Page 15 of After the Rain

The offer surprised me as much as it surprised Wade. I'd been thinking it, sure, but actually voicing it felt like stepping over a line I wasn't sure I should cross.

Wade's face lit up with genuine gratitude. "That would be amazing. Are you sure? I don't want to impose on your weekend."

This is where you should backtrack,I told myself.This is where you suggest he bring Cooper back after school Monday instead.

"I'm sure. Cooper's creativity deserves better than a worksheet that doesn't fit his reality."

As we finalized plans for Saturday morning, I caught Mrs. Henderson smiling warmly at our interaction. But Mrs. Garrett, collecting her daughter from the cubbies, wore an expression that was less welcoming. Her eyes lingered on Wade and me in a way that made me wonder what conclusions she was drawing.

I reminded myself that offering homework help was part of my job. Teachers did this kind of thing all the time. The fact that my anticipation about seeing Wade's home environment felt more personal than professional was my own business.

Saturday morning arrivedgray and drizzly, typical Pacific Northwest weather that made staying inside seem like the best possible plan. I pulled up to Wade's address and found myself sitting in my Honda for a moment, taking in the craftsman bungalow with its wide front porch and well-maintained yard.

The sound of power tools hummed from inside, and I could hear Cooper's excited voice mixing with Wade's patient instructions. The front door was wide open despite the cool morning, and through the screen door I could see movement and activity.

This was a home being actively lived in and improved, so different from my orderly apartment where everything had its place and nothing was ever out of alignment.

You could still leave,I thought, my hands gripping the steering wheel.Text that you're feeling sick, that you'll help Cooper with the project Monday during lunch.

But even as the thought crossed my mind, Wade appeared in the doorway, safety glasses pushed up on his forehead, sawdust dusting his dark hair. He looked appealingly rumpled in worn jeans and a t-shirt that had clearly seen better days, and when he spotted my car, his face broke into a smile.

That smile did something to my chest. Something warm and dangerous and completely unprofessional.

Too late now.

"Perfect timing," he said, pushing open the screen door as I approached the porch. "Cooper's been up since six asking when you'd get here."

"Sorry if I'm early."

"Are you kidding? Come in, please. Fair warning—we're in the middle of a project."

He gave me a quick tour while explaining the ongoing renovation work. The hardwood floors had been restored to their original beauty, gleaming under the morning light. Crown molding that looked original but was probably painstakingly recreated framed every room. The kitchen had been opened up to create better flow between rooms, with period-appropriate fixtures that had clearly been chosen with both authenticity and functionality in mind.

"Did you do all this yourself?" I asked, running my hand along a perfectly restored window frame. The wood was smooth as silk, stained to highlight the natural grain.

"Most of it. It's been a work in progress since we moved in. Cooper likes to help with the non-dangerous parts." Wade gestured toward the kitchen, where I could see child-sized tool marks on a piece of practice wood. "He's got his own workbench in the garage."

I could see Wade's devotion to creating a good home for Cooper in every carefully considered detail. The built-in bookshelves at exactly Cooper's height, the lowered coat hooks, the artwork displayed at six-year-old eye level. But this wasn't just child-proofing—it was beautiful craftsmanship that happened to be kid-friendly.

"This is incredible work," I said, genuinely impressed. "The attention to detail is museum quality."

Wade's cheeks flushed with pleasure, and something in my stomach fluttered at the sight. "Architecture school taught me to appreciate the bones of a building. But the real skill is in the execution. Each piece of wood has its own personality—you have to work with it, not against it."

He showed me where he'd carefully preserved original details like the decorative spindles in the staircase banister, explaining how he'd had to research 1920s construction techniques to restore them properly. His passion for the craft was evident in every word, every gesture, and I found myself watching the way his hands moved as he spoke—strong, capable hands with calluses from real work.

There was something deeply attractive about competence, about watching someone who was genuinely skilled at creating beautiful things.

The kitchen smelled like pancakes and coffee, evidence of Wade's attempt at impressive breakfast hospitality. Cooper bounced between showing me his latest Lego creation and helping Wade flip pancakes, clearly comfortable having his teacher in their home space.

"Mr. Mitchell! Look what I built!" Cooper thrust a complex spaceship into my hands. "It has escape pods and everything!"

"This is incredible engineering," I said, examining the intricate design. "Tell me how the escape pods work."

As Cooper launched into a detailed explanation of his ship's features, I watched Wade move around the kitchen with easy confidence. He'd clearly put effort into making breakfast special—real maple syrup, fresh berries, coffee that smelled considerably better than the sludge they served at school.

Being included in their Saturday morning routine felt unexpectedly intimate. Not sexual intimacy, but the kind of domestic closeness that came from sharing ordinary moments. The way Cooper automatically set three places at the table, the way Wade poured my coffee without asking how I liked it, the way they moved around each other in the kitchen like a choreographed dance.

But underneath the comfort was an undercurrent of awareness I couldn't ignore. The way Wade's eyes lingered on me when he thought I wasn't looking. How he found excuses to brush past me in the kitchen, our shoulders touching for just a moment longer than necessary. The way his voice got slightly rougher when he spoke directly to me.

---