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Archer didn’t even hesitate. “No apologies necessary. It’s not an entirely unheard of comic, but it’s not exactly mainstream, either.”
Oh.Brielle had been worried he’d be one of those comic book guys who think anyone—a woman especially—who only sees superhero movies is somehow “lesser than.” “I should have asked to read a trade,” said Brielle, happy she had Pembroke in her life to teach her words like that. Even though she never in a million years thought she’d meet a comic book artist, let alone maybe, possibly, date one. She cocked her head. She wasn’t even sure she’d seen any in his condo.
“That’s okay,” he said. “I’ve only been on the book a few years.” He sniffed. “You can look at one tonight.”
Brielle had to stop herself from burying her face in her hands. Somehow, Archer acting like he didn’t want her to see his book—then contradicting himself—was the most adorable thing she’d heard in ages.
Her phone buzzed and she fished it out of her purse to make sure it wasn’t her mom, but it was just Gavin sending a photo of himself and his date, both looking hot and hipster-y in some kind of tight quarters café. Brielle had texted her mom earlier that she was going out, but all her mom had said back was,Ok. She was still waiting for the hammer to come down and the lecture about not looking for jobs.
Shehadlooked for some that morning. She’d applied for three or four, although nothing really spoke to her. She’d finally gotten backonereply from the jobs she’d applied to the week before, thanking her for her application and stressing that there were many qualified applicants.
She didn’t know what was worse: the few outright rejections, the “we got your stuff but just so you know, you’re probably not going to be good enough” emails, or the frequent, frequent dead silence. She’d had one Skype interview for a historical society in Iowa of all places about a month ago that went nowhere. That was actually the only interview she’d scored at all so far, and it’d come so early into her job-hunting process that she’d assumed this whole job-finding thing would be easy. Ha.
“We’re here,” said Pauline. She scoffed. “Not a lot of accessible parking.” There weren’t any parking spots, period. There weren’t many uptown, where all the buildings seemed a little worn, like they were built back in the days of horses and carriages. But there were a lot of cars parked up and down along the block.
“Pull around the back,” said Archer. “The owner said he’d open it up for me.”
Pauline actually cringed as she pulled into the back alleyway. “This doesn’t seem shady at all…” She stopped in front of a door next to a dumpster, ignoring the “No Parking / Cars Will Be Towed” sign and shifting the car into park. “Sorry about the lack of space. I need more on this side for the chair.” She looked over her shoulder. “No offense, hon, but once I make sure you’re situated, I think I’ll spend the next couple of hours at that Starbucks we passed.”
Archer unbuckled his seatbelt and waved a hand. “You can go home if you want. Don’t worry about it. Mother will pay you the full extra three hours, but I doubt I’ll need you again until it’s time to go.”
Pauline pulled the keys out of the ignition and hit some buttons, opening the door beside Archer and the door beside his wheelchair automatically, extending the ramp. “Nonsense. What’s waiting for me at home? A husband who promised to give me a night off from two very dramatic preteen children. Let them bond with Dad for the day. Mom’s getting her mocha.”
Pauline exited the vehicle and started reaching for Archer’s wheelchair and Brielle scrambled out of her seat, shoving her phone back into her bag. She had to be careful to hold her door as she opened it and slid out so it wouldn’t hit the dumpster. She actually exhaled audibly when she managed to sneak out and shut the door without dinging it, like it’d all required physical exertion.
Looking at Archer slowly sliding out of the vehicle with the help of the grab bars, she felt bad for even making a peep.
“Can I help?” she said, wondering if that was the wrong thing to say.
Archer laughed, grunting, and nodded behind him. “Hand me my canes?”
Brielle reached under his extended arm, her face brushing his side as she grabbed hold of the canes. He felt warm and she had to fight the temptation to bury her face into him for more than a couple of seconds.
“Here,” she said, backing up to give him more space.
He rested up against the first extended step of the ramp, taking the canes from her with one hand. He stared up above her head and laughed, gesturing upward.
Brielle slapped her hands above her head and felt how her hair was sticking up. Had his shirt been covered in static? She often did his laundry, so if it was, it was her fault. She swallowed and smoothed her tresses down, probably stroking her hair more times than was necessary.
Archer looked away as he slipped his arms through his canes—they kind of wrapped around his forearms when he used them—and swung his brace-covered legs down one at a time. “Can you… Um, go in from the front? And ask someone to open the door?”
Brielle jumped, clapping her hands together. “Okay.” She felt relieved to be useful. She scrambled around the van, smiling awkwardly at Archer as she plastered herself against the wall and passed mere inches from him before heading down the alleyway. Turning the corner, she passed a couple of guys in comic book shirts who gave her a onceover as she headed for the door.
She’d wanted to look nice for Archer, but she didn’t think dressing to the nines was a good idea for a comic book shop. So she’d just thrown on her nicest (albeit tightest) jeans and a slightly wrinkled flowery Boho top still in one of her boxes from her dorm room. Still, she felt like a freak as she stepped inside and saw the crowd gathered there. More than one group of people—almost all in comic book or flannel shirts, although some of the women had cute animal hats on as well—stopped talking to watch her warily as she headed for the busy cash register.
Brielle cleared her throat. “Um, excuse me…”
The guy behind the counter looked her over from top to bottom. Twice. “End of the line’s that way.” He handed a receipt to the guy in front of him along with a pen for him to sign. Brielle got a look at the stack of books the guy in the Pac-Man shirt was buying: allThe Mystifiedexcept for one calledWheels.
“She’s notbuyinganything,” muttered Pac-Man guy as he signed the slip.
Brielle bristled. She’d discussed this before with Pembroke—that feeling that you weren’t allowed to enjoy something if you didn’t show up dressed for the part. (And sometimes not even then if you might be confused for a hot cosplayer.) She’d been to a comic shop before with Pembroke, a much nicer one in their college town, thank you very much.
Brielle ignored Pac-Man fan. “I came with Archer—Archer Ward? He asked me to get someone to meet him at the door.”
That made everyone within earshot stop what they were doing. The cashier and the customer were both still clinging to the same receipt as they stared at her, wide-eyed, their hands frozen mid-movement.
“Oh,” the cashier finally said. He snatched the receipt from the customer and picked up a phone. “George? Can you come to the front—pronto?”
