Page 29 of Later Bloom

“Things in common,” Aubrey echoes. When he turns to look back, their eyes meet for a second.

Arthur has known for a while now that she’s never dated anyone. She’d blurted it out a while back, in the early days of July. When he’d joked that she must truly find him hideous if she thought the idea of going out with him was so troubling, she’d said of course not, that she enjoyed his friendship more than most, actually, and liked chatting with him when he dropped by for deliveries, and that she wasn’t the best at dating and would prefer the chance to keep him around and not risk failing again with the one person she happened to actually find pleasant these days.

Obviously she’d considered whether dating him was an option, but the idea, while interesting, left Aubrey rather tepid. He was nice, and somewhat funny, but that was it. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe she wasn’t into blondes. Whatever it was, she decided not to read too much into it, for risk she might discover there actually was something wrong with her.

To Aubrey’s sheepish, rushed confession about her dating history, Arthur had simply nodded and said, “Okay, great.” Then, “Good for you, for being so patient, knowing what you want.” It was a little clumsy, but sweet.

“I don’t,” Aubrey had corrected. But his comment was flattering, and she liked it.

Arthur had hummed and conceded, “Neither do I, I don’t think. Seems every time I think I do, my gut’s led me astray.” They’d shared a smile. Then he’d added very quickly, “Not that I’m going around town dating everything that moves, y’know. I mean, I date a normal amount. Which is to say, not a lot at all. I’ve been single for a while now, actually, I think it’ll be three years? Who keeps track of that, anyway. Other than you, I mean. And rightfully so. Not that—I’m just saying, I get how you feel. It’s rough out there.”

“It’s rough out there?”

“You know what I mean,” Arthur had grimaced. “Let’s just get this over with.” Then he’d vanished back to his boxes. They hadn’t talked about it again.

Now, he purses his lips and says, “Some general, vague things you both could relate to.”

“You mean she could give me some advice, maybe.”

“Mm, no. I mean, she’s the one who could use your wisdom.”

Aubrey makes a strangled sort of noise. Then she says, “Okay,” in a way she hopes hides her surprise.

Arthur drops the last crate next to the others and wipes his forehead. His blonde hair is curling where it pokes out of his cap. “Anyway, I’ll text you the address. If you come, you come, yeah? After you’ve closed up tonight.”

His expression is hard to read, and Aubrey is scared to ask if he actually wants her there. She decides she’ll think it over, but really, she knows she wants to go. Already she wonders what she’ll wear.

And what sort of advice could this stranger possibly need from her? She doesn’t have much figured out. When she tries to help Maggie, all she has to offer are generic words of comfort and promises that she’s there to listen. Her wisdom rests so heavily in the familiarity of their friendship. With other people she feels more like a sponge, who nods and smiles and says, “I totally get that.”

To Arthur, she offers, “Sure. I can do that.”

On his way out, he pauses and asks, “So, you found yourself a nice gentleman to go out with in Lunenburg, then?” He says it very casually, like he’s only joking.

Aubrey feels compelled to say, “Well he’s ghosted me entirely, but yeah, sure.”

“Mm.” He frowns and says nothing.

Aubrey adds, because she feels embarrassment creeping in, “It’s fine, really.”

“Right. Still sucks, I reckon.”

“Obviously I didn’t get to where I am today by lining up consecutive wildly successful dates.”

Arthur hums again, and he’s looking away like he doesn’t know what to say. His mouth twitches. “I’m sure something good’s just around the corner,” he volunteers, but with a hint of a grimace, like he knows it’s shitty advice. It’s almost comforting to see him struggle.

“You know what the thing is—I’ve pictured the details of my first romance so many times, in so many ways, that I’m terrified now that in the end it may never live up to any of it.” Aubrey exhales sharply. It feels good to confess that painful truth aloud, even if now her ears are burning red hot. “So it’s almost better he ghosted me, I think.”

Arthur is smiling a little wider now. When their eyes meet, Aubrey feels they agree on something, though she’s not sure what. He nods, slowly to himself, as he backs up out the door. “Well, it’s good you see it this way. I’ll keep my thoughts to myself, then.”

Aubrey wants to add something, like how she does want to hear what he thinks. But then he’s waving and kicking the door shut, and she’s left with the delivery of food to date and organize for Louise, who’ll be home soon.

Half an hour later, their first check-ins arrive, two women carrying only backpacks and little straw hats adorned with matching bows. They’re so sweet that it’s a little easier to listen to them gush about how excited they are for this romantic getaway, how lucky they are to have each other, how many years together they’re celebrating.

“How did you two meet?” Aubrey asks as she hands their key over and notes down their credit card information.

It’s her favourite question to ask now. One of the two is always excited to tell the story, and the other blushes and adds in the little details only they could remember, and it takes the attention off of Aubrey for a few minutes. She’s found that if she doesn’t ask the questions first, guests tend to question her a little too intently about her presence at The Beauchamp and her time in Lunenburg.

Anyway, origin stories are always a comfort all on their own, promises that if Aubrey keeps stopping by the supermarket or looking lost around town or starting the same online conversations over and over again, she might actually get one of her own.