An Unexpected Kind of Love

by Hayden Stone

  I’d get to Lily to congratulate her, but she’s flitting from her director to guest designers, media people and donors of note. Smiling, I’m happy for her that the night’s gone so well.

  As for us, Eli’s winning the fashion prize, cutting a striking figure in his suit. I’m in a black shirt and dark jeans, going for smart-casual with the shiniest Docs I could find in my closet. Vintage cherry red eight-hole, so at least I might have street cred. Plus, I’ve put on a touch of eyeliner for the occasion, a scrunch of styling product in my hair.

  A hipster gives me an approving nod at one point. Relieved, I get another round of wine for me and Eli from the bar. Eventually, Lily finds us, giving us each air kisses. She looks beautifully dramatic in her black dress with a full skirt, bare arms, a touch of cleavage, and devastatingly red lipstick. Her hair’s up in a twist and she has on her most chic glasses.

  “You look amazing,” I tell her over the din of the crowd and the upbeat music that the DJ is playing. I guess they can’t go full-bore punk quite yet, but I have hopes that they might as the evening wears on. “And this is brilliant.”

  “Very well done,” Eli agrees.

  Lily beams. “Cheers, lovelies. I’m sooo relieved. The curator from MOMA managed to get on the red-eye last night and hand-delivered the last exhibit this morning, and I’m so happy about that I could fall over.”

  “Don’t fall over. Here.” I give her my wine and shift into the queue for the barman to get another glass of red wine for myself. “I think this is the best show you’ve done yet.” I smile at Lily, who’s rightfully glowing with the success of the night. “People seem really impressed.”

  “Oh, I hope so. It’s been so much work, but it’s been great fun, visiting ateliers and studios and interviewing designers in their homes,” Lily enthuses.

  It’s her first big break as a curator and I’m so glad for her that it’s going well. She’s been an assistant curator here for the last four years since she graduated from uni. She received the promotion six months ago. If I thought she was busy before, she’s found a whole new level.

  I can see someone trying to get her attention, so we exchange another round of kisses and congratulations before she hurries off. We do a slow lap of the gallery, admiring the art and the effort in putting the whole show together.

  Eli patiently waits for me as I insist on reading all of the exhibit labels, nearly as fixated as Lily making sure they all are correct. I don’t spot any shocking typos, so that’s a relief at least.

  By now, we’re well canapéd and wined, somewhat loose-limbed and arguably more loose-tongued.

  “What happened to your man?” Eli asks as we stand looking at a ripped taffeta dress in mint green and massive boots on a podium.

  I give him a sharp sidelong glance. I’ve been carefully not thinking of Blake tonight, because losing him is too raw.

  Back in my ordinary life again without Blake, everything is flatter. The only sign that Blake was even here to begin with are the handful of London photos on his Instagram, and my photos from the sunset and our Cumbria trip together. If it wasn’t for that, I could be convinced I may have conjured him up out of loneliness from the depths of my imagination in the height of summer. His Instagram has been suspiciously quiet, with a couple of city shots of New York, all skyscrapers and gray skies. Very atmospheric.

  Every rare shot lacks for people. And there hasn’t been a single selfie in ages.

  “Aubrey?”

  I shake myself out of it and down some wine. “Sorry. He’s back home in America. And he’s not my man. He’s his own man.”

  You’re acting weird. Don’t be weird.

  “Where’s Ryan?” I ask just as pointedly, though with more edge than he asked after Blake.

  Eli sighs. “I don’t know. Wherever Ryan is on a Thursday night.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I do.”

  He gives me a long, appraising look. The sort of look that misses nothing, scrutinizing every detail, like a dressing down. It’s also the sort of look that undoes my composure, and in the past, made me wild for him.

  “Want to get out of here?” Eli asks suddenly.

  By this point, the music’s gone up, some people are dancing, and it’s too warm for my liking. I’m not about to hit the dance floor myself and Eli definitely doesn’t have that party vibe tonight. He’s all intensity.

  Finishing our wine, we put our glasses down on a side table, and we head out. The evening’s cooled down, and the air is a bit on the chill side instead of sweltering, hinting toward the change in seasons around the corner.

  We walk briskly to the tube, headed back to Soho. Like so many nights we had shared in years gone by, nights out, returning home to our flat after an evening together, visiting with friends or dining out. Eli’s flat.

  “I thought everything was brilliant with you and Ryan.” I tap my Oyster card through the gates and we disappear into the hot underground world of the tube network.

  “We have had our ups and downs.”

  “His health’s okay?” I ask tentatively.

  “Physically,” Eli agrees. “I think he’s having a hard time too. Obviously. Between the accident and us breaking up.”

  “Did he find a flat of his own?”

  “He’s staying with his parents in Balham.”

  I just nod. We cram onto the next tube, full of late commuters and evening travelers. Standing shoulder to shoulder, I feel the heat of his body as we’re pressed against each other, too close for comfort. It wasn’t that long ago I would have been desperate for this time with him, this closeness.

  Now, I just feel heavy-hearted. Sad for Eli, sad for Blake, sad for myself. No one’s winning right now.

  We emerge to the regular world before long and walk through Soho. Hesitating as we wait to cross the street, I glance at him. We’ve been mostly traveling in silence. Not quite one of those comfortable silences, but one of those acutely aware silences where every fiber of my body is highly sensitized to him.

  We’re outside another pub at the corner while we wait for the light. We’re halfway between my place and his. “Want to go for a drink?”

  “Didn’t we just have one?”

  And yet we go to the traditional-looking pub, with hanging baskets that overflow with a cascade of flowers. Pubgoers gather on the patio and pavement, drinking. Others are sat at the picnic tables.

  Inside, at least it’s warm, and we grab pints at the bar before finding a corner to stand together.

  “I miss you, Aubs,” Eli murmurs.

  I splutter my ale mid-sip, coughing.

  He winces. “Sorry. Maybe I’m just doing the whole grass is always greener thing, like Ryan said. Idealizing the past.”

  “Probably,” I agree, recovering quickly. He ought to warn someone before trying something like that. “I mean, I wouldn’t go with my judgment on this one, ’cause I didn’t know you were unhappy till you told me you were leaving.”

  Finding some strange strength, I dare meet his gaze, all silvery blue in this light. I hold my breath.

  Eli’s mouth jerks down slightly, and he looks crestfallen. “I know. I’m so sorry. I wish… God, Aubrey, I was such an idiot. I mean, I realize now I should have brought things up well before getting to that point. It’s one of my biggest regrets, doing that.”

  “Really?” I say wryly. “It wasn’t even a month later after we broke up before you were with Ryan. If you weren’t already.”

  He’s quiet, looking sad. “I was faithful to you, Aubs.”

  “Maybe physically, but in spirit?” I retort.

  God, the wine and ale combo is making me sassy tonight. Also, I’m a man who really has no fucks left to give. And, frankly, I didn’t grill him enough back then, too heartbroken at first, then upset after he was with Ryan so soon, I kept away for a while. Till the
shocking newness of my singledom and their relationship wore off, the sting of being so easily replaced.

  At least Eli has the decency to redden like a tomato.

  Weirdly at that moment, unbidden, I think of Blake. Does he still think of me at all? Or was I just someone he could pass the time with in London?

  “You were always special to me. You still are.” Eli’s gaze doesn’t waver.

  “Maybe you’re just jealous.”

  “Maybe I am.”

  “Wanting what you couldn’t have.”

  “Possibly.”

  We consider each other. And drink. I set my glass down on the small bar in the corner where we stand, between dark-stained oak panels topped with stained-glass partitions for privacy. The roar of laughter from the next group of pub patrons spills over, light-hearted and easy.

  “All right. So I was jealous when I saw you with Blake.”

  Satisfied for that one victory, I nod. “How’d that feel?”

  “Rather shit, if I’m honest.”

  “Imagine how it would feel if it was your best friend.”

  Eli reddens again. He touches my arm lightly. Goose bumps rise immediately as I glower at him. Stupid body and its betrayal.

  “It would be worse,” he admits.

  “Exactly.”

  “Aubrey… I’m really sorry for hurting you the way I did. I handled things poorly. I hurt you and Ryan and I feel terrible.”

  “I believe you that you feel terrible, but are you just trying to backpedal now that you’re on your own? You weren’t saying these things to me six months ago.”

  “I wasn’t ready.”

  I sigh and drink. I’ve had several drinks by this point. Enough to feel a bit distant from everything, more careless with words, but certainly in possession of the majority of my judgment and all of my thoughts.

  “I’m saying them now, aren’t I?” Eli asks archly, looking at me intensely. “Hurting you was one of the biggest regrets of my life.”

  “Good,” I snap. “It should hurt when you do that to someone. I mean, for fuck’s sake, you could have given me some warning. A chance. Anything.”

  Eli rests his hand on my forearm. I don’t move away as we stare intently at each other. Vibrating with emotion, I’m caught and claustrophobic in the corner, not sure what I want, conflicted. There’s the part of me that will always be for Eli. But my heart wants Blake.

  When Eli moves in to kiss me, I put my hand on his chest to stop him. He searches my eyes, standing too close.

  I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I can’t be that anymore for you. I’m—well, the truth is—I’m in love with someone else.”

  Eli looks about as startled as I am to say it. But in my heart, I know it’s true. I miss Blake so much, it’s visceral. He’s who I long for. Not Eli.

  My guts twist at the realization.

  The din of the pub continues around us. Then, it’s a shuffle of awkwardness, quickly finishing our pints and leaving. I stand on the pavement, watching him walk toward his flat. I take a moment to draw in a breath, to steal a peek at Blake’s Instagram, something I should know better than to do.

  There’s a brilliant sunrise in Cumbria, all gold and pink and orange. Clouds scatter at dawn. He must have gotten up early while I slept, after the call from Eli at an unholy hour. The caption reads:

  Sometimes the most beautiful things are the most fleeting, but what I wouldn’t give to go back to that moment.

  For a moment, my lungs empty of oxygen and I reel, longing for that moment too.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The next day mercifully brings more work to occupy me in the shop with getting ready to reopen. There are more books on shelves than not. Everything’s starting to look very promising, even better than pre-filming. I suppose the fresh paint and new floors were worth it. We stand by the broad front window, having just put the curtain rod back up again. I climb down the ladder. Hanging curtain rods is about the extent of my DIY expertise.

  DIY makes me think of Blake, and I sigh.

  Meanwhile, Gemma thinks I’m sighing over decor, which is probably for the best. Less explanations that way.

  “I can even sew new curtains for the window, if you want,” Gemma muses, holding the old fabric curtains over her arm.

  “You can sew?”

  “I’m a woman of many talents,” Gemma informs me breezily. She grins.

  “It might be time for a new look, I suppose.” I consider the old curtains in her arms. They’ve been up for at least ten years. At the very least, they could use a wash.

  “Let’s take some measurements. I can go get some fabric samples and we can pick something out. Or look at fabric online.”

  “’Kay.”

  Gemma looks dead impressed. “Wow.”

  “Don’t go wild with ruffles. Just promise me.”

  “No ruffles, no valances, no blinds,” she promises, counting them off on her fingers.

  “Do you mind putting the curtains in the kitchen so I can do the wash later?”

  “No problem.” She goes off.

  Relieved, I go back to shelving in the J section. There’s comfort in the familiar routine as I lose myself again in Blake-related thoughts. Rash thoughts, if I’m honest. My furtive peeks at his Instagram have only escalated from that lapse after leaving the pub. I’ve had several looks today at that sunrise and Blake’s words.

  What if I went to America to find him? To tell him how I feel?

  I can’t decide if that’s terribly romantic or terribly creepy. Probably terribly creepy. Let the poor man put his life back in order with his family. Obviously, they’re the most important people in his life. He has to put them first. And audition for his breakout role.

  Plus, going after Blake means taking a very long flight and I nearly died from nerves on the plane last year going to Berlin from London. Shit, I barely made it onto the plane. Going to New York or wherever Blake might be would be the end of me.

  His life’s in America, Aubrey. Sometimes you just have to learn to let go.

  As the afternoon stretches on, I continue shelving books in the Classics and Collectibles section. Gemma’s tackling Young Adult two bookcases over. The curtains whir away in the washer in the kitchen. I continue to torture myself over Blake. If only I had a magic bean to bring him back.

  The things you do to yourself.

  “Knock knock,” calls yet another familiar male voice from the cordoned doorway, once more open to the bright day outside for a breeze.

  It’s not Eli or Blake, but Ryan.

  Ryan?

  It’s been a while since my friend’s been by the shop on his own. My stomach tightens as I think back on the awkwardness in the pub with Eli last night. It feels like a lifetime ago.

  As I turn, it’s definitely Ryan in his wheelchair at the door. He’s all dark hair and friendly smile. His arms are well-muscled, as evidenced by that form-fitting white T-shirt, from wheeling himself around London, which he says is a good workout and that he’s still getting around on wheels like he did before.

  “Hey!” I say with surprise.

  He peers curiously into the shop. “I was hoping to buy a book but I see you’re still closed.”

  “For you, anything. Though I still have plenty of inventory in boxes and I can’t guarantee that I’ll have what you’re after right away. But I’ll find it,” I assure him with a grin, opening the cordon and waving him in. “Sorry for the treachery of boxes and books everywhere. I wasn’t thinking about making this shop accessible while we put everything back on the shelves from the filming.”

  “Heard about that,” Ryan says. “Things are coming together well?”

  “Yeah.” I nod. “Maybe.”

  He chuckles. “Don’t worry if you can’t find the book right away, either.”

  �
��What’re you after?”

  “Something hopeful.”

  “Hopeful… What sort of hopeful?”

  “Something to restore my faith in humanity.” Ryan grins, a familiar and warm sight. “Surprise me.”

  I purse my lips, looking at him thoughtfully. “How do you feel about queer romance? I’ve been reading some interesting stuff lately.”

  “Go on.” Ryan perks up. “That’s outside my usual. Exactly what I need. And they’re good?”

  “They’re fab,” I assure Ryan, with a smile that comes from I don’t know where. “How about Red, White & Royal Blue and Boyfriend Material? A couple of recent queer romances.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Gemma’s broad grin as she pretends not to listen to our exchange, while I likewise pretend not to notice her. I go to the shelf and retrieve a copy of each. I pass them to Ryan.

  “How much do I owe you?” he asks.

  I wave him off. “Nothing. Honestly. Consider it part of your birthday gift.”

  “Aubrey, how can you run a business like this?” Ryan chastises me good-naturedly.

  “Ugh. Let’s not even go there.” He’s got a point and it stings.

  I think of Blake then. Of his talk of sales strategies and the nonsense I’ve never thought of. Which leads me straight into other memories. Is he missing the bean of the day? Missing me?

  A sigh escapes me. I focus back on Ryan as Gemma returns to shelving books. “Thanks for stopping in, by the way.”

  “Well, I was in the neighborhood. Thought to check in. I’m going later to meet up with Eli,” Ryan explains.

  “Yeah?” I give him a curious look. Now that’s interesting.

  “I need a couple of things from the flat. And to talk.”

  I redden. “I’m, er, very sorry if I’ve come between you at all.”

  Ryan gazes at me. “I think it’s less the real you than the fantasy version of you that Eli had in his head. He was never a hundred percent in, you know? Kind of like he was holding out some hope you’d come back.”

  That I’d come back? He left me.