**Diary Entry**
“Blimey, whos this?” gasped Lucy as she stepped into her friends kitchen. Under the dim yellow glow of the lamp, a balding bloke in his forties sat hunched by the smallest cupboard, quietly chopping parsley with Emilys broad knife. He looked oddly out of place, like a stray cat that had wandered in.
“Lucy, this is Tom. Tom, this is Lucy,” mumbled Emily, cheeks flushing pink. “Heres your sugarlets go.” She shoved a tin marked with sugar crystals into Lucys hands and hurriedly steered her into the hall.
“Pleasure!” Lucy called loudly over her shoulder, eyes already scanning every inch of Emilys “new man.” Not that there was much to see. Nothing about him justified why hed already been welcomed into Emilys doughnut-print apron.
“Be right back, Tom!” Emily shouted before shutting the door.
Thenin the narrow hallwayLucy seized her arm in a death grip. “Spill it!”
“Whats to tell?” Emily hedged, then sighed. “Fine, come on.”
They crossed the cramped landing and slipped into Lucys flat, which smelled of cinnamon and Chanel. The pristine white pouffe by the door screamed meticulous homemakernothing like Emilys half-peeled wallpaper.
“Out with it!” Lucy demanded, stirring sugar into a bowl of cream, whisk in hand.
“What about your Roger?” Emily deflected.
“At a meeting. Now talk.”
“Alright. Saw him at the market. Picked him up.”
“Picked him *up*?” Lucys brow furrowed.
“Well, there he was, selling herbs. Decent enough coat, but looked a bit lost. I asked the price of parsley. He said, ‘How about I give it to you?’ I said, ‘Whys that then?’ He goes, ‘Made a deal with myselfif a woman with sad eyes came by, Id give her whatever she fancied. Go on, I grew it meself.'”
“And you *took it*?”
“Course I did! Turned to leave, then asked why he thought my eyes were sad. Theyre not! He just looked at me. Then picked up my bags and walked beside me.”
“And you just *let him*?” Lucy absently scratched her fringe with the whisk.
“What was I meant to do? Bloke seemed harmless. Lonely, even. So I brought him home. Met him proper, didnt I?”
“Youre mad! Letting some stranger in? Did you even hide your valuables?”
“Lucy!” Emily bristled. “Hes a radiologist, for heavens sake!”
“Prove it.”
“Oh, listen to you! Youre the one who went on about avocados!”
“What avocados?” Lucy blinked.
Emilys mind flashed back to that evening in Lucys kitchenslices of perfect avocado fanned out, gradients of green from skin to stone. Shed never been able to pick them rightalways squeezing, hesitating, until the shopkeeper sighed. But Lucys choice had been flawless. Meltingly tender, nutty, sublime.
“You said you cant judge an avocado by its skin. Same with people,” Emily muttered.
Lucy scoffed. “So you *felt* something with this Tom?” The name nearly slipped her mindhe was that forgettable.
“It went quiet. Even in the market bustle. And I thought maybe ordinarys alright?”
“Right. Well, off you pop. Dont leave him waiting.”
Lucy shooed her out, then pressed her ear to the door. A click. Silence. “Well, then.” She returned to her cream, whisking briskly.
Back in her flat, Emily found Tom standing on a wobbly stool, pressing a strip of wallpaper to the wallher leftover paste and roll discovered in the kitchen.
“Sorry,” he stammered, wobbling. “Found it while looking for a jar. Thought Id help?”
Emily lunged, steadying his unfamiliar legs. Under those dark jeans, his knees felt oddly comfortinglike testing an avocados ripeness beneath tough skin. *Mine*, she thought, surprised.
Tom stayed still, afraid to moveeither to keep the paper in place or not to spook this fragile moment. Finally, he risked a hand in her hair.
“Do you like avocados?” Emily asked suddenly, eyes squeezed shut.
“Love em,” Tom lied earnestly.
And just then, the damp wallpaper slithered down, clinging softly to them both. Or maybe it was happiness.
**Lesson:** Sometimes the most ordinary thingsparsley, wallpaper, a quiet bloke at the marketturn out to be exactly what you needed. You just have to let them stick.
