Page 33 of Finders Keepers
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.”
