It had been thirty-four years, eleven months, three days, and fourteen hours since the Piemaker had entered the world. Despite his unusual gift and some difficulties, his life had settled into a cheerful routine: In the morning, he and Charlotte Charles would make pies; in the afternoon, he would take Digby for a walk; and at night, after closing up the Pie Hole, he would spend the evening talking and laughing with Chuck. Ned had very simple tastes, and this simple life, like the sweetness of an apple, was perfect.
At this very moment, Ned was putting the final touches on a pie in the kitchen. He knew that Chuck liked a slight dusting of sugar on top of her rhubarb pie, and he also knew she loved small actions like this. "Don't move any of the pieces!" he called to Chuck, who sat in the living room with a checkerboard in front of her.
She smiled. Ned was terrible at checkers, but it had been one of the games from their childhood, and she liked these small connections between them. She took one of Ned's checkers that she had jumped previously and placed it back on the board. Digby, resting his head on her lap, wagged his tail in approval. "I'm not!" she called back.
He moved three slices of pie (Digby enjoyed pie just as much as Ned and Chuck did) to plates, and asked, "Do you want a la mode tonight?"
"I think I ate the last of the ice cream yesterday," Chuck said apologetically. "Sorry."
"No worries," Ned said, balancing the plates carefully. "Three rhubarbs, coming up!"
Digby raised his head in alarm. Something felt wrong.
And indeed, something was very wrong, but poor Digby had no way of preventing it. He remembered that long ago he had experienced that same uneasy feeling, and shortly afterwards Ned's mother had died instantly from an aneurysm.
Unfortunately, in the kitchen, although his culinary skills matched those of his mother, Ned never realized that his death would medically mirror his mother's as well.
The sound of Ned falling and plates of pie clattering to the ground seemed unusually loud in the small apartment. Digby barked, and Chuck stood up. "Ned?" she called. "Are you alright?"
The golden retriever raced ahead of her into the kitchen and howled. Chuck hurried to the doorway, fearing the worst, and unfortunately finding it laying on the floor.
"Ned!" she screamed, and rushed to kneel down beside him. Digby was nudging his nose into Ned's hand, whimpering, and seeing this, she began to cry. Carefully, she reached out and touched his cheek, hoping to see the magical blue spark she had grown so accustomed to, but there was none. Snuffling back tears, Chuck ran her hand softly along his jaw, feeling the faint stubble he always joked about. Gently, she pressed her lips to his, praying he would awaken like Sleeping Beauty, but he didn't stir.
Still crying, she laid on the floor beside him, resting her head on his chest. They had never discussed their mortality, even though it was evident that neither she nor Digby were aging, but they didn't expect it would become an issue this early. Digby whimpered again.
Fate, however, did not make it an issue for very long. At exactly 60 seconds after the Piemaker's death, Death had come collecting again in the small kitchen.
Charlotte did not remember standing up. She had blinked, and for a moment the world had been dark, but it had refocused itself and she found herself standing. The kitchen was pristine and bright, and both Ned and Digby were gone. It was oddly silent.
"I must be dreaming," she said carefully, though she didn't believe herself. She wondered if any time had passed since—the event (she skirted around the thought), or if she was having an out-of-body experience, and she decided to stand perfectly still until she realized which one it was.
A warm hand took her own, and when she turned she found Ned, looking younger and smiling. Relief flooded through her, and oddly, it came mixed with a deep sadness she didn't immediately understand. "Chuck," he said softly.
"Ned," she said, taking his other hand.
His smile fell a little, and he said, "So, we're both…"
She nodded, knowing somehow it hadn't been a nightmare.
Slowly, they marveled at the feel of each other's hands, no longer blocked by improvised guards against death, no longer fearing a sudden spark that would separate them forever. They ran their hands through each other's hair gently, and then their lips met in a kiss that tasted like rhubarb pie with sugar.
After a moment, they looked into each other's eyes. "Are you ready?" Ned asked quietly.
Chuck nodded.
The kitchen slowly faded in a bright light, and Chuck squinted to see. She suddenly smelled pies and baking bread, and somewhere in the distance, she could hear Digby barking. Her hands were still intertwined with Ned's. And then they were gone.