Although, as much as he wanted to hear about Wes’s life, he was also eager to clear up any rumors that had made their way to Wes’s ears from the distortions that naturally occurred when news traveled quickly and with more interest in entertainment than in the veracity of the stories incirculation.
“I’d really enjoy that,” Wesreplied.
“It’s a date, then,” Art teased, but felt embarrassed immediately after he spoke the words. That was something he would typically say to any of his friends as a joke, but in Wes’s case, it was the first time and could have been interpreted to mean something more, so he quickly retracted it with, “Not actually a date, but of course, you know what Imean.”
“Yes, I assumed you were kidding,” Wes said with yet another amusedlaugh.
As Art’s face filled with heat, he was transported back to that afternoon in the park, when he’d similarly blushed because of the emotions a guy like Wes had the power to stir withinhim.
Art felt so foolish, so childish…soalive.
And he moved the conversation on to details about the pizzeria near the community center, where they would meet uplater.
Art said, “I have a water-polo meetup at eleven thirty, so if one or one thirty works foryou—”
“Justfine.”
With that, it was settled, and Art and Wes gazed at each other just a little too long before Art managed to pull himself away. He grabbed a few more books, feeling an unusual amount of adrenaline moving through him, responsible for a slight pep in his step as he headed out of the library, feeling as though his sixteen-year-old-boy dreams had somehow come true. It was the sort of feeling he would have had if it were a date, but he knew better than to romanticize something so silly. He was not that young man who’d once clung so desperately to ideas about love andromance.
However, that didn’t change the fact that Wes Brenner had been one of the men who had helped him in his early discovery about who he was…and his attraction toward other men. And as long as it had been since that day that had been so clarifying, he couldn’t divorce himself from those early feelings and the fanciful daydreams he’d had about what he and Wes could havebeen.
At the same time, the distance seemed less far when he could so easily conjure up that feeling once again, as though it was the first time they had met or that day they had shared on a bench by the pond when Wes Brenner managed to make himblush.
* * *
The signover the pizzeria readMargie’s. As Wes entered the place, he glanced around at the packed restaurant. He’d arrived a little early so he could find his bearings. Being in so many new places threw him off, especially when he’d adjusted to his own home and Justin’s over lengthy periods of time. It was unsettling not knowing the layout of everything around him, so he wanted to get a feel of the place. However, as soon as he saw Art already standing in a cluster of people, chatting, his arms folded, it was clear that his effort to arrive early enough not to be thrown off his game had been invain.
Art’s gaze shifted around the room, and he spotted Wes. He waved, urged him over, and introduced him to the group he was talking to. Art was so at ease in this setting, clearly comfortable with himself and his place in the community. This was so different from the way Art had acted when they were younger. He was always social and friendly, but there was this ease about him now…this confidence he’d acquired over the years, and Wes was sure a large part of it had to do with coming to terms with who he was far sooner than Wes had. Every moment he spent around Art left him more and more curious about the life he’d lived outside of Wes’sawareness.
Soon Art’s friends, who were just finishing up their meal, headed off, and he and Wes joined the orderingline.
“What’s good?” Wes asked as he studied the menu behind the registers. “Anything I should be waryof?”
“Everything’s fairly safe. And you have plenty of options here, because they’re accommodating people’s particular diets. I’m not a fan of olives, so I tend to avoidthose.”
“I loveolives.”
“My friend Tony enjoys the Italian stromboli. I usually go for something like the Alfredo pizza. You’re not lactose intolerant, areyou?”
“No, no,” Wes assured him. “Dairy doesn’t always sit right with me, but outside of that, nothing major. I do have to keep a low-sodium diet because of myheart.”
“Of course. Just let the staff know. Most of the restaurants inside Heathrow are good about working with our dietary needs, so if there’s anything here that might upset your health, or your stomach for that matter, they can help guide you to more mindful options. Believe me, it’s not worth risking an unpleasant experience because you want to try somethingnew.”
“Unpleasant experience sounds like it underestimates what an upset stomach can do to a guy like me,” Wes teased, and they laughed together. “Although, seriously, I’m glad that health is such a priority forthem.”
“Regardless of how much of a priority it is for them, it’s not always helpful when certain residents don’t pay any mind to their bodies. But I would say that after one or two problematic episodes, people typically comearound.”
Art’s kindness and pleasant nature set Wes right at ease. They chatted as they waited in line, and when it was time to order, Wes opted for the stromboli, low-sodium style, as they called it. Art went with what was apparently his usual Alfredo slice. Then they found a booth and placed their respective plastic numbers in the metal stand at the edge of their table so the waiters would be able to bring their foodover.
After Wes made himself comfortable in the cushioned booth, he said, “Well then, Art, perhaps you can start by telling me what you’ve been up to all these years. I’d be afraid to say exactly how many years it’sbeen.”
“Not sure ignorance will spare us any pains or wrinkles,” Art said playfully, “but I’m more than happy to pretend we’re just meeting up the day after our chat in thepark.”
“You remember that?” Wes asked, inspecting Art’s expression, eyes narrowing, brows pullingtogether.
“I don’t struggle with my memory. And that was certainly the most we’d spoken since we were kids and even after, wouldn’t youagree?”
Burning questions fired off in Wes’s mind, though he had a difficult time articulating why they had so much meaning to him. Had that little exchange between them meant anything to Art? Should it have? And if so, to what extent had it played on Art’s mind in the years since, if atall?
