Xander

The last page of the addendum printed at 8:47 on a Wednesday evening. I signed it, put it in the folder with the rest, and sat for a moment in the quiet of Carli’s apartment. My laptop. My legal pads, four of them filled end-to-end.

I signed it, put it in the folder with the rest, and sat for a moment in the quiet of Carli’s apartment. My laptop. My legal pads, four of them filled end-to-end. The mug I’d forgotten and left cold on the corner of the desk, which had become something of a running joke between us. The color-coded traffic flow document still pinned to the wall.

I left the mug. I took the legal pads.

There was something about closing out a job that always felt like a small grief, even when the job had gone well. The particular quiet of a task completed. The absence of the problem that had organized your days. I’d felt it on every assessment I’d ever done.

This one felt different.

This one felt like an arrival rather than a departure.

I turned off the desk lamp and went downstairs.

The Brewhouse was still going …I could hear the book club before I reached the door.

Enter your email to finish the scene. I’ll also send you Versions of You — a free novella readers call the book that got them hooked on everything I write.