Page 31 of Finders Keepers
“Yeah. Sure. Did you always want to be a teacher?”
“Yes, actually. Since I was in middle school. I experienced first-hand the transition of young children into monsters, and I thought that if I became a teacher, I could foster a little more acceptance and kindness into that age group.”
“Shouldn’t you be teaching fifth or sixth grade then?”
“I should be, yes, but there are several teachers with more seniority, so I have third grade for now. Which is a lovely age, to be honest. I hope I’m sowing enough seeds in these kids and nurturing them appropriately that they—the seeds, that is—keep blossoming for years to come.”
Nate flashed one of those rare genuine smiles that made his eyes sparkle. “I can’t imagine why they wouldn’t.”
More warmth bloomed in his chest. He was getting too used to the way he felt when he was with Nate, too comfortable in the soft glow of his approval. He hadn’t realized how starvedhe was for real acknowledgment—how badly he needed someone to see him, not just what he did—until Nate’s quiet praise settled into the cracks he didn’t even know were there.
Wesley shifted uncomfortably. Was it possible he was starting to feel too much, too fast? He’d be moving back home soon. If he were smart, he’d start distancing himself now, before this thing between them grew into something more complicated. But could he? Could he really pull back from this connection that felt…real?
“Oh, hey look. Here we are. The border of Nebraska and Iowa.” A few people were ahead of them taking pictures, so they slowed to wait their turn.
Wesley assessed his fatigue. They’d walked at such a meandering pace that he wasn’t winded per se, but his torso ached just from being upright for so long. It was a good discomfort, though, a beneficial one. The muscles needed to be stretched, worked, loosened. School started in three weeks. He had in-service in a couple weeks.Ugh.
“Our turn,” said Nate, tugging Wesley by the elbow. “Let’s both be in two places at once.”
They faced one another, straddling the state line and grinning. Nate took a picture of his sneakered feet to post to social media in the next day or two, and then they asked a mom pushing a stroller to take a picture of them together. Wesley stood in front of Nate, leaning slightly to the east while Nate leaned a bit to the west. She took the picture and handed Wesley his phone back. It was only a picture—so why did it feel like proof of something he shouldn’t want?
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.
