by Alex Kidwell
It was quiet and simple, the two of us. The sun was warming the room, shining through the window. There was the soft clink of dishes as Brady made coffee for us both, as I dropped the pancake batter into the heated pan, and I felt content. I felt like I’d woken up, finally, like I could see a life that was bigger than haunted rooms and empty beds.
I felt like maybe Aaron was with me, arms wrapped around me, nudging me forward.
History is for the living, my heart.
My pancakes were, as promised, horribly misshapen. But Brady ate four and proclaimed them delicious. Winston wound up on his bare feet as we sat at the table, happily sleeping. Brady stole the paper but granted me the funny pages first, grinning at me as I laughed. Our hands wound up twined together as we sat in comfortable silence, as we greeted the day together.
A loud ring blared into the stillness, startling me. Brady cursed, nudging Winston up, digging through the scattered piles of clothes for his pants. “It’s probably my crew,” he said, finally finding his phone. “Yeah. Hang on, babe, I need to take this.”
He walked a few steps away, just enough to give himself a little privacy. I caught the soft hum of the conversation, but I let it wash over me while I gathered our dishes, as I refilled our coffee. He came around the corner, looking positively sheepish. “I’m so sorry. I need to go in.”
“At….” I checked the clock, a little surprised by how early it was. “Quarter after nine on a Sunday?”
“Yeah, well.” He looked embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Normally, after big events there’s a lot of cleanup, but I kind of, you know. Left early last night. With you.”
I paused, mug halfway to my lips. Quirking up an eyebrow, I studied him. “That’s kind of horribly adorable,” I decided, fingers curling under the waistband of his boxers to tug him forward into a kiss. “You are the worst boss.”
“I really am.” His breath caught in his throat when I nipped his lower lip, and he took my mug out of my hand to set aside while he backed me up against the counter. “I’m such a slacker.”
I nodded in agreement, brushing our mouths together again, grinning widely when his hands slid under my boxers to curve around my ass. He pulled me into him and we met in a long, slow kiss. Brady bent me back over the counter, and I wound my fingers into his hair, tasting syrup and coffee and him.
“Crap.” He pulled back but I moved with him, feathering kisses along his jaw, his lips, the curve of his nose. “I actually do need to go. But, uh….” He kissed me again and for another few moments that was all there was. “Dinner tonight?” he managed, breathless, and I nodded.
“My place or yours?”
That beautiful smile bloomed across his face, and he rested his forehead against mine. “How about mine? I’ve got the makings of a frittata and a bottle of white I think you’ll like. Maybe about six?” His phone rang again and he pulled away with a groan. “Okay. I’m going to go use the shower, if that’s okay?”
“Towels are in the linen closet,” I agreed. “Though I kind of think you’re going to be overdressed?” A quick laugh escaped me at his crestfallen look; his tux had been incredible last night, but probably showing up to work in it would send the wrong message.
I playfully pushed him toward the bathroom. “Go. Shower. I’ll get you something of mine to wear.”
My closet, though large enough to fit a dresser in along with lots of shelves Tracy had helped me install, was slightly better than disorganized. I did manage to find a pair of jeans and a T-shirt I was pretty sure would fit Brady. He was a little taller than me, but my shoulders were broader, and I thought they would do in a pinch. Shifting through my drawers for clean boxers, I paused.
There was a box on my dresser labeled “Aaron’s Clothes.” A few of his cardigans hung next to my own sweaters, but the rest of his things were packed away. I’d tried so hard when I first moved in to get rid of them. The best I could do was put them away in the closet and try not to give in to the urge to pull them all out again. To bury myself in the remnants of him.
Eyes closing against the sudden burn, the twist in my throat, I tried to remember to breathe. To not break down. It seemed so stupid, to be standing there holding clothes for the guy I was now seeing while Aaron’s things were in a box. It seemed impossible I could begin to be happy without him. It seemed petty and wrong.
Could he wear the clothes, though? The things I’d packed away? As much as it hurt, Aaron was beyond any of that now.
Clutching the clothes I’d found for Brady, tears in my eyes, I very firmly shut the closet doors.
THE day passed slower than I would have thought possible. After Brady had left for work, I’d gone into the store, moving some inventory around and helping my cashier ring up Sunday afternoon shoppers. It was busy enough I thought for sure the time would fly; after the sixteenth time I’d checked my watch, though, I had to reassess that assumption. Even reorganizing the racks didn’t seem to help the hours slip past. But I was now sporting a paper cut and my shirt was speckled with dust, so I had that going for me.
After a while, the crowd died down and I slipped to the back with my things, intending to find the Thanksgiving decorations I’d bought years ago with the best of intentions and never remembered to bring out. Aaron had thought the giant paper turkey was hilarious. I wanted to dress him up like a superhero, with a purple mask and a bow and arrow. TurkeyEye. It’d be fantastic.
Tossing my bag onto the couch, I began digging through boxes. Christmas decorations were at the front, since that was the one holiday I usually managed to get organized for. Behind that were some Halloween things I’d forgotten existed, and I got tangled up in a fake spiderweb for a moment, nearly falling over as I tried to beat it off of me. Turned out fake spiderwebs felt far too close to the real thing.
My hip bumped an easel and I struggled to maintain my balance. Cursing loudly, I grabbed at the canvas before it fell, managing to keep myself and everything else from hitting the floor. Now I had an armful of paints and canvas and was standing in the middle of my studio with the easel teetering accusingly at me.
After a moment, I barked out a laugh. I didn’t believe in actual ghosts, in spirits lingering after death. But if I did, I’d be tempted to blame Aaron for this.
“Okay, okay,” I muttered, putting the canvas carefully back into place. “Bossy.”
The sketches from the other night were in my bag, and I got them out, carefully smoothing the creases out of the paper. For a while I just stood there, heart hammering, chewing on my lower lip in uncertainty. It’d been so long since I’d picked up a brush, I half expected to not remember which end to use. Hesitantly, I dug around in my supplies for the charcoal. My paints were no good now, but I didn’t want to use that as an excuse. If I was going to plunge back into this, I had to just take a breath and jump.
Finding a large sketchpad, I settled myself at one of the tables. Charcoal in hand, I considered the blank paper for a long moment. I nearly gave up right then, put the sketches aside as wine- and dancing-induced craziness and moved on. But, jaw set, I dashed a curved line across the paper, marring the perfect white expanse.
The hours slipped by me almost unnoticed. My fingertips were smudged all over with charcoal, my head was bent over my work, and one by one, the papers piled around me. Over and over I drew Brady, his eyes, his lips, the curve of his back. The strong lines of his legs. The gentle grace of his fingers. I knew that form. I’d grown to know it, and it eased me into something more. Eventually, Brady merged into the sun god I’d sketched before. Not him any longer, though I took his curly hair, the bold tilt of his lips, the confidence in his shoulders. I made it into something new.
And I had a story.
My phone rang loudly, startling me. Blinking, dazed, I looked around the room, fumbling for my phone and nearly knocking over half the things on the table. Finally, I managed to pull my cell out of my bag, snapping it open just before it would have rolled over to voicemail.
�
�Hello?”
“I’m going to try really hard not to be offended at the fact it’s now nearly five and you haven’t even called me.” It was Tracy’s voice, heavy with teasing impatience, heaving out a long-suffering sigh I knew all too well. It was the “of course you can have the last of the coffee or the final cookie I don’t need it at all I’ll just sit here in caffeine withdrawal and silently, stoically starve” sigh. Sadly, it didn’t work on me any longer.
“Wait, what? It’s almost five?” Crap. I really had lost all track of time. I started to bundle up my sketches, the ones of Brady put aside. The others, though, the story that had been working itself out in smudged charcoal across paper, I hesitated in tucking away. Instead I spread them out on the table, humming quietly to myself as I started to see the order of them.
Tracy was talking. Damn it. I tried to focus, frowning as I struggled to jump back into the flow of conversation.
“I mean, no one called me crying or angry or drunk, so that’s got to be good, right?” Tracy paused and I obviously was supposed to chime in there. Sadly, I had absolutely no idea what she was asking.
“Sorry, I was in the middle of something. Still haven’t gotten my head out of it.” I deliberately turned my back on the workbench, giving Tracy my full attention. “Give that to me again, Trace?”
I could practically feel her rolling her eyes at me over the phone. “You went home with Brady last night, I assume?” she asked.
“Oh.” I felt heat hit my cheeks and squirmed in my chair, suddenly wishing I hadn’t picked up the phone. Talking about this was so much easier over a few drinks or a pastry. “Yeah.”
“And you feel…,” she prompted me, and I could hear her grinning.
I paused, worrying my lower lip. “A little upset,” I admitted. “Just, you know. Aaron. But mostly…. Tracy, it was really great. Brady was perfect and it was amazing and God, the way he kisses.”
“Oh my God, I am so happy for you.” There was the noise of Tracy’s footsteps in the background, the quiet beep of her unlocking the car. “And it’s normal for you to be upset, hon. It is. The important thing is you’re not stopping there. You feel it, sure, but then you let yourself be more than that. I’m so proud of you, Quinn.”
“We had breakfast together,” I said, smiling to myself as I turned lazily on the stool. “We’re having dinner tonight. I think… he said he loved me.”
She was quiet; the engine started, the noise faint, but I could tell she was just sitting in the car. “What did you say?”
Shrugging, I fiddled with a charcoal pencil. “I don’t know, yet, Trace. I mean, I’m definitely…. It’s all possible right now, you know? When I let myself look past Aaron and everything, I feel all those things, that rush and the want and all of that. Love is just a huge word for me right now. I’m not sure I can go there yet.”
“Please tell me you didn’t freak out when he told you,” Tracy said, only half kidding. “I totally did when Annabeth told me, and seriously, I still feel guilty about it.”
“No freak-outs,” I assured her. “Amazingly. He told me he knew I couldn’t yet, and that was okay, and okay, seriously, Trace, how is it possible he’s, like, a prince? Because I know I’m crazy—I can feel how crazy I am sometimes—and he just keeps showing up.”
“We are both very lucky to have found sane people who are completely taken in by our charms,” she agreed somberly. “Some days I’m pretty sure Anna has to be, like, the reincarnation of a saint or something. Joan of Arc.”
“Mother Theresa.”
“Francis of wherever, the one who talked to animals.”
I barely kept back the snort of a laugh. “I think you’re thinking of Doctor Dolittle.”
“Wasn’t that the chick who got English lessons from the singing professor?”
Honestly, I couldn’t tell if she was kidding or not. “That’s Eliza Doolittle.”
“Whichever. Anna’s all of them. Even the singing one.”
“Yeah,” I agreed with a little smile. “She is.”
“So is Brady, hon,” Tracy said simply. “You got lucky twice. God knows why, because you’re kind of a brat.”
“Oh, no, what’s that? You’re going through a tunnel?” I was grinning by then, even as Tracy laughingly shouted her protests that she was still parked. “I’m losing you. Oops, you’re gone.” Ending the call, I stared down at the sketches. For a long time, it was just me and them as I listened to the story they were telling me. The potential they had.
I paged through my contacts to find one other number. “Hey, Anna? Your wife is crazy. Also, uh, do you still have that opening at the gallery next month?”
I WOUND up at Brady’s door only a few minutes after six. He’d mentioned wine, my usual default contribution, so I’d stopped at the bakery just down from my shop and picked up a couple of red velvet cupcakes. I’d also indulged my need to be an absolute idiot and gotten a bouquet of sunflowers. Which I’d wavered on, back and forth, the whole taxi ride over to Brady’s apartment. I’d very nearly just given them away to a random person on the street, but when Brady opened the door, I was still holding them, sheepishly handing them off to him with a “Hey. Uh, sorry I’m late.”
“No problem. I just opened the wine.” He was grinning at me. “Did you bring me flowers?”
I rolled my eyes and laughed when he caught my arm to kiss me, happily sinking into the embrace. “Yes,” I admitted, though I wasn’t sure how I could pretend I wasn’t a giant dork. “They just looked so happy when I walked past. I couldn’t resist.”
He ushered me inside, hand at the small of my back. There was this warmth on his face as he fussed over the flowers, arranging them in a vase, shooting little smiles over at me the whole time. It was kind of incredible. Like if I could capture even a hint of that and bottle it up, I’d be able to heal puppies and make rainbows out of gumdrops. It was a good feeling, just watching him. Knowing I’d managed to do something right.
“I also splurged on dessert,” I told him, flipping open the bakery box.
“Oh my God, red velvet.” Brady swiped some of the frosting, waggling his eyebrows at me as I batted his hand. “You are a terrible tempter, Mr. O’Malley.”
“You enjoy it far too much, Mr. Banner,” I returned, catching his hand with mine and kissing his knuckles.
We were easy together. It always had been easy with Brady, but now that I was remembering how this went, how the steps could work, it felt good, too. It felt like we were settling into something.
“You’re a mess.” I looked up at Brady to find him inspecting my hands, nose wrinkled. “What is all over you?”
Glancing down, I laughed, a short burst of noise. “Oh, crap. I thought I got it all.” I moved to the sink and washed up while Brady followed me with a frown. “It’s charcoal. I get it everywhere, but I thought I’d managed to look a little less like a hobo.”
There was a beat, and then Brady caught my shoulder, turning me back to him. “You were drawing?” he asked, feeling his way, careful not to pry too hard. He absently picked up a dish towel and dried off my hands for me. It was an impossibly sweet gesture, and I smiled up at him for it.
“Yeah. I, uh, got inspired last night. Figured I might as well give it a try.” Pausing, rolling the words around in my head first, I offered, “I, um, I took Anna up on her offer. Of a show? I’m taking two weeks next month.”
The grin that broke across his face was absolutely breathtaking. “Oh my God,” he said softly, a thrill in his voice. Wrapping his arms around me, he whooped, loudly, spinning me around. I was laughing by the end of it, stunned by his reaction, but his excitement was far too infectious. “Oh my God, babe, this is so great! This is… okay, we are so not staying in tonight. You and me, we’re celebrating.”
“Brady,” I protested, but it was hard to with my arms around his neck, with his exuberance spilling out into my own smile. “Trust me, staying in with you is my idea of a perfect evening.”
“Well, we have
to do something,” he insisted.
“Um, hello. I brought cupcakes.” I arched an eyebrow at him, because obviously cupcakes were a celebration in and of themselves. Brady merely snorted a laugh, though, and kissed me deeply until I was leaning back against the counter and I’d completely forgotten what we were talking about.
Damn him. That was a far too effective method for changing my mind.
“There has to be something we can do to celebrate.” He was giving me that slow, mischievous smile, the one that made heat surge from my gut straight south.
“Well,” I drawled, doing my best to look innocent. “I do need some more paints.”
He paused for a beat before huffing out a laugh, the sound growing as I tugged on his lower lip. “You are mean,” he pouted. “I’m doing my best to be all charming and sexy.”
“Oh, you are,” I assured him, hands slipping around his waist, teasing in under his shirt. “I just really need paint.”
“Well, far be it for me to deny you anything.” Brady put the cork back into the wine, checking the oven and then turning the heat down. “We’ve got about forty-five minutes before this goes from warm to rubber. Think we can make it?”
“There’s an art supply store two blocks over.” I tugged my gloves back on, and Brady wrapped the cashmere scarf around my neck, pausing to kiss me lightly as he did so.
“Then we have our mission.” Holding out his arm for me to take it, he led the way out the door. He locked up behind us and tugged his phone out of his pocket as we headed down the stairs. Off my questioning glance he just smiled, dialing while we made our way onto the sidewalk.
“Anna, it’s Brady. Quinn just told me.” Brady’s arm tightened around my waist and I leaned into him, letting the wind curl around us. We walked through piles of drifted leaves, footsteps crunching a path. “I know, it’s freaking awesome. We’re heading out right now to buy paints.”
