Page 32 of Finders Keepers
Nate returned to the living room in a pair of black performance shorts that hugged his hockey butt and a sky-blue Polo shirt that made his eyes pop. A pair of white sneakers and a backward black ball cap bookended the look. He looked scrumptious.
“We’re a regular pair of bros.”
Nate pulled him close, tilted his face up with a knuckle to his chin, pressed a lingering kiss to Wesley’s lips. “I don’t want to be your bro.”
His heart took off like a herd of third graders headed to recess. “I don’t want to be your bro either, but for your sake, we’ll fake it for a few hours.”
With a nod, Nate said, “Let’s go.”
* * * * *
Wesley had scanned bustling sidewalks as they searched for a parking spot. The Old Market wasn’t overly crowded on this hot summer weekday in mid-August. There were enough peoplefor Nate to be able to hide in the crowd unless someone was really studying faces. Since he was new in town, they’d have to be a die-hard hockey fan.
They started at 14th and Howard Streets and worked their way east, wandering in and out of shops as the impulse struck, from a tobacconist to a chocolatier to a florist.
Wesley ruffled the fronds of some small palm-type thing with his fingers. “You need some plants. That might help that condo feel homier. Add some color and fresh oxygen to the place.”
“Yeah, but who’s gonna water them?” Nate asked. “I like the idea, but I’m away from home so often and for long stretches.”
“I assume the same person who’s going to clean your place. You plan on hiring a cleaning service, right?”
“I need to, yes. You want the job?”
“I have a job,” Wesley said into the bouquet of carnations he was smelling. “One I love.”
They exited the flower shop, blinking at the brightness, and continued down the street.
“These buildings and this brick really speak to me.” Nate perused the closest buildings.
Wesley scanned the buildings along the street as well. Imagined the history of the area and absorbed the mood and the character of the structures. Nodded. “It’s nice. Warm.”
“Exactly. Warmth and personality.” Nate studied the architecture of the buildings as they walked.
“Hey, look—art galleries.” Nate looked across the street while waiting for a green light.
“Yeah, there’s a handful of them down that way.” Wesley waved toward the next block.
“Can we go inside a few?”
“Well, they gotta be open.”
“I meant, do you mind if we go in and look around.”
“Have I minded anything so far?”
“Art is different. Not everyone likes art.”
The light changed to green, and Wesley stepped off the curb. “Well, I do, but even if I didn’t, I’d still agree to check them out with you.” This poor boy had no idea how relationships worked.
“But why?”
“Because you’re my friend. And you want to?”
Nate grinned and ducked his head, a faint flush of color painting the skin above his stubble.
* * * * *
Nate slowed to a stop in front of a large abstract painting. Swaths of bold vivid color—butter and mustard, marigold and marmalade, copper and chestnut—spoke to him, filled him with tranquility. Colors of the living earth. His life had been full of coldness, from the state of his parent’s marriage to the houses he’d lived in to the ice rinks across America in which he spent his life. But the composition and the texture of this piece warmed him from the inside out.
