An Unexpected Kind of Love by Hayden Stone

Chapter Twenty-One

Of course. Nothing like the universe kicking sand in my eyes when I’m already down. That’ll teach me to make like an ostrich and try to hide in plain sight. Why not a little more torture?

“Come in,” I call over my shoulder as I finish alphabetizing the section.

Eli can wait.

There’s the sound of footsteps across the wooden floor, the rugs not down yet. Eli comes to stand beside me, admiring the wall.

“Looking good,” he says lightly.

I glance at him, unimpressed. “You need to try harder if that’s some sort of come-on.”

Eli holds his hands up, eyes wide, sandy hair falling over his brow. “I come in peace. Honest.”

Scowling, I’m not so sure.

“Have you eaten?” He looks at me with concern.

“Yes. I actually paused for a meal not long ago.”

Finally, I face him. He’s polished in a light linen suit, summer personified. His hair’s groomed into stylish waves, his tan leather briefcase slung across his shoulder. The arsehole’s at his most appealing. And he knows it.

“Headed home?” I ask unnecessarily.

“Maybe. I was thinking about seeing if you needed some dinner and seeing if I could lure you out to Lily’s private view like a good Samaritan. She said you were 99% going to ditch it.”

I open my mouth to protest in half-hearted outrage. She knows me too well. “Well.”

“Caught out, I’m afraid.” Eli gives me a wry look. “It’s not healthy to work all the time. And Lily really wants you to go. You don’t need to go for long, but I think it’s not right to bail on her.”

Guilt twists my stomach. She’s been such a good friend to me, again and again, especially lately in the throes of my heartbreak. Plus, I’ve eaten a shocking amount of her ice cream which she faithfully replenished the few days I stayed with her, never mind all of the constant tea and sympathy she’s provided.

A heavy sigh escapes me.

“Fine. You’re right.” It pains me to say it, because I hate Eli being right. Some part of me wants to be spiteful just to be contrary, but the more mature part of me takes over for Lily’s sake.

“Do you think there’ll be enough canapés to make a meal?” Eli asks with a smile. “Or do you mind joining me for a quick bite before the opening?”

My lips twist. Of course. “You’d tell me that canapés aren’t an appropriate meal.”

He chuckles. “I just don’t want to take up more of your time. I know you’re busy.”

“How about you help me a little and then we can go?” I try. “I’m on the G section here. You want to start with Z on this shelf?” I gesture.

“All right.” He slides out of his jacket, revealing a hint of biceps in his short-sleeved shirt. Which reminds me a bit of Blake. God, with Blake I would say that would have reminded me of Eli. I never knew I had a type, but apparently I should pay more attention to men doing the sports ball and working out.

Eli gets to work, and we continue for longer than I meant to, shelving books in a familiar if not comfortable silence. Once, he used to help me regularly in the shop like this, the occasional evening spent together after he had come home from a day of lawyering, only to moonlight as a bookseller like me.

“Sorry,” I say at last, startled when I look at my watch. Apparently we were caught up in a shelving frenzy. “I lost track of time. Let me get changed quickly.”

“We’re going to have to go straight there.”

Canapés and wine for dinner it is.

…

A change of clothes and a taxi ride later, I’m with Eli at the private view of the fashion exhibition Lily’s been working around the clock on for the last few days. The large gallery has several floors, and the exhibition is on the first floor, a prime location for major shows. The private event is sold out, people filling the gallery and lingering in front with wine and nibbles. A DJ plays music.

And it’s more than fine, it’s brilliant. Mannequins stand on podiums through the gallery hall, showcasing bespoke fashion. A series of dolls shows samples of various punk fashions before they were made to full-size production scale.

Walls have displays of impressive clothing, framed fashion drawings. In display cases are sketchbooks and notes and tools of London’s historic and up-and-coming designers.

In the distance, through the crowd, I thought I glimpsed Gemma and her latest girlfriend, but they soon disappeared out of sight. The place is jammed full of people, a great sign.

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.