-truth at best and a blatant lie at worst. He was sure he could happily live a life with Elliot. He’d give the man everything his beautiful mind could imagine. As tragic as it was to admit, after a few brief hours spent in Elliot’s company, Alexander found himself smitten. Yes, he’d been busy with work since then, but a small part of him—one he was ashamed to admit, even to himself—was still holding a torch for a man he met five years ago.

Five years.

God. Had it really been that long?

“Then purchase a few of the other men and let them live with you as platonic friends. Your life is stagnant, baby, and I refuse to let you fall into mediocrity. You may be half Davenport, but you’re also half Bishop, and Bishops don’t settle when it comes to happiness.”

She was right, of course, but then, Twylah Bishop always was. So, rather than argue, Alexander sighed and said goodbye, ending the call and bringing up his message chain with Emily Broussard, needing to schedule Professor Plum’s maintenance. Once plans were made, Alexander fished Professor Plum out of his shirt pocket and cuddled next to him in bed. Professor Plum peeked up with his sleepy eyes, and for the briefest of moments, his lips curved into a smile.

Alexander looked around the room as if an audience might suddenly appear out of thin air. Once the coast was clear, Alexander leaned closer and kissed Professor Plum’s head, whispering, “Do you want to go on a trip?”

Squeak-squeak-squeak.

Parenting is a thankless job, my dear boy. Take our relationship, for example. While I raised you to be Mother’s good boy, you continue to be a bother. Whether it’s the endless calls from Master Jared Price, detailing your many faults in great—and oftentimes quite obscene—detail, or the calls you place to me at night, pleading for me to retrieve you and bring you home; never once have I heard a “Thank you, Mother.” I don’t think it’s too much to ask. What I do believe is too much to ask, however, is asking you to care for a child when you don’t know how.

Never fear. Mother’s here.

First and foremost, you’ll want to swaddle your baby, and you’ll want to swaddle them tight. Tuck them as snugly as you can get them in their blanket. Picture them as a breakfast burrito, and their cozy little blankie is the tortilla. There’s no need to bake this burrito, my love. You’re already baking them now, in your tummy.

Second, you’ll want to place your child on their stomach when they sleep. Now, I’m quite aware this practice has gone the way of the infamous Dodo, but I don’t care what these new-age vagabonds have to say; it worked with my boys, and it will work with your child.

Last, but certainly not least; a bit of brandy goes a long way. Though your child will be born with a fully functional set of teeth, there’s still a chance their gums may be sore. If that’s the case, drip a few drops of brandy into their bottle. If that doesn’t suffice, a single shot of cognac should do the trick. Not only will it soothe their oral aches and pains, they will also sleep like a lark. Believe me, you’ll thank me later.

As always, Mother loves you with her whole heart, but I must insist you stop calling me so often. I have a business to run, after all.

Elliot sat at a table with mismatched chairs, in a room with bookshelves for walls. Arthur and Periwinkle’s quiet library loft was certainly charming, but it was an open room with no privacy. The moment he entered the room, he knew his dream was over. There was simply no room for Elliot in their living quarters. He didn’t bother asking if they could make space for him, because he knew the answer would be no. The answers to his questions usually were.

Arthur and Periwinkle Price fussed over Elliot, serving him herbal tea and placing plump cookies on a plate in front of him, but Elliot didn’t need their cookies. He still had the one he’d been saving since his visit to Sugarplum Island three days or weeks or months ago. It must have been weeks, because Jared sent him weekly, but it didn’t feel like a week. A week since he collected them, perhaps, but much longer than a week since he’d stepped foot on Sugarplum Island, though he wasn’t sure how he knew that.

When had he last visited? Tuesday? Or was it on a Sunday? It certainly couldn’t have been on a Monday, as that was when Elliot did his gardening. It was his favorite day of the week, because Jared allowed him to remain powered on through the day. The whole day!

There were also two women Elliot had never met at Arthur and Peri’s, and the longer they conversed with each other, the more enthralled Elliot became. The first woman, introduced as Mrs. Honey Peppercorn—a ridiculous name, Elliot thought—was in her eighties, and she was wearing a ginger wig. Her eyelids were slathered with blue eyeshadow and ruby red lipstick meticulously coated her lips, not a single smudge, all the way around. The dress she wore was peppered with gardenias. It was Elliot’s all-time-favorite flower, and when she pulled out a small bottle of perfume with a glass gardenia-shaped cap, his heart swelled in his chest. She pumped three hefty spritzes onto her neck, and two on each wrist, much to the rest of the table’s displeasure. Not to Elliot’s, though. He thought it smelled lovely, and he wanted to know more about Mrs. Honey Peppercorn.

The other woman had golden skin and called herself Princess Rivera. He wondered if, by chance, she held any relation to Mayor Beau Rivera, but the woman was busy chatting with Mrs. Peppercorn, and Elliot didn’t want to interrupt.

Luckily enough, fate was on Elliot’s side. Her phone chimed, and when she looked down, Princess Rivera smiled, turning to Elliot, drawing him into the conversation by holding up her phone. “It seems my nephew was quite smitten with you,” she said, answering his unasked question. “He just sent me a text saying he hopes you can become ‘biffles.’ Whatever the heck that means.” Elliot wasn’t sure what it meant either, but he went along with it, politely nodding his head.

The cup of tea was calling his name, but he resisted its siren song, trying to pay attention to the women in front of him. “He was a very kind man. I hope I have the chance to see more of him.” He eyed Princess up and down like she was God coming down from on high. “Your skin is very pretty.”

Princess looked into the mirror by Arthur and Periwinkle’s bed, just behind the table. “Normally I’d agree, but I’ve had a zit the size of Dallas on the tip of my nose for two days. It’ll be back to flawless soon, but it’s irritating as hell at the moment.”

Dallas.

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