After the End by Alex Kidwell Page A

I nodded. It made sense. I knew it made sense. So why did I still feel sick with guilt just standing there with him?
    Eventually we pulled apart, hand in hand as we walked into the living room. There was flan and coffee, there was laughter and storytelling and conversation that went over my head. I sat in near silence, contributing a smile from time to time, a quiet laugh when it was needed. Mostly, I let myself float away on the feeling of not being alone. On the noise and the closeness that didn’t allow any ghosts at all in.
    “Let me walk you home.” Brady took my arm, wrinkling his nose at me in a smile as he tucked my scarf tighter around my neck.
    The moon was plump and full above us, hung in the crook of the buildings we passed, caught in tree branches and skylines. Our breath made smoky trails as we walked, footsteps crisp on the pavement. Brady was warm, solid next to me, hand never leaving mine.
    “I meant what I said,” he broke the silence, glancing over at me. “I’ll go slow. No matter how many times you grab me and kiss me.” He smiled, teasing, nudging my side with his elbow. “No matter how gorgeous you look tonight.”
    Worrying my lower lip, I tilted my head back, up toward the sky. Letting the night air surround us, I paused, taking deep breaths, eyes falling closed.
    “I’m confused,” I admitted.
    “I know.”
     
     
    I T WAS raining again. Fat drops beat against the window outside my store, sliding snakelike down the glass to join the rush of water along the sidewalk. No one had come into the store in hours. I’d sent Marty, my afternoon cashier, home early. Even with all the lights on, the world looked dim and half-asleep; there was no use in both of us spending our evening staring at the empty aisles.
    A sketchbook was open in front of me. White pages mocked me, smooth and open and meaningless. Every time I settled in to put pencil to it, to stroke life from the empty expanse, it was like I froze. Like any story I might coax up from lead and paper was already buried and forgotten.
    Irritated with myself, with my inability to do anything useful at all, I flipped the sketchbook closed. Shoving it in a drawer brought me only the smallest bit of satisfaction. Lighting it on fire, perhaps, would have been more fulfilling, but I didn’t think my insurance guy would appreciate the sentiment.
    The bell above the door jangled merrily as someone took shelter from the storm. I barely glanced up; the downpour was a roar against the roof, a beast let loose on the deserted streets of the city. I doubted any true customers had braved the weather just to pick up the latest issue of crime fighting antics.
    “So, what would you recommend?” Two comics were laid on the counter in front of me as that silk-smooth voice wound its way around me, tugging my stomach into flip-flops. “Bug-bitten superheroes or the gritty antihero with a chip on his shoulder?”
    Brady was smiling at me, umbrella dripping on the floor, blond hair in messy waves from the wind. For all his knee-high boots and perfectly fitted leather jacket, he looked strangely at home in my store. Maybe it was just the way he was looking at me, corners of his eyes crinkled, whole expression open, like he’d come out in the sopping rain just for a chance at seeing me. Like that, somehow, would have been worth the trouble.
    “What are you doing here?” God, I was an idiot. The words were out before I could catch them and haul them back. It was a valid question, sure, but I definitely hadn’t meant to sound so blunt. Wincing, I reached out, fingers snagging the cuff of his jacket. “Not that it’s, you know, entirely unfortunate you stopped by,” I said softly, studying his face. “I just wasn’t expecting you.”
    “I thought you needed soup.” He held out a brown paper bag, tightly rolled against the cold outside. “Actually, I needed soup. It’s my morning off, so I made up a huge pot of vegetable stew. Only thing to do, really,