“Oh, who’s this?” gasped Lucy as she stepped into her friends kitchen.
There, under the warm glow of the overhead light, by the smallest cabinet, sat a rather bald man in his forties, quietly and deftly chopping parsley with Emilys wide kitchen knife.
“Lucy, this is Tom. Tom, this is Lucy,” mumbled Emily, blushing furiously. “Heres your sugarlets go.” She shoved a tin marked with sugar crystals into her neighbours hands and hurriedly nudged her into the hallway.
“Lovely to meet you!” Lucy called over her shoulder, eyes sharp as she tried to take in Emilys “newcomer.”
But even on closer inspection, he wasnt impressive. No details justified his sudden appearance in Emilys apron, the one with the colourful doughnuts.
“Tom, Ill be right back,” Emily shouted toward the kitchen before shutting the door.
In the hallway, Lucy grabbed her arm in a death grip.
“Spill!”
“Whats there to spill?” Emily tried to dodge. “Oh, fine, come on.”
They left the flat, crossed the cramped landing, and slipped into Lucys two-bedroom flat.
Lucys home smelled of cinnamon and Chanel perfume. Everything, from the pristine white pouffe by the door, spoke of her meticulous care for her space.
*Not like mine*, Emily thought wistfully, remembering her half-peeled hallway wallpaper.
“Tell me!” Lucy demanded, adding sugar to a bowl of cream and fixing her with a stare, whisk in hand.
“What about your Robert?” Emily deflected.
“At a meeting. Wont be back for ages. Nowtalk!”
“Well, I saw him at the market. And… I sort of picked him up.”
“*What?*” Lucy frowned.
“I saw this man selling herbs. Decent-looking, but a bit lost. I asked, ‘How much for the parsley?’ He said, ‘You can have it for free.’ I said, ‘Why?’ And he goes, ‘I made a betif a woman with sad eyes came by, Id give her everything. Take it, I grew it myself.'”
“And you?”
“I took it. Turned to leave, then asked, ‘Whyd you think my eyes were sad? Theyre not.’ He just looked at me… Then took my bags and walked beside me.”
“And you?” Lucy absently scratched her tousled fringe with the whisk.
“I walked, wondering what to do. Then I thoughtwell, hes clearly adrift. Might as well let him stay. We got to know each other on the way.”
“You are *kidding*! You brought a stranger home? Did you even hide your valuables?”
“Lucy!” Emily snapped. “Hes a doctor. A radiologist.”
“Oh yeah, did you check his credentials?”
“Listen, youre the one who told meabout the avocado!”
“What avocado?” Lucy was baffled.
Emilys mind flashed back to an evening in this very kitchen.
The avocado lay in perfect slices, a gradient of greendeep emerald near the skin, fading to soft olive by the pit.
Emily never could pick a ripe one. Shed linger by supermarket displays, testing glossy dark fruits, pressing gently, hoping to divine the texture beneath. Sometimes shed think shed cracked it, only to find resistance like a potato. Those, shed leave to ripen.
But that night, Lucy had chosen *the* avocadothe one that melted on the tongue, rich and nutty.
“You said you cant always judge by looks. Or touch. A good oneyou just *know*,” Emily explained.
“Whats that got to do with men?”
“You always had luck with both. Not like me.” Emily sighed.
“So… you *knew* with this… Tom?” Lucy struggled to recall his name, still baffled by his plainness.
“It was quiet beside him. Even in the market chaos. And I thoughtmaybe its okay that hes… ordinary?”
“Well… alright. Off you go, before he misses you.”
Lucy ushered her out, pressing the sugar tin into her hands, then pressed her ear to the door. A clicksilence.
*Well, fine. But what if…?* She returned to her cream, whisking briskly.
Back in her hallway, Emily found Tomstill in the doughnut apronperched on a stool, pressing wallpaper to the wall.
“Sorry, I found this in the kitchen while looking for a jar for the parsley. And the glue was there. Thought Id… is this okay?” He wobbled on the rickety stool.
Emily lunged, steadying him, hands gripping his unfamiliar legs. Beneath his dark jeans, she felt his kneestesting, like an avocados flesh under tough skin. And with surprise, she thought, *mine.*
Tom stood still, afraid to moveeither to keep the wallpaper in place or not to disturb something fragile but precious.
At last, he lifted his hands from the wall and gently stroked her fine hair.
“Do you like avocado?” Emily asked suddenly, squeezing her eyes shut.
“Love it!” he admitted, though hed never tried it.
Just then, the damp wallpaper gave a soft sigh, settling over them like a warm embrace. Or maybejust maybeit was happiness.
And so they learned: sometimes, the best things come unpolished, unplanned, and quietlylike a ripe avocado, or love.
