Chapter Twelve
Time in the great outdoors had done Wesley a world of good. The fresh air and sunshine from their outing to the Bob Kerrey Pedestrian Bridge a couple of days ago had invigorated him in a way the condo couldn’t, even with its wall of windows.
The pain from his injuries had dulled to a manageable throb, and the fogginess in his brain had mostly cleared.
They’d settled into an easy rhythm—quiet mornings, shared meals, and long stretches of comfortable silence punctuated by conversations that wandered wherever their whims took them.
After yet another athlete-approved breakfast and the following kitchen clean-up, Wesley found himself restless.
“You ever been to the Old Market?” he asked.
Nate shook his head. “Been meaning to, but...”
Wesley waved a hand. “Going by yourself isn’t any fun.”
“Exactly.”
“So, let’s go.”
“What? Now?”
“You have anything better to do?”
Nate grinned. “I s’pose not.”
“Okay then. Let me change into something less obviously gay and we’ll go.”
Nate’s large hand on his forearm stopped him. “You don’t have to change.”
Something warm and fuzzy burst in Wesley’s chest. “You have no idea how much that means to me. However, you’re new to town.
If you get recognized by a random hockey fan and are seen with a blatantly gay man–that could mean trouble for you.
Especially if they follow hockey and know your story.
There are a lot more Tommys out there. You’ve done so much for me. Let me do this one small thing.”
Long moments drew out while their gazes remained locked, until Wesley raised an eyebrow, and Nate cracked a smile. Oh, that smile. How Wesley wished he could make it happen more often.
“I appreciate it, but you really don’t have to. I’m a very vocal ally, you know.”
Wesley lifted on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to the corner of Nate’s mouth. “I know. I’ve been the recipient of that vocal allyship, but I want to.” Nate’s general acceptance and his live-and-let-live approach made it easy for Wesley to make the choice.
“If that’s what you want, then okay. Yeah. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Wesley disappeared into his room and emerged wearing a pair of flat-front shorts in a dark khaki color, a short-sleeved button-down with little palm trees printed all over it, and a pair of deck shoes.
Nate returned to the living room in a pair of black performance shorts that hugged his hockey butt and a sky-blue Polo shirt that made his eyes pop. A pair of white sneakers and a backward black ball cap bookended the look. He looked scrumptious.
“We’re a regular pair of bros.”
Nate pulled him close, tilted his face up with a knuckle to his chin, pressed a lingering kiss to Wesley’s lips. “I don’t want to be your bro.”
His heart took off like a herd of third graders headed to recess. “I don’t want to be your bro either, but for your sake, we’ll fake it for a few hours.”
With a nod, Nate said, “Let’s go.”
* * * * *
Wesley had scanned bustling sidewalks as they searched for a parking spot.
The Old Market wasn’t overly crowded on this hot summer weekday in mid-August. There were enough people for Nate to be able to hide in the crowd unless someone was really studying faces.
Since he was new in town, they’d have to be a die-hard hockey fan.
They started at 14th and Howard Streets and worked their way east, wandering in and out of shops as the impulse struck, from a tobacconist to a chocolatier to a florist.
Wesley ruffled the fronds of some small palm-type thing with his fingers. “You need some plants. That might help that condo feel homier. Add some color and fresh oxygen to the place.”
“Yeah, but who’s gonna water them?” Nate asked. “I like the idea, but I’m away from home so often and for long stretches.”
“I assume the same person who’s going to clean your place. You plan on hiring a cleaning service, right?”
“I need to, yes. You want the job?”
“I have a job,” Wesley said into the bouquet of carnations he was smelling. “One I love.”
They exited the flower shop, blinking at the brightness, and continued down the street.
“These buildings and this brick really speak to me.” Nate perused the closest buildings.
Wesley scanned the buildings along the street as well. Imagined the history of the area and absorbed the mood and the character of the structures. Nodded. “It’s nice. Warm.”
“Exactly. Warmth and personality.” Nate studied the architecture of the buildings as they walked.
“Hey, look—art galleries.” Nate looked across the street while waiting for a green light.
“Yeah, there’s a handful of them down that way.” Wesley waved toward the next block.
“Can we go inside a few?”
“Well, they gotta be open.”
“I meant, do you mind if we go in and look around.”
“Have I minded anything so far?”
“Art is different. Not everyone likes art.”
The light changed to green, and Wesley stepped off the curb. “Well, I do, but even if I didn’t, I’d still agree to check them out with you.” This poor boy had no idea how relationships worked.
“But why?”
“Because you’re my friend. And you want to?”
Nate grinned and ducked his head, a faint flush of color painting the skin above his stubble.
* * * * *
Nate slowed to a stop in front of a large abstract painting.
Swaths of bold vivid color—butter and mustard, marigold and marmalade, copper and chestnut—spoke to him, filled him with tranquility.
Colors of the living earth. His life had been full of coldness, from the state of his parent’s marriage to the houses he’d lived in to the ice rinks across America in which he spent his life.
But the composition and the texture of this piece warmed him from the inside out.
They continued through the gallery, stopping at one piece or another. Conversation remained easy and light.
“I’m gonna go look over there.”
“I’m gonna go look over there.”
They spoke at the same time but pointed in different directions. Then they laughed.
“Meet you at the front door,” Wesley said.
“Yup.” Nate nodded and wandered back to the painting that had caught his eye. The vivid earth tones and textured layering struck a chord within him. He stepped back to study it from more of a distance.
“There you are.” Wesley’s voice floated toward Nate as he approached.
Nate nodded. “I’m gonna buy it.”
“It’s a beautiful piece. Where you gonna put it?”
Nate glanced at Wesley and then back at the painting, feeling another waft of serenity swirl around him, like the wash of small warm waves over his bare feet. He laughed. “I have no idea.”
Twenty minutes later, painting purchased and delivery arranged, they exited the gallery, the sunlight brighter and the air warmer than they’d been when he and Wesley entered the gallery’s dark interior.
“I’m starved,” Nate said even though only a couple of hours had passed since breakfast.
“Dropping several grand on a painting’ll do that.”
Nate snorted. His car aside, the painting wasn’t the single most expensive thing he’d ever bought. That would be his watch.
Wesley shook his head. “I mean, I’ve never witnessed someone just do that. I don’t even want to know what your credit limit is.”
“Well—” Nate lifted his ball cap, scratched the back of his head. “It’s an Amex...?” He resettled his hat.
Wesley sighed. “Right. There isn’t one.”
“Not really.” Nate shrugged. What else could he say or do?
“Also, you make an indecent amount of money.” Wesley elbowed him lightly.
Nate chuckled. “I kinda do, yeah. Where do you want to eat? Money’s no object.”
Wesley cackled. “It’s your money. Where do you want to eat?”
“I’d settle for McDonald’s right about now.”
“Oh, hell no, Mr. Moneybags. Let’s head down 11th. I think there’s a brewing company restaurant place. We can try some of their original brews.”
Nate froze for half a second, but this was Wesley. If there was one thing he’d learned in the last week—the man was the last person to judge or ask questions. “I don’t drink.”
“Oh.” Wesley waved a hand in dismissal. “I’m sure they have sodas or iced tea.” He rolled his eyes. “Or water.”
Nate laughed, feeling lighter with relief. “Hey, I had a soda the other day from Bronco’s.”
“That you took about three slurps of and then got a bottle of water.”
“You saw that?”
Wesley nodded, the tips of his ears going pink. Huh.
“It’s too sweet.”
Wesley chortled. “Says the guy who chugs orange juice like there’s no tomorrow.”
“It’s juice!”
“It’s still full of sugar, natural though it may be.”
They bantered the rest of the way to the restaurant about everything and nothing.
Unlike conversations with his teammates that centered around hockey, their families or girlfriends, or, in the case of the truly single guys, picking up women and having sex, talking about other things was a welcome change of pace.
He didn’t mind discussing hockey, of course. It was his life, his passion. Nor did he mind the windows into his teammates’ personal lives. And it wasn’t that he really minded talking about picking up or having sex—he just didn’t think the guys would appreciate his perspective.
Learning about the challenges of teaching, especially in a small district, discussing the merits of plant-based milk, and arguing over which family of candy bars was better with good-natured abandon accompanied them to the restaurant—the small ball of contentment that had flickered to life inside of Nate a week ago, grew larger and warmer by the minute.
Was this what dating was like? He had no fucking clue, but he liked it. He liked it a lot.
Well, get over it, Hennessey—you can’t date a man.
Didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy his time with Wesley while it lasted.
* * * * *
Seeing what Wesley believed to be Nate’s true nature emerge was like witnessing the dawn. A gradual lightening of the sky in colors that took your breath away, the shimmery rays of the early morning sun shifting and growing, until all of a sudden you were bathed in the golden glow of the risen sun.
Wesley had always been a morning person.
They’d finished their meal and had continued on their way. Talk had turned to workout routines.
“...I hate the treadmill, you know? I’d rather run the streets for visual interest, but I have to be careful of my knee.” Nate stopped.
Wesley stopped, too. His gaze followed Nate’s.
An A-frame chalkboard sign that read “Open House” with hearts and swirls stood beside an open door to a brick building.
“Hey, look. An open house...”
“Okay.”
His intense blue gaze turned to Wesley. “You mind?”
Wesley rolled his eyes. They had nowhere to be. That was the point of the Old Market, after all. To wander in and out of buildings and businesses as the notion struck you.
Nate grinned and shrugged. “Just thought I’d ask.”
Wesley trailed after him as he followed the signs to the second floor and the available loft.
The sounds of delight coming from Nate were almost sinful, and while they cranked up the heat in Wesley’s libido, they also warmed his heart.
After all of Nate’s lamenting about how much he disliked his condo, seeing him charmed by the brick and steel that made up the bulk of the loft’s building materials was great.
For whatever reason, plain white sheetrock walls made Nate miserable.
Nate wandered around and looked into closets and opened cabinets, and Wesley followed him around, listening to him ooh and ah over the ingenious creation of storage space in some obscure nook or the clean lines of the staircase and the openness of the space as a whole.
“Wow, that was really something, wasn’t it?” Wesley asked as they stepped back into the heat of late summer.
“That was amazing.”
“Well, why not rent it? Or hell, just buy it. You’ve indicated over and over how much you dislike the condo and want to move out.”
Nate’s eyes widened. “Huh. I could, couldn’t I?”
“Yes, Mr. Moneybags, you could.” The man could drop thousands on a painting without blinking, but buying a place had somehow never occurred to him? Wesley swallowed a laugh.