He walked across the road and followed the cobblestones down a bit until he came upon a little café. It was in sight of the museum’s main entrance, so this way he could see if Wes walked out. He'd done so much research to find out who he was, and he'd also seen pictures of the gorgeous man.
Marcellus settled down at a table. Shortly after, a man stopped by to take his order. He ordered a croissant and an espresso, even though he wasn’t particularly hungry. He figured he could keep an eye on the museum while trying to figure out what he was going to do next.
Yeah, this probably fell into stalker territory, but he didn’t care.
Wes was definitely in there. He had to be. While Marcellus had conducted his research, he had discovered that Wes was a talented conservator. He was sought after by both public institutions and private individuals to bring pieces back to their former glory. This museum even boasted a few pieces that he’d restored. Each one was a huge undertaking of very intricate work, but Wes must have loved all the detailing it took to give life back to each piece. Marcellus had decided to wait to see the pictures in person instead of what was shown on the website.
The waiter arrived with his order, and Marcellus picked at the croissant. It was delicious, buttery and flaky, but he couldn't enjoy it. Wes still sat heavily upon his mind, and until he met him and had the chance to talk to the omega, he was going to be an anxious mess.
Marcellus stared at the museum for what felt like hours, but, as it turned out when he checked his watch, had only been a few minutes. He thought about everything he’d read and been told by Wes’ brothers. Wes hadn't grown up with them. When Cellus had asked Axel, Alfie, and Rowan what he was like in person, they couldn't answer. His siblings kept track of him, but only when he was back in town, which was infrequent since he travelled so much. Marcellus had wanted every bit of information that he could get, but it had turned out to not be that easy.
Marcellus sighed and bit his lip. It would have been helpful to know more personal things about him. Or at least to have some insight as to who he really was. Instead, he was flying blind, and he had to figure out what to do next on his own.
"I feel like a damn stalker," Marcellus muttered into his espresso cup. "I need to do more than sit here all day and stare at the building waiting for him to appear."
Yeah, it was getting weird even for him. He hadn't seen him yet, but Cellus hoped Wes was inside. It would be weird to go inside and linger while he waited for his mate to arrive. There would be questions, right? He couldn't just say, “Oh, yes, I'm waiting for my omega mate to come. I'll just sit here.” The thought of it made him cringe.
Marcellus downed the rest of the amazing espresso and froze. Across the road, Wes was walking up the steps to the museum. He wore a dark blue and black sweater and jeans that clung to his slim legs and round ass. A grin tugged at Marcellus' lips. Yeah, that was his mate. Even at this distance, he felt the intense draw to the man that reminded him of the opposite poles of a magnet. If he was already feeling this way so far from him, what would it be like when they were close to each other?
Wes had a brilliant mass of thick brown hair with unruly curls, but it only added to his attractiveness. Perched on his nose was a pair of black glasses with square frames. They looked so sexy on him. He walked beside a colleague, a woman that laughed as she kept up with his quick strides. He was absolutely gorgeous. There was a sophisticated air about him as though he knew his way around the world and was well versed in it. Marcellus loved it.
"Okay," he sucked in a breath and dusted off the bits of crumbs that had fallen onto his lap. "I can do this. All I have to do is not make an ass out of myself."
That should have been easy, but Marcellus felt that nervous twisting in his belly again. He wasn't unrefined by any means, but Wes was... different. He was an experienced art expert and an artist himself. Compared to Wes, he couldn’t help wondering what he had that would be a common denominator between them.
He knew he was overreacting, but his brain was in overdrive. Marcellus reminded himself that the goddess knew what she was doing. He quickly paid his bill and stood up, but then realised he still didn't have a plan. If he knew what he was going to do, maybe he would feel better, but he was lost. Just going on a wing and a prayer.
"Sir?" The waiter glanced at him. "Can I get you anything else? Did you need some help?"
Marcellus stared for a brief second but finally shook his head. "No, no, I'm all right. Thank you." He stuffed his wallet back inside of his pocket and exited, leaving the amazing warmth and smells of the café behind. He glanced back and forth at the Puffin crossing before his long strides took him to the museum across the road. It was time for him to meet Wes, no matter how many damn butterflies bounced around his stomach.
Marcellus stopped in front of the museum doors. The glass allowed him to look in, and Wes stood off to the side, talking to someone for a minute. He had one more chance for another deep breath before coming face to face with his mate.
“Well, this is it.” Marcellus pushed his wolf down, the eager beast’s excitement clear as day. When he was finally ready, he pushed his way into the building, and his eyes immediately went to the man he’d been waiting for most of his life.
Two
Wes
Wes looked down at his phone and let out a sigh. It was a lot to handle—the museum, the new art pieces he was prepping for the gallery, everything. He had to figure out what to do next and make sure it was all perfect for both openings. He ran a hand over his face and let out a long breath.
You can do this, Wes.
Yeah, he could, with a lot of coffee. Maybe that would wake him up and get him moving again. Or, it would just make him a jittery mess, and he'd end up all over the place instead of focusing on everything he had to do. He scratched his blond locks and glanced around the lobby. Focus first, and then he could have coffee when he was done. That was the adult thing to do.
Adult thing to do. He wanted to laugh at himself. He hardly felt like an adult most days, just some guy stumbling around trying to find what was the best project to do next. Maybe that was what it meant to be an adult. Wes didn't really have a clue. Everyone said he was a magnificent restorer, conservator, and artist, but he still felt lost more often than not.
"Are you okay?" Sandra glanced up at him. She'd been assisting him at the museum for a while, and she had become his friend as well.
Wes smiled at her. "I'm fine. Really. I was just thinking about the upcoming exhibition." He walked over to the collection of canvasses that bore his signature, waiting to be taken from the museum to the gallery. Slowly, he ran a hand over one. "I don't know if these are good enough."
"Are you serious?" Sandra popped up beside him and smiled at his art. "I love what you've done. The movement, the composition. Your work could be compared to the greats."
Wes’ cheeks heated, but he managed a small smile. Sandra knew how to make him feel better. His eyes ran over his paintings, and he thought that maybe things would be okay after all. Hopefully, people would come and appreciate his art. Then he could be seen as a real artist, not just someone who fixed other people’s work.
Hopefully. The nervous pit in his stomach returned. He pressed a hand against it and tried to ignore the nagging voice in his head that told him he wasn’t good enough. Sandra liked it, and the gallery owners had been impressed enough to give him this small exhibit. Things should be fine.
An odd tingle ran through his belly and all over his body. What the hell was that? Wes’ eyes darted around the room. There was an uneasy feeling growing in his stomach, crawling up his spine.
