Page 6 of The Lonely Hearts Guide

Jared was going to be furious.

Elliot looked at the large clock inside the empty ticket booth and smiled. It wasn’t even seven yet, so the ticket booth didn’t open for another hour. That would be plenty of time to rush to the bakery and replace the cookies. Elliot knew it would be open, because the lovely woman at the shop bragged about her breakfast donuts the night before. “Sunup to sundown.” That’s what Miss Twylah said as she placed cookie after cookie into the newly nibbled box. He sighed as he stared at the chewed box, lifting it to toss into the bin on the pier. Elliot made it two steps before hearing the familiar sound.

Squeak, squeak.

Instead of throwing it away, he turned and placed the bag on the bench he’d been sitting on. Opening the sack, he lifted the box’s lid. There, in the center of the box, lying on its back with its claws holding a swollen tummy, was the same small fieldmouse from the night before. The mouse made no attempt to run, just lazily reached beside his belly, broke off a small chunk from the crumbled cookie remnants, and . . .

Did it just dip its cookie crumble into the jam before eating it? How positively fascinating!

“Hello,” Elliot whispered, worried he might scare off the small fieldmouse. “I’m Elliot, and you’re adorable.” The little fieldmouse sniffed the air. “You were following me last night. I’m very happy to meet you.” Elliot moved his face closer to the box, both he and the mouse eyeing each other curiously. Elliot remembered hearing that some animals enjoy being petted. “May I pet you?” As the fieldmouse appeared to nod his approval, Elliot paused, giving the mouse an assertive glare. “You will not bite me. It is forbidden. Nod once more if you understand.”

The fieldmouse did nothing of the sort.

“Rude,” Elliot pointed out. “Though hardly unexpected. I mean, it’s not as if you’re going to miraculously sprout a voice box and strike up a rousing conversation.” Elliot glanced left, then right, searching for nearby town folk. With the coast clear, Elliot inched even closer. “That would be fantastic, though.” He lifted his hand and softly stroked the mouse’s tummy, giggling when it kicked its legs back and forth andsqueak-squeak-squeaked. “I believe I’m quite fond of you. Would you like to walk across town with me?” He eyed the remains of Jared’s cookies. “You were a naughty boy, but I cannot fault you. I hope you enjoyed each bite.”

Elliot stood, dusted his backside with his palms, nodded once, and said, “Right. I can do this.” Reaching into the box, Elliot picked up the cookie bandit and lifted him to eye level. “Are you a boy or a girl?” He wasn’t sure why he asked, but it felt nice to hear his own voice. He so rarely had the chance to use it. “Well, whatever you are, you’re lovely. If you’re a good boy or girl and stay still all the way to the bakery, I’ll buy you something special. Would you like that . . .” Elliot chewed his cheek. It wasn’t as if he could very well keep the mouse, but if they were going to spend the next hour walking to the other side of the village together, Elliot would need something to call the creature. He continued to eye the little mouse as if he was studying every atom. Elliot could see no testicles, which he assumed a male mouse would have, but then, he couldn’t see a vagina either, not that he would know what a mouse’s vagina looked like. “I’m afraid we’ve found ourselves in a bit of a conundrum. I don’t wish to misgender you. Shall I call you something gender neutral?”

He studied the mouse, and Elliot was fairly certain the mouse was studying him back.

“You look like a ‘Brenda.’” Elliot paused, considering. “Or maybe a ‘Carole.’ Perhaps a hodgepodge of both?” He shook his head. “No. That’s ridiculous. What sort of name is Brenda-slash-Carole?” There was a small dot of plum jam on the mouse’s tummy, and when Elliot attempted to wipe it off, the mouse wrapped its tiny claws around Elliot’s finger and brought it to its mouth, sucking off the sugary remnants of its plum-flavored treat. When it was done, the mouse rubbed its nose back and forth against Elliot’s finger, not breaking eye contact. It was the most precious sight Elliot had ever seen. “I visit my future husband’s brother fairly often. He has a husband that’s just like me.” Elliot flashed a quick swirl of affectionate pink lights in the corners of his eyes. “He’s an automaton too, I mean. When we used to visit, Periwinkle—that’s the one who’s like me—would play board games with me. He had this one where you try to track down a vicious murderer or murderess. There’s a character in the game named Professor Plum. I believe that’s what I’ll call you.”

Squeak, squeak.

Good. Elliot was glad that was sorted.

Half an hour later, Elliot and Professor Plum approached Twylah’s Sugarplum Treats with smiles on their faces. Well, Elliot had a smile on his face; he couldn’t be sure if Professor Plum’s curved lips could be considered a smile.

As was the case the day before, Miss Twylah’s store smelled absolutely divine. The black-and-white checkered floors looked perfectly polished, and there wasn’t a single smudge in sight. Miss Twylah—a stunningly stocky woman with cream-colored skin and long, blonde hair tied back with an oversized pink scrunchie—stood behind the counter, placing fresh pastries into a display case. Unlike the day before, Miss Twylah wasn’t alone. There was a man leaning over the counter wearing dress slacks that clung to his backside like a second skin. Professor Plum must have also appreciated the view, because the creature offered multiple approving squeaks. The squeaks got the man’s attention, and when he turned around, Elliot’s mechanical heart skipped a beat. Even Professor Plum—who had been lounging lazily in Elliot’s palm—perked up, and Elliot was positive the fieldmouse had licked its lips. Behind the man, Miss Twylah turned, placing the excess cookies onto a tray on the counter by the wall.

The man was a vision. His short, brown hair was parted at the side with the sides of his head sheared short, almost to the skin. His pale complexion made each of his many freckles pop, drawing Elliot’s attention to them. Part of Elliot wanted to know what it would feel like to play connect the dots with the tip of his finger. When the man smiled, his perfect teeth sparkled just as beautifully as the white floor tiles.

“Hello,” Elliot said, his breath a little ragged. He lifted the gnawed-through bag. “I rested on a bench outside the ferry tollbooth last night and this little creature had himself a midnight picnic.” Elliot paused, thinking. “Actually, I can’t be certain it was midnight as I was . . . resting.” Elliot cleared his throat, his cheeks growing warmer. “Anyway, he ate all my plum jam cookies.” The man hadn’t asked him for any of the information he provided, but he shared it, nonetheless. The words were out, so all he could do was see where the conversation took him. A flicker of nervous orange lights flashed in the corner of his eyes, and he hoped the man didn’t notice. “My name is Elliot. Elliot Price.”

The man’s smile widened. “I’d offer to shake your hand, but it seems they’re both spoken for at the moment.” He looked down at Professor Plum and beamed. “I’m Alexander. Alexander Davenport.”

Elliot’s heart raced even faster. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

Alexander approached and stared down at Professor Plum. “For a thief and cookie glutton, he’s certainly adorable.” He reached down and stroked the mouse’s back, then Alexander’s eyes met Elliot’s. “He’s not the only one.”

Elliot wasn’t sure what Alexander was implying, so he skirted past the statement. “Were you waiting in line?”

Alexander shook his head, motioning toward Miss Twylah. “I’m in town visiting my mom. I usually come down a few times a year, but I’ve been so busy with work that I haven’t seen her in almost six months.” Sweat peppered Alexander Davenport’s brow, and his cheeks were a bit rosier than before. The words tumbled quickly from his mouth like he was trying to spit them all while he still had the chance. “I’m going to start visiting more, though.” Alexander nibbled his lip. “Do you? Visit the island, I mean.” Alexander closed his eyes and huffed out a quick breath. When he opened them, it seemed he had a bit of his confidence back. “Sorry. I just get nervous around . . .”

Around robots.

Alexander must have noticed the orange lights after all, because his message couldn’t have been clearer if he bluntly stated the words aloud. It was written all over his face. The rosy cheeks and sweaty forehead. How his eyes kept twitching with nerves. Elliot studied Alexander’s breathing, the man’s chest rising and falling more rapidly than the situation called for. There was ample oxygen in Twylah’s Sugarplum Treats, but it felt like every trace had been sucked out.

“I’ll just be on my way then,” Elliot whispered, ashamed, and more than a little bit embarrassed. “It was lovely meeting you, Alexander Davenport.”

Alexander took a step back and stared into Elliot’s eyes. “You’re leaving? Already?”

“I have a ferry to catch, sir,” Elliot said, using the same voice he clung to when Jared was cross with him. Babylike. Small. His words wrapped in a tone so apologetic, it would be impossible to stay angry with him. Jared found a way, though. He always found a way to be angry.

“You haven’t even replaced your cookies yet,” Alexander insisted, looking . . . sad? Disappointed? Elliot couldn’t be sure, as didn’t have anything to compare the expression to. Elliot had never seen Alexander’s face twisted up in sadness. Or ever seen the way his eyes possibly sparkled while enjoying someone’s company. All he’d shared were a few kind words and shared finger strokes along a mouse’s head. “Let me pay for them.” He squeezed Elliot’s hand softly. “Please?”

Elliot blushed, nodding, but not looking up. The attention made him feel like a charity case. The man clearly saw he upset Elliot, and now he was offering plum jam cookies to what? To prove he wasn’t an automaphobe?

When Alexander walked to the counter, Elliot’s eyes traveled down, taking in the sight of his backside. Goodness, it was exquisite. Like two plump Christmas hams, ready to be glazed, as Jared often described Elliot’s rear.

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