Page 6

Mr. Alexander Davenport of Dallas, Texas, was down in the dumps. He just got back from visiting his mother on Sugarplum Island, and, as usual, there was no sign of Elliot. He even checked the dock on the mainland, because Alexander’s mother had told him Elliot no longer ventured to the island. Elliot had been purchasing them directly from the bakery for ages, but Elliot’s partner contacted her, stating Elliot would collect them at the dock on the mainland instead. A small part of Alexander was holding out hope Elliot would finally return to Sugarplum Island, searching for him. It had been so very long since their night spent walking beneath the stars, and still, Alexander waited.

He didn’t know what it was about Elliot that latched the man into Alexander’s heart like a fish on the line. It had been five years, but Alexander remembered it like it was yesterday. Perhaps it was Elliot’s innocent nature. Alexander always saw himself as a caregiver, though he’d never had anyone to care for aside from his mother, Professor Plum, and the first automaton he purchased, so maybe it was a desire to protect Elliot. There was also the fact that Alexander had never seen anyone so resigned to their heartache. It was as if Elliot’s lot in life was pre-planned for him. The moment Alexander spotted flashing orange lights in the corner of Elliot’s eyes, Alexander realized it was probably true.

Elliot was an automaton. A man made of steel and corruptible chips of data. Possibly from the same home as Alexander’s former bountiful beau, Gus—now Goose—came from. There were only five automaton manufacturers in the United States after all, and Elliot must have come from one of them.

Gus.

God, Alexander missed him. It had been weeks since they had the chance to chat. Alexander thought back to when he purchased Gus shortly after Alexander Davenport Sr. died. His father ran the largest property development company in Texas, and with his passing, his position at the company went to Alexander. The patriarch’s entire life went to Alexander, and after living a lifetime with an absentee father, Alexander knew the cost of running an empire. Time. Dedication. The forfeiture of a happy home. Alexander was always a romantic, often watching Hallmark movies for days on end during summer breaks as a child. He loved the idea of love. Giving yourself to another, flaws and all, and hoping they wouldn’t hurt you in return. It sounded so thrilling. By taking his father’s place as COO, Alexander ended up making the same sacrifice as his father. Goodbye family dinners. Farewell to all future holiday festivities.

His mother vehemently opposed Alexander taking the role, knowing the cost involved. Alexander didn’t let her stop him, however, and three weeks after his father was laid to rest, he was manning the helm, just as Alexander Davenport Sr. always planned. Alexander thought by purchasing one of Ms. Broussard’s Bountiful Beaus, he might still get to live those childhood dreams of love and marriage without breaking a real heart in the process. Then he met Goose, and he realized just how misguided the notion had been.

Then came the fire, and then came the fallout.

Alexander didn’t like to think of that day. Alexander’s neighbor died, and he lost Goose, the only friend he had.

Entering his North Dallas mansion, Alexander forced himself to smile. What did he have to complain about, really? He had a lovely home, and a job he didn’t entirely detest. His hairline was strong and prominent, showing no signs of retreat. If Goose was to be believed, he also possessed a rather nice backside. Alexander looked over his shoulder, into the floor-length mirror in his foyer, and smiled. A rather nice butt, indeed.

His home was eerily quiet. Too quiet for a Tuesday afternoon. He gave his maid the week off, as Alexander was gone for that long, but the cook should have been there, as well as Alexander’s house manager, Annette. He walked around, looking for employees he sometimes chose to think of as friends, but room after room, floor after floor, the home was abandoned. When Alexander made it to his bedroom, he loosened his necktie and tossed it over his shoulder. His phone buzzed in his pocket.

“Mom?” Alexander answered, confused. “I just left. Are you missing me that much already?”

“Of course,” Twylah responded. “I always miss my baby. That’s not why I’m calling, though.”

Alexander plopped down on his bed and sunk into the plush mattress. “Go on.”

“Where are you right now?”

“My bedroom.” Alexander looked up at himself in the mirror secured to his ceiling. His hair was teetering into disaster territory, but it hadn’t gone fully frizzy yet, not that it mattered. Who was even going to see it? “Why?”

“Because I asked Annette to leave something for you on your bedside table. Then I gave her the next three weeks off.”

“The next three weeks?”

“That’s what I said. Same with the rest of your staff. They deserve a break, and so do you. You’re taking the next three weeks off work, and you’re going to go live your life, Lexy. You’ve been chained to a desk your entire adult life, and you’re wasting the time you’ve got left. For God’s sake, you’re already a billionaire. How much money does one person possibly need?”

Alexander sighed. For him, it had never been about the money. He’d be happy enough living the rest of his life on Sugarplum Island in a quaint little two-bedroom cottage. Rather, he was keeping his father’s legacy alive, which that was something he refused to let anyone take from him. Not even Twylah Davenport née Bishop. It was his purpose. His only purpose, it seemed.

“Out of the question,” Alexander said, sitting up in his bed. He looked over at his nightstand, and sure enough, a manilla envelope rested on top, along with a plum jam cookie wrapped in cellophane. “Did you have her leave this cookie, too?”

His mother snickered on the phone. “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. A woman has to keep an air of mystery about her.”

“Did you ship it here?”

“I had Annette cook a batch.”

Alexander’s jaw dropped. “You gave her the recipe? I’ve been begging for it for decades.”

“Yes, well, I thought my baby needed a treat, so I tossed off the veil of secrecy and handed it over.”

A smile crept up in the corners of his mouth. It had been less than six hours, and Alexander already missed his mother and Sugarplum Island. Now, he had a cookie to keep as a forget-me-not. One he planned to eat the moment the call ended. He could keep the wrapper, he supposed, but it wasn’t the same.

Even if he couldn’t go to Sugarplum Island now, Alexander hoped to retire there one day. Maybe he could finally get that dog he always hoped for. Though, he supposed it would have to be a docile creature who knew to leave Professor Plum well enough alone.

He pulled the pocket on his shirt forward, checking on his friend. The little fieldmouse was sleeping soundly, his little legs kicking like he was chasing something in his dreams. Alexander would need to take a trip back to New Orleans to have him looked after soon. With Professor Plum fast asleep, Alexander grabbed the manilla envelope and pulled out a brochure, groaning when he saw a photograph of Ms. Broussard and a handful of her bountiful beaus.

“Absolutely not,” Alexander argued, though he knew arguing was futile. “I told you, I don’t need a man. I’m fine on my own.”

“You’re not. I see you, Lexy. I’ve always seen you. You have a gentle heart, and it’s so big, it could beat for half the population of Texas. Working as much as you do, you’re letting it go to waste, and I won’t stand for it. You’re going to pack a bag, you’re going to buy you some adorable little Speedos to make the gay boys do a double take, and you’re going to get your butt on that boat. I won’t take no for an answer.”

Alexander eyed the paperwork as resignation settled in his soul. Apparently, for the next two weeks, he would be at sea with a woman he hated with all his heart. A woman he was forced to associate with three times a year to keep the memory of a nearly forgotten friend alive. Alexander pressed a hand over his pocket and gave Professor Plum a delicate squeeze.

Alexander had no desire to spend two weeks with Emily Broussard or her endless selection of potential beaus. Every time he visited New Orleans for Professor Plum’s scheduled maintenance, she made a point to show him photographs of the latest models, always trying to upsell him on something.

Ms. Broussard’s Second Chances Cruise, the pamphlet said. Below, it was stated the cruise was a chance to rehome returned bountiful beaus. Alexander didn’t want to buy a beau, but a cruise sounded fun. Maybe he could see if there were any other cruise liners currently taking passengers.

Inside the brochure were faces and names of i-Series beaus, all available for purchase. “This makes them look like cattle at an auction,” Alexander said to himself, not having meant to voice it aloud.

“I know,” Twylah said. “Baby, I think it’s a good idea. You have the chance to show kindness. If you find the right man, you can give him a life he won’t get with anyone else. You remember how shaken up Elliot was last time he came to the island.”

“Elliot.” Alexander’s voice cracked as he said the name, and the memory of a long walk on a lonely night in late November replayed in his mind. “Have you talked to his owner about placing his orders in advance? If we knew when Elliot was going to arrive, I could meet him on the dock. I don’t know why he insists you ferry them back to the mainland instead of just shipping them to him.”

“If you moved to the island, you could ride the ferry over to greet him when Jared places the order, cookies in hand. As for his reasoning—who knows why any man does anything he chooses to do? Your minds are basically made up of chaos and stubbornness.”

Alexander wanted that, to see Elliot again. He wanted it so much. But what if Elliot was finally happy? What if his master wasn’t as horrible as Alexander assumed he was? He couldn’t give up his company and move to an island in hopes he might have the chance to tell an old friend hello.

“He was such a sweet man, Lexy. He had heartache stretched around him like a winter poncho, but he was precious. If you won’t try to rescue him, you can rescue one of these men. They all need homes. Do you want them going to homes like the one Elliot lives in? You can prevent a lifetime of cruelty and give one of them a happy ending. That’s not something a lot of people can say.”

“I’m not looking for a romantic partner,” he argued, but he knew it was a half-truth at best and a blatant lie at worst. He was sure he could happily live a life with Elliot. He’d give the man everything his beautiful mind could imagine. As tragic as it was to admit, after a few brief hours spent in Elliot’s company, Alexander found himself smitten. Yes, he’d been busy with work since then, but a small part of him—one he was ashamed to admit, even to himself—was still holding a torch for a man he met five years ago.

Five years.

God. Had it really been that long?

“Then purchase a few of the other men and let them live with you as platonic friends. Your life is stagnant, baby, and I refuse to let you fall into mediocrity. You may be half Davenport, but you’re also half Bishop, and Bishops don’t settle when it comes to happiness.”

She was right, of course, but then, Twylah Bishop always was. So, rather than argue, Alexander sighed and said goodbye, ending the call and bringing up his message chain with Emily Broussard, needing to schedule Professor Plum’s maintenance. Once plans were made, Alexander fished Professor Plum out of his shirt pocket and cuddled next to him in bed. Professor Plum peeked up with his sleepy eyes, and for the briefest of moments, his lips curved into a smile.

Alexander looked around the room as if an audience might suddenly appear out of thin air. Once the coast was clear, Alexander leaned closer and kissed Professor Plum’s head, whispering, “Do you want to go on a trip?”

Squeak-squeak-squeak.