Page 34 of Finders Keepers
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 himoohandahover 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.
Chapter Thirteen
