"I think," I said carefully, looking at her profile, "that we don't start over. We just... start next. It's a sequel. The cast is different, the plot is a bit messy, but the story isn't over."

  She looked at me sideways. Her hair had fallen forward, obscuring part of her face.

  "A sequel," she mused. "I hope this one has a better ending."

  "I'm writing the script as we go," I said. "I'll make sure the ending is decent. Maybe even a musical number."

  She splashed a little water in my direction.

  "Hey!" I jumped back. "Respect the dryer!"

  "Dry faster," she commanded, but she was smiling.

  We finished the dishes. The kitchen was spotless.

  "I have leftovers," I said, moving to the island. "And I am not eating cold Tandoori for breakfast. Well, I would, but I shouldn't."

  I grabbed a Tupperware container… one of the good ones, the glass kind with the locking lid. I packed the remaining chicken and two pieces of naan.

  "Take this," I said, holding it out to her.

  "Aryan, I cannot… "

  "Take it," I insisted. "Consider it a favor to me. If it stays here, I will eat it at 3 AM and I will have nightmares about spicy chickens chasing me. You are saving me from a terrible fate."

  She took the container. "Thank you."

  "And," I said, reaching behind my waist to untie the apron. "One more thing."

  I pulled the pink print monstrosity over my head.

  "This," I said, folding it (somewhat messily) and placing it on top of the Tupperware in her hands. "This is yours now."

  Wanda stared at the apron. "Aryan, I cannot take your... statement piece."

  "It has chosen you," I said solemnly. "It matches your eyes, remember? Besides, it's seen combat now. It has lemon juice and tandoori stains on it. It's a veteran. It belongs with a warrior."

  Wanda looked at the apron, then at me. Her eyes shimmered. She clutched the bundle to her chest.

  "I will wear it with pride," she whispered.

  "You better," I said. "I want to see you gardening in that thing."

  We walked to the front door.

  I opened it. The night air rushed in, a stark contrast to the warmth of the kitchen.

  We stepped out onto the porch. The streetlights were humming. The Buick was waiting in the driveway, looking like a dark beast ready to take her back to reality.

  Wanda turned to face me. She hugged the Tupperware and the apron.

  "Thank you," she said. "For the lemons. For the dinner. For... the noise."

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  "Anytime," I said, leaning against the doorframe, shoving my hands into my pockets so I wouldn't reach out and beg her to stay. "You know where I am. If you ever need to escape the quiet... I'm usually here. Fighting dough or yelling at appliances."

  She nodded. She looked like she wanted to say something else. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

  "You are a good neighbor, Aryan Spencer," she said.

  "I try," I said. "Drive safe, Wanda."

  She hesitated for one more second, searching my face one last time, as if trying to memorize the layout of a safe harbor. Then, she turned and walked to her car.

  I watched her get in. I watched the headlights flare to life. I watched the car back out and drive slowly down the street, disappearing around the corner.

  The red taillights vanished.

  I stood on the porch for a long time. The cold seeped through my t-shirt, but I didn't move.

  "Well," I said to the empty street. "That happened."

  I looked at the spot where her car had been.

  "I fed the Scarlet Witch," I whispered. "I made her laugh. I told her about... her."

  I rubbed my face, the exhaustion suddenly hitting me like a freight train.

  "You know," I said, looking up at the single star visible through the light pollution. "I thought it would be harder. Lying to her. Pretending."

  I turned and walked back inside, closing the door and locking it. The click of the deadbolt sounded final.

  I leaned my back against the door, sliding down until I was sitting on the floor of the entryway.

  "But the hardest part wasn't the lying," I confessed to the hallway rug. "The hardest part was how easy it was to pretend that she was my Wanda. Just for a second. When she was laughing at the dough... I forgot. I forgot that this universe is a ticking time bomb. I forgot that she's going to break. I just thought... we're having dinner."

  I closed my eyes.

  "She's lonely," I said, my voice cracking. "God, she is so lonely. I could feel it. It's like a black hole in the middle of the room. And I'm..."

  I opened my eyes and looked at my hands. The hands that had held hers.

  "I'm the only one who can fill it. But I'm also the only one who can destroy her completely if I mess this up."

  I stood up, groaning as my knees popped.

  "Phase One complete," I muttered, walking back toward the kitchen to turn off the lights. "Connection established. Trust built. Apron deployed."

  My gaze drifted to the counter where she had left her apron before the hand-off. I picked it up, the fabric still holding the lingering scent of her.

  "You see," I said, looking right at the audience, "I had intentionally given her my apron instead of this one. I wanted to keep the one she had actually worn as we moved through the kitchen. Holding it now, I could almost feel the phantom warmth of her body still trapped in the fibers. It was a small piece of her presence that I could keep in the shadows of this house."

  "Now, before you start calling me a creep, relax," I added with a smirk. "It’s called romance. But I wouldn’t expect any of you to understand that, considering you're probably single."

  I flipped the switch. The kitchen plunged into darkness, save for the blue light of the microwave clock.

  "Now comes the hard part," I told the shadows. "Keeping her from falling apart when the rest of the world decides to move on without her."

  I walked upstairs to my empty bedroom.

  "Goodnight, audience," I whispered. "Don't judge me for the 'cardiovascular lubrication' line. It was panic improv."

  I flopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.

  "See you in the sequel."

  [Perspective: Wanda Maximoff]

  On the passenger seat next to her sat the glass container of Tandoori chicken and the folded pink apron.

  The smell of the spices still lingered in the car, fighting the scent of stale rental car air freshener.

  Wanda drove slowly. She didn't want to go back to the motel. The motel had beige walls and a TV that only played news about the Blip.

  The Lemon Theory, she thought.

  She glanced at the apron.

  He gave me his armor, she mused, a small smile touching her lips.

  She thought about his eyes when he talked about his lost love. The bleeding pain he tried to hide.

  He is like me, she thought. Broken pieces trying to look like a whole vase.

  She turned into the motel parking lot. She parked the car and turned off the engine.

  She sat there for a moment, clutching the steering wheel.

  Usually, this was the hardest moment. The transition from motion to stillness. The moment the grief usually crashed down on her.

  But tonight...

  She reached over and picked up the warm container. She held it in her lap.

  Tonight, she only felt the lingering heat of ginger and chili. She felt the echo of a laugh.

  "A sequel," she whispered into the dark car.

  She picked up the apron and the food, got out of the car and walked to her room.