Page 33 of Meeting Mr. Adorkable
“You’re passing through. Collier’s Creek, and everybody in it, is a footnote in the story of your life. In a few months, you’ll be going back home,” Bibi said gently. “You’re here for reasons I think are probably not too different from Arlo’s. Am I right?”
Lucian nodded. Why deny it? Bibi was too smart to be taken in by any story he might try to fob her off with.
“You’ll be here when the snow comes, but you won’t be here to see it melt. Arlo will be. He’s come back home, but you’ll soon be leaving for yours. I know it hurts, honey, but maybe he’s done you a favor.”
CHAPTERNINETEEN
The morning wore on. Lunchtime came and went. Lucian worked through it, like he mostly did. He checked in a delivery of flowers, arranging them into sprays of contrasting colors, before festooning the window with the Jake’s Day sashes, and displays of flowers in patriotic reds, whites, and blues, doing it all on autopilot. No more had been said about Arlo, and Bibi left him alone, but he was aware of the concerned looks she threw his way. At four o’clock she told him to go, but he shook his head. No, he’d see the day out — after all, what else did he have to do? At 6:00pm, Bibi locked the door and waved him goodbye, after she’d given his arm a squeeze of sympathy.
With the working day no longer distracting, his gloomy thoughts found their way back to Arlo, the parallels with his own pathetic history biting at him. Arlo had loved and lost: check. Arlo had left his old life behind him to find something new, something different, maybe even somebody different: check, check, and check again. So Arlo wasn’t looking for love — he wasn’t even looking for a quick fling — but then neither was he. Was he? No. Check and bloody check. They could be friends and agree anything else, even casual, was off limits, a line not to be crossed. That would work. Lucian huffed a bitter laugh. They’d already kissed, so that line was already looking very fuzzy.
He didn’t go straight home, an evening stretching out in front of him with nothing and nobody to fill it was depressing. If he was going to stick it out in Collier’s Creek, he had to get a grip. Join some community groups, maybe, and push himself forward to make some much needed friends. A shudder ripped through him. He wasn’t overly social, preferring to blend into the background, often choosing plants over people… but he could do it, he had to do it, if he was going to stick around to reset. If he didn’t, what was the point of leaving home if he was only going to end up as—
“A fucking hermit.”
An elderly woman, leading a beribboned bundle of puffed up fur, jumped and stared at him in alarm.
“Barkassaurus Rex! Stop it, stop it,” she shrieked, as the dog started yapping and strained on its leash. “You’ve scared my poor Barky with your potty mouth. Bichons, young man, are highly sensitive. You’ve probably scarred him for life.” The woman glared, and Lucian glowered back.
Let it go… But he was fed up, upset, and he’d had enough.
“Madam, if that straggly mop you’re dragging around is a Bichon, I’m a boiled egg and you’re a dried up rasher of bacon.”
The woman gasped. Clutching a string of pearls to her chest, she blinked hard as her mouth flapped open and closed like a landed fish.
Oh god… “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—” But it was too late for apologies as she scooped up her still yapping mutt, and hurried away as fast as she could.
He pushed his fingers through his hair. Why couldn’t he have kept his mouth shut? No filter… He had a gift for insulting or upsetting people, whether they were old ladies and their raggedy dogs, or throwing yet another misadvised comment at a bride-to-be back home. He opened his mouth, and it all came spewing out. Too honest, or maybe too fucking stupid, as Miles had always said.
Approaching the block where Randy’s was, he slowed his pace. He couldn’t hear the Collier’s Creek Cowboy Combo, so perhaps he could call in and have a drink and get something to eat. Lucian shuddered. God, he wasn’t that desperate. He hunched his shoulders and lowered his head, as if he was afraid someone would drag him inside, and scuttled past. There were other places in town he could go, but the idea trickled away like water down the sink. The sad truth was, he didn’t want to sit alone, nursing a drink and getting more and more miserable. He could do that back at the apartment, and for a lot cheaper.
With nowhere he wanted to be, he set off for his apartment that was really a shoe box, ready to give Mr. DuPont, who’d be peering out from behind his drapes as he did every day, a wave and a facsimile of a cheery smile.
Mr. DuPont wasn’t twitching his drapes, which must have been a first, but Lucian didn’t give it any more thought as he let himself in.
As usual, a rumble of voices came from behind the closed door of his landlord’s first-floor apartment. Lucian was used to hearing the TV turned up high, but the voices didn’t sound like they came from the soaps the old guy seemed to like so much. Maybe he had visitors, but Lucian neither knew nor cared. As he planted his foot on the first step, Mr. Dupont’s front door swung open and Lucian twisted around.
“Here he is, and he’s late.” Mr. Dupont had made an art form out of sounding peeved.
Did the guy log his comings and goings? Did he keep a tab on what time he went to work, came home, showered, or took a piss?
“I’m sorry you’ve had to wait for such a long time, but he’s never late and—”
“Thank you so much for your time, and good company, Mr. DuPont. I apologize for inconveniencing you.”
Lucian froze. That familiar voice, rich and low, measured and steady…
Arlo stepped out from Mr. DuPont’s apartment, every inch of him relaxed and at ease as he shook Mr. DuPont’s hand and thanked him for showing him his fascinating collection of knitted sailor boy dolls. Arlo looked up, his eyes locking with Lucian’s, his smile wonky and warm.
“Lucian. I need to have a quick word with you. May I?” Arlo nodded to the staircase, his easy smile unwavering.
“Errhh… Yes. Alright.” Lucian blinked but didn’t move, his feet nailed to the spot.
“Then perhaps…?”
“Oh, yes. Right. Fine.” Lucian darted up the stairs, followed by Arlo, and Mr. DuPont calling out for Arlo to visit again.
Why was Arlo here? What could he have to say to him? Was the apartment tidy? Were his clothes slung into corners? Had he left half eaten slices of toast abandoned on the sideboard? All the questions and more jostled for space in his head, anything to distract him from Arlo just inches behind him, anything to stop him breathing in Arlo’s lemon laced cologne.
