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Stede misses his children fiercely when they are not around, but that doesn’t mean he sulks around without purpose when they’re parted—at least, not anymore. They’re with Mary this weekend, and she and Doug are taking them to the museum for Louis’ history project and then out to dinner at a restaurant of Alma’s choice.
They had extended the invitation to Stede, but he had graciously declined—Stede knew his propensity to ramble on about his favorite exhibits would get in the way of Louis getting the materials he needed for his report. Extra time at the museum would also mean a hangry Alma, and that was a fate he’d rather not tempt.
He cheerfully took a rain check and made plans for his solo weekend with no small amount of delight. The weather was meant to be lovely, with clear skies and a slight breeze, perfect for an afternoon in the park. Stede packed up his picnic blanket and the newest book he had impulse purchased from the secondhand store in the library into the basket on the front of his bike before putting together a feast of nibbles.
Stede knows Alma and Louis detest his bicycle, but he doesn’t care one whit. They’re not here today, and the basket in the front (plus the basket mount on the back) transport him and all his necessities to his destination and back. Because as much as they rag on him and his 'extra' bicycle, o n the days that he and the children ride together, Stede has enough space to pack enough to feed himself and two rapidly-growing adolescents.
On the days when it’s just himself, Stede indulges and brings all of his ‘what-if’s.
What if he gets hot and the breeze isn’t enough? His little battery powered fan gets the job done! What if a sudden chill takes hold and all he pre-packed was lemonade and water? Solar-powered kettle to the rescue! What if he spills something on his clothes? Vacuum sealed spare outfits are never a waste of space.
In defrence to the mild weather today, Stede dresses in a pair of powder blue shorts that are shorter than he’d normally allow himself to wear in front of the children—and not at all because he hopes the gorgeous roller skater is there. He pairs it with a buttery yellow t-shirt and short-sleeved linen over shirt. The white over shirt has vertical teal stripes and should help keep the sun off his neck without making him sweat to death.
Just to be safe, Stede adds the white boater hat Alma and Louis had brought him from their trip to visit Doug’s parents, the yellow ribbon around the edge embroidered with beach motifs. He slips his feet into some beige loafers, plops a pair of outrageously large sunglasses Mary definitely gave him as a gag gift onto the bridge of his nose, and heads out.
The park is near the ocean; close enough that Stede can hear the waves, but far enough away to avoid the sand. The trip barely takes ten minutes, and Stede is delighted to see he's arrived before the masses and won't have to fight for a good spot.
Stede hops off his bike and walks it onto the grass until he finds a nice patch of dappled sunshine under the branches of a great tree. He quickly unties his lunch hamper and empties the basket in front before gently lowering his bike to the ground. The grass is bright green and springy, whispering and crunching as he goes about setting up his picnic.
He smiles to himself as he sets his blanket weights in each of the four corners of his blanket and slips off his shoes, wiggling his toes in pure atavistic pleasure. His toenails are a sparkling lavender from the mani-pedi he indulged Alma in this past Wednesday (her choice in polish) and his back aches from his arcade visit with Louis, and Stede wouldn’t have it any other way.
Pouring himself a glass of limeade from his insulated thermos, Stede places his hat out of the way of the breeze and settles on his stomach with his inflatable pillow and paperback. He tries not to let himself get his hopes up about seeing the handsome roller skater that sometimes does yoga on the green. Sometimes, when Stede is really lucky, he does it shirtless, displaying a curious array of tattoos on brown skin Stede has a hard time not ogling.
He shakes the thoughts from his head, opening his book with a sigh, and lets himself get lost in the story. To the outsider, Stede’s secondhand book’s cover is obscured by a hard backed protector decorated in a cheerful boating scene to conceal the fact he was not reading the works of James Patterson or Robert. B. Parker or the like. No, Stede’s little addiction to romance novels is between him, God, and Miss Nancy at the Friends of the Library charity shop.
Today’s selection came highly recommended from Miss Nancy herself; A Gentleman’s Affair, about a gentleman in colonial Barbados falling in love with his childhood friend that joins the Royal Navy. Stede had been pleasantly surprised by the progressiveness of her recommendations, and he had been promised a happy ending despite the historical intolerance of queer relationships at the time.
Stede reads romance for escapism, not accuracy—not today, at least.
He enjoys an hour of uninterrupted reading before the park began to fill with more boisterous attendees. Stede had planned for this eventuality by bringing his headphones with him, but it wasn’t so bothersome he needed them yet.
Setting his book face down, Stede hefted himself into a sitting position and poured himself another glass of limeade and opened his basket to pick on some grapes and cheese. He people-watches as he stretches the crick from his neck, chuckling as he watches a group of tweens splash one another in a nearby fountain. There’s an elderly couple sitting on a bench nearby, just holding hands and watching as kites swoop to and fro in the gentle breeze.
He smiles at the sight of a little family a few yards in front of him encouraging their little one to take a few faltering steps across the grass toward each parent. Their chubby little legs stomp so determinedly and Stede feels a welling of emotion in his chest.
Stede can remember Louis and Alma taking their first steps like it was yesterday. He and Mary had gotten a late start with their children, and then gotten even later starts to begin living the lives they both deserved, but he was glad they had managed to capture those precious moments in both physical and digital mediums.
He’s drawn out of his musings by the sound of a car door slamming shut, followed by a bark of laughter and then actual raucous barking. A man with shaggy dirty blond hair and horseshoe mustache is rustling the fur of a medium-sized dog with a spotted coat. The dog’s ears go up and alert at the sound of a whistle before bolting across the grass to tackle a man Stede hadn’t noticed in his earlier people watching—the man he had been hoping to see.
He’s tall, a little taller than Stede, with tawny skin covered in ink. His long, dark hair is pulled away from his face in a loose tangle at the back of his head, the rest swaying in the wind. Dark waves streaked with silver shine in the sun, eyes crinkling as he bends down to intercept the dog speeding towards his like a rocket.
His full beard makes Stede think of the gentleman in the novel, how he had taken great pains to preserve his appearance in the portrait his mother insisted he sit for in an attempt to entice a match.
“Eddie!!” Mustache shouts. “Stealing my girl from me?”
The man—Eddie, apparently—laughs, giving his friend the middle finger. “Not my fault Brandy knows a good time when she sees one, Jack!”
“She’s just using you for the treats she knows you got stuffed in your back pocket,” Jack replies. “Then it’s back to Papa once she’s gotten what she wants.”
Stede tries not to wrinkle his nose in obvious distaste at the innuendo and debates the merits of putting in his headphones versus shamelessly eavesdropping on the handsome newcomer.
“No Izzy today?” Ed asks. “I just texted him like an hour ago?”
Jack gestures over his shoulder back toward the car he exited. “He’s on the phone with some dog trainer; he thinks Brandy needs to go to classes or something since I’m ‘not keeping up with her training and dog’s thrive on consistency and routine’ or something.”
Ed snorts. “Izzy’s going to make all the dog parents at that place cry.”
“Probably the trainer, too,” says Jack. “God, he’s such a bitch; I love it.”
The pair of them begin to head back towards the car, Brandy dancing around their feet, and Stede tries not to be distracted by the man of his daydreams—or disappointed by the crass company he was currently keeping.
Stede wasn’t one to hold himself above keeping company with those that were not as similarly…particular as he was. He had a robust and diverse friends group, some of his nearest and dearest likely appearing as abrasive or odd to the outsider.
It's just...he recognized Mustache—Jack—from a handful of similar outings. He’d seen the man climb into the fountain after a lighter and watched him drink a poor beverage cart out of whatever beer they were selling. The last time Stede had seen this Jack person, he’d been accompanied by a shorter man with salt-and-pepper hair and an x inked under his eye.
He’d been glaring something fierce at everyone and everything, sitting on a bench with that same dog at his heel. Jack had shown up with an ice cream cone and given it to the other man and Stede watched a tiny smile bloom and take decades off his face.
Resolving to keep his nosiness to a minimum, Stede popped in his earbuds and navigated to a playlist the children had created for him—lofi versions of 80s and 90s hits—and picked up where he left off in A Gentleman’s Affair.
The headphones have the intended effect of drowning out his surroundings, and Stede soon finds himself powering through his romance. Before Stede knew it, another hour had passed and the two heroes split after having quite the spat. He knew it was a third act conflict from his experience reading romance, and that there was always a schism before reconciliation and happily ever after, but it still got him in his emotions.
It’s the perfect excuse to take a little break and get his nerves under control before moving on with the rest of the novel. Stede indulges in some more limeade—this time adding a little tipple of white rum in his cup from a nondescript container in his lunch hamper—and nibbled some more.
He scrolls on his phone while he eats, laughing at the messages he’d gotten from the children and Mary and Doug. Silly faces stare up at him next to painting and sculptures, Doug sneaking a picture of Mary looking rapturous as she drank a chocolate milkshake.
Stede is in the process of tapping out a message in their group chat when there is a sudden burst of sound and pain, quickly followed by the impact of something with far too many legs that knocks him flat.
He brings his hands up to protect his face from whatever was frantically stamping all over him and squeezes his eyes shut, glad for the protection the overlarge sunglasses offered. The stomping legs are wrenched off him and Stede hazards a peek only to see the handsome roller skater—Ed—wrestling with the dog from earlier.
Brandy has a Frisbee in her mouth and is wagging her tail so hard her entire body moves with it. Stede’s greatest concern, however, is the blood is smeared along the lip of the disc and the sudden swoop of nausea in his stomach. Stede raises a shaky hand to dislodge his earbuds and can hear the surrounding chaos in startling clarity.
“Jack! For fuck’s sake, Jack, come get Brandy!” Ed shouts over his shoulder. He looks at Stede, eyes wide in concern. “Aw, fuck, mate, that Frisbee got you good.”
Stede makes an embarrassing, rusty sound as he removes his sunglasses. His breath leaves him in a shaky rush when he sees the white frames are streaked with blood— his blood—and brings a hesitant hand to prod at his forehead.
“Hang on, hang on, mate!” Ed calls. “Don’t go touching it yet. Shit, you’re going all white— are you a fainter?”
Laughing weakly, Stede feels the telltale chill of imminent unconsciousness across his stinging brown and down his spine. “I’m afraid so,” he says. “But it’s usually just a second or—”
Stede faints.
He comes back what he hopes is only a few moments later to find Ed looming over him. His hair hangs down in great, dark tendrils and Stede is sure the stars he's seeing are only tangentially related to his whack on the head.
“Oh, thank fuck,” Ed breathes. “There you are.”
Stede blinks. “Here I am.”
Ed’s winsome face is creased in concern—for him! —and, oh, he’s speaking again. “Sorry about that; We were playing with the dog and Jack was being a dick and trying to throw me off with wide shots. Izzy and I told him to knock it off with so many people in the park, but…”
“Ah,” Stede replies intelligently. Everything throbs, and he feels stale sweat cooling all over him as the result of his fainting spell. “Is it, um, terribly bad?”
Grimacing, Ed gently sweeps Stede’s hair back from his brow to give his forehead a critical once-over. “You’re gonna have one hell of a bump, mate. Maybe a shiner to go with the forehead bruises. And I think Brandy may have given you a nice lump or two. Shit, you should probably be checked for a concussion.”
“Oh, I don’t think we need trouble someone with all that,” Stede deflects, stomach seizing with nerves at the though of sterile urgent care waiting rooms and disinfectant.
“I dunno, mate, that was one hell of a hit,” Ed hedges. He reaches into Stede’s basket and snatches some ice to bundle in the bit of linen he has in his hand, pressing the blessedly cool cloth to his stinging head. “Is your vision swimming? Seeing spots? Remember your name?”
“No, no, and yes,” Stede replies.
Ed huffs in amusement and makes eye contact with him again. “And that name is?”
“Oh! It’s Stede.”
Eyes narrowed skeptically, Ed looks about the ruins of Stede’s lovely picnic setup. “Stede?” he asks, disbelief in his tone. “You got a wallet or something with your name on it, Stede?”
“I know my name is unusual; you don’t have to be rude about it,” Stede pouts. “And my wallet is in the basket.”
Ed bites his lip and disappears from view to rustle about in his wicker picnic basket, hand still holding the ice to Stede’s aching head. He appears a moment later with Stede’s brown leather wallet flipped open to display his ID. “Well, Stede Bonnet, it looks like I owe you an apology.”
“I think your friend and his dog owe me an apology,” Stede parries.
“Oh, they absolutely do,” Ed agrees. “And I have their information to pass on to you. Izzy took Brandy and Jack back home—trust me, it’s easier this way.”
Looking around at the remains of his picnic, Ed smiles. “Man, you really had a great setup goin’ on before Brandy and Jack knocked your ass in the grass. I’ve seen you set shit up a coupla time when I was skating or doing yoga; it always looks so yummy.”
“I’m afraid that I overindulge when I have the opportunity to,” Stede replies. Ed assists him in sitting up and he realizes his impromptu ice pack is his own linen over shirt. Resisting the urge to whinge, Stede takes the bundle from Ed to press to his own head. “Though I have to admit I regret it now; it’s going to be a nightmare to get back home on my bike in this state.”
Ed scoffs. “Like hell you’re riding home alone after this,” he declares. “I have my truck with me; it’ll fit all of this and then some.”
“Oh you don’t have to—
“Yes, I do,” Ed interrupts. “No way in hell am I going to let you bike home after a blow to head like that. If it’s alright with you, we’re gonna sit here until you look a little bit less like a leaf shaking in the wind, and then I can get you back home in one piece.
“Then I’m gonna give you Jack and Izzy’s info in case you need it for anything related to the wallop Jack gave you. And maybe once you’re feeling a bit better, you’ll let me take you for a drink?”
Stede blinks. “Sorry, I think maybe I do have a concussion.”
“Don’t think so, big guy,” Ed replies. “Not unless you’re saying you think you have one to spare my feelings—”
“NO,” Stede blurts. “I mean, yes, I would love to go for a drink. Or dinner. Or anything that doesn’t involve Frisbees—as long as this isn’t some attempt to make me not sue your friends.”
Ed guffaws, winking at Stede’s gobsmacked expression. “Please do. Izzy will strangle Jack to death with his bare hands and I’ve been itchin’ to see that. I’ve been trying to work out how to talk to you for a while—I don’t do shirtless yoga in front of just anyone, y’know?”
“Oh,” Stede replies, breathless. “Well, this certainly isn’t what I would have chosen, but beggars can’t be choosers. I’m the beggar in this scenario, by the way. In case that wasn’t clear.”
Shaking his head fondly, Ed knocks their knees together. “Let’s save the begging talk for when you aren’t actively bleeding. You okay to sit here for a sec while I go get my first aide kit from my truck?”
Stede nods, not quite convinced he still isn’t passed out and this is all just some kind of hallucination brought on by a trip to the emergency room and some heavy-duty painkillers. “Not going anywhere.”
“Good,” Ed rumbles. He pressed a kiss to Stede’s knuckles and hops to his feet. “Back in a tick.”
He takes off at a jog and Stede’s eyes catch on the swaying pages of A Gentleman’s Affair and marvels over his own real-life meet cute . He barely stifles a giggle at the thought of life sometimes being stranger—and better—than fiction.