Page 17 of After the Rain

It wasn't just Wade's competence that drew me, though watching him help Cooper with patient guidance was undeniably attractive. It wasn't just his physical presence, though I'd started noticing the way his jeans fit, the strength in his hands, the way he moved with quiet confidence.

It was the whole picture. The warmth of his home, the love he shared with Cooper, the way he made me feel like part of something larger than myself. It was the way he looked at me when he thought I wasn't paying attention—like I was something worth studying, worth understanding.

During our afternoon in the backyard, watching Wade demonstrate the treehouse construction, I found myself admiring more than just the carpentry. His competence with tools, his easy physical confidence, the way his t-shirt shifted across his shoulders as he worked.

When he climbed down the ladder and we ended up standing closer than necessary, both of us aware of each other in ways that had nothing to do with construction, I felt the moment stretch between us like a held breath.

The urge to close the remaining distance was almost overwhelming.

Cooper's innocent commentary broke the spell, but the awareness remained, humming under every interaction for the rest of the day.

By evening, when Wade asked me to stay for dinner, I should have made excuses. Should have cited grading to do or errands to run. Should have maintained the professional boundaries that were already blurred beyond recognition.

Instead, I heard myself saying, "I'd like that."

Cooking dinner together revealed even more domestic compatibility. The three of us worked around each other in the kitchen with surprising ease, and I noticed how naturally I fit into their evening routine, how right it felt to be part of their family unit, even temporarily.

After Cooper fell asleep between us during story time, Wade and I cleaned up in comfortable silence, moving around each other like we'd been doing this for years instead of hours.

On the front porch with wine and quiet conversation, I found myself sharing more than I'd intended about my life, my loneliness, my careful navigation of small-town expectations. Wade listened like my words mattered, like I mattered.

When I finally left around nine o'clock, our goodbye handshake lingered longer than necessary, both of us reluctant to end what had been a perfect day.

Driving home, I acknowledged what I'd been trying to ignore all day. My feelings for Wade had moved far beyond professional interest or casual attraction. I was falling for both the man and the life he represented—the warmth of his home, the love he shared with Cooper, the way he made me feel like part of something larger than myself.

But I was still unsure if Wade saw me as anything more than Cooper's helpful teacher. The moments of connection we'd shared could have been friendship, gratitude, or simple politeness.

I was careful by nature, had learned to be cautious about reading too much into straight men's kindness. Wade had been married to a woman for fifteen years, had a child with her. Men like that didn't usually discover sudden attractions to their male kindergarten teachers.

But the way Wade had looked at me tonight, the lingering touches, the invitation to stay for dinner—it felt like more than professional courtesy.

The smart thing would be to pull back now, before my feelings deepened further. Before I started hoping for something that could never happen.

But as I parked in front of my empty apartment, all I could think about was the warmth of Wade's smile, the sound of Cooper's laughter, the way it had felt to be part of their family for one perfect day.

I was already in too deep to turn back now.

FIVE

SLEEPLESS IN CEDAR FALLS

WADE

Ilay in bed staring at the ceiling like it held answers to questions I wasn't sure I was ready to ask.

Twelve-thirty AM, and my mind was racing through every moment of the day with Ezra. The easy way he'd fit into our morning routine, how natural it felt having him at our kitchen table, the way Cooper had curled up between us during story time like we were already a family.

That last thought made my chest tight.

Sleep clearly wasn't happening. I'd been tossing and turning for two hours, my body exhausted but my mind spinning like a hamster on a wheel. When insomnia hit like this, I had a ritual that usually helped.

I slipped out of bed, pulled on jeans and a hoodie, and grabbed my keys.

I paused in the hallway, glancing toward Cooper’s closed door. No matter how wired I was, I couldn’t just leave him alone.

Jazz answered on the second ring, groggy but familiar.

“You okay?” she asked, immediate concern in her voice.

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