After the End

by Alex Kidwell

  “Try the bread” was his only response as he nudged a piece closer to me, but there was a pleased curve to his lips that warmed me more than even the soup.

  The bread was light, chewy, and fantastic. I actually made an obscene little noise as I swallowed, melted butter leaving behind a salty sweet tang against my tongue. “My God,” I muttered, eagerly taking another bite. “This is the best thing I’ve had in my mouth in, like, ever.”

  The sound of Brady’s laugh was a thrilling baritone, bouncing off the walls, dancing with the patter of the rain. “Normally, I’d take that as a challenge,” he teased me, eyes crinkling at the corners mischievously. “But since it’s a compliment to the chef, I’ll just say thank you.”

  I rolled my eyes, too busy stuffing my face to quip back. “Where did you learn this?” Perhaps soup was dreadfully easy, and perhaps the bread was child’s play to him, but to someone who lived out of cans and knew the corner deli staff on a first-name basis, it was wizardry.

  “Catering,” he shrugged. “And I’ve always liked to cook. Middle kid of three sisters, I spent a lot of time in the kitchen. My mom was from a big Italian family, my dad was Swedish, so food is pretty much how we show emotions. No matter what’s going on, if you’re happy or sad or in love, you cook. There’s a meal for all occasions.”

  He was watching me with a strange intensity, a seriousness behind the smile that made my stomach go into knots. I didn’t know what it meant, but I felt like I should. Like if I’d just turn my head, I’d catch the whole of it from the corner of my eye. “What’s this meal mean?” I asked, searching his face. Wondering what it was I was missing.

  But just like that, the moment was gone. Brady smiled at me and leaned back in the couch, legs akimbo, soup finished. “It’s raining outside and I wanted to see you,” he said with an elegant lift of his shoulders. “Soup is very good for that.”

  I agreed with a happy murmur, chasing the last green bean around the bottom of my bowl before I joined him in a sprawl. His arm stole around me, my head listed toward his shoulder, and the rain kept up its symphony above us. It was warm there, with him, side to side. I laid my hand on his leg and he found my fingers with his own. “Thank you,” I murmured, rubbing my cheek absently against him.

  “For the food?” he asked, so softly, so tenderly, it made me ache to hear it.

  “Not just for the food,” I admitted, tilting my head back to look at him. He smiled at me, and my lips curved upward in reply.

  For a long time, we just sat like that. On the couch that was no longer Aaron’s, in the room that was no longer my haven. For the first time, though, new memories seemed to overtake the ghosts. Instead of only picturing Aaron there, I now thought of the sweet tang of the tomatoes, the salty chewiness of the buttered bread, the way my body seemed to melt into Brady’s side, the warmth of his smile. Instead of canvases telling a story I no longer knew, there was the hesitant sprout of something different. Of the idea of an idea. Of the hope of something new.

  Aaron was there, yes. But right then, so was Brady.

  “So, hey, I was going to ask.” Brady’s fingers were painting soft trails up and down my arm, leaving goose bumps in their wake. “I have this event next week. A fund-raiser ball, masquerade themed. Lots of formalwear and masks and fancy food. No soup”—I could hear the quick smile in his voice—“but I do make a pretty tasty caviar quiche.”

  It took me a moment to understand what was going on. To be fair, it’d been years since I’d felt this relaxed, this utterly content. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not, to let myself be so at peace with Brady, but God, it felt good.

  “You’re asking me to attend?” I blinked, a little surprised. “Uh. Well, I’m not really the fund-raiser type, and I definitely don’t go to, um, balls or whatever. I guess I can make a donation? What’s the cause?”

  After a beat, Brady breathed out a laugh, pulling back just enough to see my face. “No, God, that’s… I mean, yes, I want you to go. As my date.” He gave me a smile, much more uncertain than his usual ones. “I’m the event planner, so it’s a working date for me, but I thought, you know, we could dance a bit, have some good wine, you could eat my food….” He trailed off, already waving off the suggestion. “It’s not a big deal. Probably be really boring, actually. I’m sure you have better things to do.”

  I didn’t dance. Hell, I wasn’t even sure I knew how. Aaron had owned exactly one suit, which he’d bought for our commitment ceremony and I’d torn off of him that night. He’d never worn it again. He didn’t like pageantry or dress clothes that weren’t from the pages of a history book. I’d been content in his casual lifestyle. To be honest, I’d never thought about anything different. I only had one suit too. I’d worn it to our ceremony and then again to Aaron’s funeral.

  “I don’t own a tux,” I said, but to my surprise, I’d started to smile. It was unsure, held mostly in my eyes as I looked up at him, but it was reflected back tenfold by the beaming grin Brady gave me. “And I don’t know how to dance.”

  “I know a place we can get you one.” Brady looked positively gleeful at the thought. “We’ll go shopping this weekend. And I”—he took my hand, feathering a kiss to my knuckles—“will teach you to dance. I promise not to make a peep if you step on my toes.”

  We sank back into the couch, Brady still holding my hand, and I was smiling. We were going to a ball. It sounded completely unlike me. I was quite sure no matter how many promises Brady made, he’d regret trying to get my clumsy self out onto any kind of dance floor. But there was going to be a ball and tuxes and apparently some form of quiche. And I’d admit a part of me was looking forward to it.

  “It’s for the Children’s Literacy Fund,” Brady told me, absently playing his fingers through my hair. My eyes immediately fell half-shut as I arched up into his hand. I was such a sucker for that. “The theme is Unmasking the Imagination. Very fantasy driven. Very posh.” He grinned, dropping a kiss lightly onto my head. “You are going to have fun. I promise.”

  He seemed to enjoy my reaction to him sliding his hand through my hair, because he didn’t stop. I was practically melted all over him, embarrassingly so, but I’d be ashamed of myself later. Right then, I rumbled a soft, contented noise, happily leaning my head against him. “Weirdly, I believe you. Even if I have to put on a penguin suit.”

  “You’ll look adorable.” Brady’s voice was warm, hot chocolate in the dead of winter, curling around me.

  “Flatterer.” The word was mumbled. I turned to sling my arm across his waist, the thrum of the rain on the skylights making it seem as though the entire world had been washed away. There were only the two of us.

  “It’s part of my charm.” He sprawled down further, taking me with him. We rested together, his fingers through my hair soothing me into the twilight haze of the half awake.

  “I’m going to fall asleep on you,” I announced.

  His lips were dry and sweet against my forehead. “Good. My evil plan is complete.”

  With a rumbled sigh of a laugh, I tipped my head up just enough to brush a kiss to his jaw. “You’re ridiculous. I’m glad you came in out of the rain.”

  As I drifted off, I heard him say, so quiet I wasn’t even sure if I was meant to hear, “I’m glad you let me in.”

  Chapter 4

  “I REALLY don’t think tails are necessary.” No matter what kind of torture I was put through, no matter how much money was offered for the information, I would never admit to how high-pitched my voice had gotten with that sentence. “Or a top hat.” Spinning around on the raised platform in front of the three mirrors, I scanned the shop for Brady. The fluttering woman next to me was busy measuring various body parts for God knew what. She ignored my increasing panic in favor of handing me a swath of ruby red fabric.

  “It’s a cummerbund,” she explained off of my bewildered look. “It goes around your waist. Go on, put it on.”

  I did so dutifully, looking back at myself in the mirrors. T
he tux was pinned in places, the coat had buttons and tails, and there was a hat on my head that seemed like it was desperately missing Abraham Lincoln. In short, I looked like an idiot.

  “Excuse me,” I asked the woman who was gathering up her pins and tape measure. “Have you seen my, er….” I trailed off, because yeah, having a little relationship-status crisis in front of the no-nonsense head of alterations was not high on my to-do list. “Brady. The man who came in with me. Have you seen him?”

  She just gave me a look, eyebrow arched, and jutted her chin behind me. Turning, I saw Brady speaking with one of the salesmen. They were discussing ties in deep royal blue, Brady laughing as they were held up one by one. He was in a suit similar to mine, but where I just made it all seem so ridiculous, Brady was absolutely breathtaking.

  He seemed regal, somehow, moving with an unerring grace, charm in every step. I watched him, drinking in the absent wave of his hand, the waterfall of blond curls against his forehead, the strong arch of his nose. Little things, pieces of a whole, but even taken separately they were utterly beguiling.

  “Damn,” I muttered, continuing to stare.

  “No kidding,” the alterations woman beside me said dryly. When I gave her an amused look, she shrugged. “What? I can’t look?”

  Biting back a laugh, I shook my head. “I guess I can’t blame you for that.” He did look very good. She helped me take off the cummerbund and the jacket, shaking out the fine material as if to make sure I hadn’t harmed it.

  “Now that’s disappointing.” Brady’s voice curled around me, tugging honey-warm curls into my gut as I caught sight of his smile in the mirror. “I rather liked the tails.”

  “I looked like a penguin,” I informed him, but my lips were turning upward despite my misgivings about my aptitude for formalwear. “All I needed was a cane and I could have started to make evil plots to take down superheroes.”

  “You are such a geek,” Brady teased, taking a step up onto the platform so he was pressed in behind me. My breath caught as he gently reached around, looping a tie around my neck and doing up the knot. His chin was resting on my shoulder, his body warm and solid against my back. I honestly might have made some kind of strangled, muffled sound, eyes flying wide as I met his in the mirror.

  “It’ll bring out your eyes” was all he said, but the heat in his gaze made everything else seem unimportant. His arms were wrapped around me and I found myself leaning back against him, the curve of his body welcoming me in. How he was looking at me sent little pops of anticipation all along my skin, like I’d suddenly woken up, like every place he was touching me was the center of all my focus.

  “Eyes are good,” I managed and he grinned slowly. He knew what he was doing, and I was hardly innocent. Pressing back into him, I was rewarded by how his arms tightened around my waist.

  His lips brushed my ear. “We’re in public, Mr. O’Malley,” Brady murmured, and I huffed in a quiet little laugh.

  “You’re the one who decided to tie my tie like this,” I pointed out, a blush heating up my cheeks. He looked just as flushed, but I could see the pleased smile, hidden as he bowed his head to kiss my shoulder. I was flirting. Not very well, maybe, but I’d never claimed to be Casanova.

  In that moment, though, we were just two guys. It was only a moment, only our gazes meeting in a mirror before Brady stepped away, before I was fiddling with the tie, before the moment after that one took over. But God, just for that second, it’d been amazing.

  Brady stood next to me, nudging my shoulder with his. “I just wanted to make sure it was on right,” he murmured, giving me a wink as he straightened his jacket, turning to check the view from the side as well. I could verify that all angles seemed to be working for him.

  “Whatever would I do without you?” My lips barely moved upward, but the corners of my eyes crinkled at him, a playful tone to my voice.

  “Suffer greatly,” Brady sighed overdramatically.

  He wandered over to a rack, paging through the jackets until he found one to his liking. This one was without tails, thank God, soft and fitted. It came with a matching waistcoat, which Brady promptly set out to try on me. I tried to protest, but one elegant eyebrow arched at me and I swallowed my words back.

  When he stepped back, I had to admit I was a little surprised. I wouldn’t be winning any awards, but at least I looked less like I was wearing a Masterpiece Theatre character’s castoffs.

  “Not bad,” he murmured. There was appreciation in his eyes that made my whole body shiver. “I think you are ready for a ball, sweetheart.”

  “I meet with your approval, Mr. Banner?”

  Brady reached out, catching my hand and drawing me down from the platform to stand on the floor next to him. His fingers gentled through my hair and he smiled, so soft and brilliant I wished I had a rainbow of paints right then to try and capture a tenth of it. “Always, Mr. O’Malley,” he murmured, and I found I wouldn’t have cared at all if this suit had ten tails and a hat that scraped the ceiling if it meant he looked at me like that even once more.

  “AT LEAST let me buy you lunch,” I insisted. There was a garment bag over my arm, Brady carrying one of his own as well. The tuxes had been purchased, I’d promised to get my dress shoes shined, and with one last regretful look at the top hat, Brady had pronounced me finished.

  Whistling for a cab, Brady gave me a considering look. “Do you trust me?”

  “What, are we jumping off buildings?” I asked, a smile flickering across my lips.

  Brady just laughed, a little thrill of a sound, and took my hand. “Something like that.” We bustled into a cab, Brady sitting close, our hips bumping together comfortably. As he gave the taxi driver an address, I tried to guess where we were going. There were several delis on that street I knew of, and one decent Indian place. Any of those would do for a lunch.

  Ten minutes later, though, we were pulling up in front of a wide alleyway filled with stalls, brilliantly colored awnings covering some, baskets and counters filled with food. It was a little farmer’s market in the middle of the city, produce making a kaleidoscope background for the people leisurely shopping and tasting and talking. Brady led me out, grinning at my confused look.

  “My apartment is about a block away,” he explained. “I like to stop here on my nights off and see what looks good. I’m going to make you lunch.”

  Immediately, I protested, feeling guilty. “No, really, that’s so much trouble. We can just go to a restaurant.”

  Brady simply took my hand in his, lifting one shoulder in an elegant, careless shrug. “I want to cook for you,” he said. His lips curved upward slowly into a charming grin as he backed up toward the market, drawing me with him. “Italian mother, remember? I always want to cook for people I care about.”

  It was there, in those words, that little heart-stopping declaration. All the looks I couldn’t quite figure out, the way he held my hand, the soft smiles that seemed to warm me from the inside, they had their birth in those few precious words. He cared about me.

  It was utterly terrifying.

  It was everything I wanted to hear.

  Conflicted, I let myself be tugged in. It was only lunch. There wasn’t any reason to be worried about a meal spent together. Friends did this all the time. And even if he did cook for me, I’d simply return the favor with a nice meal out the next time around. I couldn’t let that sudden jump of guilt sour something good.

  Arm in arm, we wandered around, smelling the fresh, earthy aroma of fruits and vegetables that had been tucked away in loamy soil just hours ago. The people who passed looked more relaxed than my usual supermarket crowd; a couple was taking time to taste some gorgeous late-season melon, and a mom and her kids were carefully looking through the peppers at another stall, talking with the merchant about what would be best for her recipe. It was a huge, vibrant community, flanked by two closed stalls displaying gorgeous cuts of meat and tempting sausages. Everything you could think you might want was right there,
fresher than anything. Hell, the eggs guy had a few chickens behind him, contentedly milling about in a large pen.

  “Brady!” A woman in a vivid blue skirt, like she’d wrapped the sky around her hips to fall gently to her ankles, was grabbing Brady in a huge hug. Her head barely reached his chin, dark hair in a loose braid. A grin that lit up the whole city beamed over to me next. “And you brought a friend? Look at you, getting out there. It’s about time.”

  Brady rolled his eyes, flushing a bit, but his arm was wrapped around the woman’s shoulders as he introduced us. “Maya, this is Quinn, a friend of mine. Quinn, Maya runs the place.”

  “You sell the produce here?” I asked, impressed. The stall next to us was overflowing with fall root vegetables, vivid oranges and purples and browns, a checkered quilt of them spread out over the rough wooden table. “It’s really beautiful-looking. I’m not much of a cook, but even I can tell it’s amazing.”

  Maya laughed lightly, and Brady just grinned wider. “I meant the place. As in all of it. Maya organizes the entire Farmer’s Market.”

  Oh. Well, that was something quite a bit bigger than turnips. “Then you’re kind of amazing,” I told her honestly, and she squeezed my arm, eyes dancing as she looked up at Brady.

  “Oh, I like him. You should keep him around. Smart ones are always worth a little extra effort.” She gave Brady another hug before turning to me, kissing both of my cheeks in welcome. She smelled like growing things, like oranges and dirt and sunshine. I liked her. She was solid and warm and had freckles across dark skin. I thought Annabeth and Tracy would love her and her market, the way she had of laughing.

  “Brady is making me lunch,” I informed her with a slight smile, one that only grew when I felt Brady’s hand finding mine, our fingers tangling together once more. “I think that’s more than enough effort. I’m not that smart.”

  “Romantic lunch, eh?” Maya took my arm and led us through the bustle of the market. “Brady, have you seen Lawrence’s peas? And Gerald’s sons brought in the most beautiful pancetta with their sausages this morning.”