Page 71 of The Lonely Hearts Guide

Elliot was sure Alexander had a perfectly understandable excuse for his absence, but Elliot didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want an excuse, he wanted Alexander.

As seconds trickled into minutes, Elliot grew more and more impatient, and his irritation shifted into an overwhelming sense of dread. Where could Alexander have possibly gone? They shared Elliot’s childhood bed the night before, which wasn’t terribly comfortable, as Alexander was a gorgeous behemoth, and the bed had a twin-size mattress, but they made do. Then Elliot awoke, and he was gone.

He’d been waiting for five minutes before the door finally opened. When it did, Alexander was carrying a tray with two plates, two cups of lemon water, and two cookies one each dish. Alexander set the tray down on the bed, studying Elliot. “What’s wrong? You look upset.”

Elliot blinked, trying to suppress the lump forming in his throat. “I thought you left,” he admitted, his voice cracking slightly. “I thought you may have changed your mind.” He looked down. “I was scared.”

“I would never leave you,” he reassured, his voice soothing. “I just wanted to surprise you with breakfast.”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, looking down at his hands, feeling embarrassed. “I think it’s just the pregnancy hormones making me a bit . . . emotional.”

“You can be as emotional as you need to be, baby. We’re in this together, remember? I’m never going to judge you for being scared or worried.” He gave Elliot a gentle kiss. “Now, let’s get some food into you. It’s a big day, you’ll need your strength.”

Elliot cocked his head to the side, staring at Alexander. “You realize I don’t require food for energy, correct?”

In response to that, Alexander simply took a fork from the tray, scooped up a hearty helping of egg whites, and held it up to Elliot’s mouth. Leaning in, Elliot accepted the eggs, purring like a kitten at the flavor. Bland and boring, and something that surely wouldn’t give him heartburn. It could have tasted like raw beef and Elliot wouldn’t have complained, so long as it meant he wouldn’t have to suffer the sensation of someone pouring battery acid down his throat.

They ate their breakfast in relative silence, Alexander offering Elliot forkful after forkful until his plate was empty. When it was Alexander’s turn to eat, Elliot did the same, feeding him bite after bite.

With their meals done, they lay in bed together for another hour before it was time to go downstairs to meet their daughter. On their way out of the room, Elliot spotted three Bountiful Beaus playing tic-tac-toe. It was a bizarre sight, as Mother never believed in downtime for her sons, aside from two hours in the evening. Mother or no Mother, it left an unsettling feeling lingering in the pit of Elliot’s stomach. He half expected Mother to pop her waterlogged head through a doorway and scold him for allowing their game to continue.

He watched the three young men playing tic-tac-toe, their faces a mix of concentration and amusement. They looked so innocent with their bright eyes sparkling in shades of pink-pink-pink. The sound of soft laughter filled the air, a stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere that used to permeate the home. Each of them had a distinct charm: one with a gap-tooth smile that never faded, another with ridiculously deep dimples, while the third had sparsely placed freckles across his cheeks and nose. They seemed oblivious to the world around them, lost in their game.

One of the boys—the one with ridiculous dimples—looked up at Elliot with a smile.

“You’re Elliot?”

Elliot nodded. “I am.”

“I’m i-982. Mother told us all about you.”

It came as no surprise. They spent quite a bit of time together during the cruise, so Elliot would have been fresh on her mind. He smiled down at the doe-eyed man. “Did she tell you about our adventure at sea?”

i-982 shook his head. “No. Well, I mean, yes, she did. That’s not what I meant, though. Before she left—when she was still preparing for the cruise and had a different face—she used to talk about you constantly.Elliot this, andElliot that. She seemed very proud of you.” He pointed at Elliot’s belly. “She said she couldn’t wait to see you with your baby, because she knew you would make a marvelous father.”

Elliot’s throat clicked. Mother spoke of him? Fondly? And she had faith in his ability to father a child? This was all news to Elliot, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Since the cruise, Elliot assumed he’d meant nothing to Mother. Perhaps there was more than met the eye when it came to Emily Broussard. Perhaps, despite her inability to provide safety for her son, she loved him in her own way. He’d never get to ask her, so he filed it away in his heart, choosing to believe she did.

When it was time, Elliot and Alexander headed downstairs, each step filled with purpose. At the bottom of the grand staircase, they paused for a moment, exchanging a look.

“I’m scared,” Elliot whispered as two Bountiful Beaus rushed past, heading upstairs. There were only twenty men currently under Mrs. Peppercorn’s tutelage, and like Clarence said when he called, each of them seemed to be running amuck. There was no structure, despite Mrs. Peppercorn’s claims of running a tight ship. Mother would be rolling over in her watery grave if she could see the state of her beaus.

In the library, Alexander reached past where the book hiding the secret entrance had been, to press the hidden button. Once it was pressed, the sound of metal on metal screeched behind the walls as the false panel slid back, revealing the dimly lit passageway. Taking a deep breath, Elliot nodded to Alexander, who led the way.

After what felt like ages, thanks to Elliot’s achy ankles, they reached the bottom level of Ms. Broussard’s Home for Bountiful Beaus. Inside the Creationist’s lair, there was an overwhelming sense of calm, and a strong odor of lavender and vanilla, thanks to the oversized candle resting near the operating table.

Mrs. Peppercorn as Ms. Broussard was standing at the Creationist’s side, discussing numbers printed on a piece of paper.

“Yes,” Mrs. Peppercorn said to the Creationist.

“I’m here,” Elliot spoke up, startling them. He wasn’t sure why he surprised them; he imagined the sound of the wall scraping open in the library could probably be heard from miles off. “Is everything okay?”

Mrs. Peppercorn nodded. “Everything is perfect, baby. We’re just discussing little Honey’s vitals.”

Elliot’s eyes widened. “Is she all right? Is her heart fully functional?”

The Creationist arched a judgy eyebrow at Elliot. “Of course, she’s all right. I made her, and I don’t make mistakes.”

“You slept through the scuffle of Mrs. Peppercorn stealing your precious pet,” Elliot retorted. “That sounds like a mistake on your part.”

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