Page 10 of After the Rain

But underneath the comfort was an undercurrent of awareness I couldn't ignore.

The way Wade's eyes lingered on me when he thought I wasn't looking.

How he found excuses to brush past me in the kitchen, our shoulders touching for just a moment longer than necessary.

The way his voice got slightly rougher when he spoke directly to me.

During breakfast, I found myself studying Wade's face as he listened to Cooper's building ideas, the way he took his son's suggestions seriously and built on them rather than dismissing them.

There was something deeply attractive about Wade's patient, encouraging parenting style that went beyond mere competence.

"You two have such a great dynamic," I said, then immediately wondered if the comment was too personal.

Wade looked up from cutting Cooper's pancakes, something unreadable in his expression. "We're still figuring it out. The single-dad thing is newer than I'd like to admit."

"You'd never know it. Cooper clearly feels secure with you."

"Some days I feel like I'm winging it completely."

"Welcome to parenting," I said with a smile. "I think winging it is part of the job description."

Cleaning up together after breakfast felt natural. Wade washed, I dried, Cooper put away silverware in a routine that suggested they'd found their rhythm as a family unit. When Wade handed me a coffee mug, his fingers brushed mine, and the contact sent electricity up my arm.

I was definitely in trouble here.

Wade must have felt it too, because his eyes met mine for a moment longer than necessary before he turned back to the sink.

"So," he said, his voice slightly rougher than before. "Ready to tackle that family tree?"

But as we settled in the living room with art supplies scattered across Wade's coffee table, I found myself second-guessing the wisdom of being here.

This felt too intimate, too much like something that could be misinterpreted.

Cooper was contentedly arranging crayons by color, but Wade and I were sitting close together on the couch, our thighs almost touching as we leaned forward to help.

"Maybe I should go," I said suddenly, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. "This feels like... I mean, I don't want to overstep professional boundaries."

Wade's face fell. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, it's not you. It's just..." I gestured helplessly at the domestic scene around us. "This feels more personal than professional, and I have to be careful about how things look."

Cooper looked up from his crayons, clearly picking up on the tension between the adults. "Are you leaving, Mr. Mitchell? But we haven't finished my tree yet."

Wade studied my face for a moment, then seemed to make a decision. "Cooper, buddy, can you go get that book about different types of trees from your room? The one we got from the library?"

"Okay!" Cooper bounded upstairs, clearly unaware of the complicated adult dynamics he was leaving behind.

Wade turned to face me fully. "Ezra, I want to thank you for coming. I know that Cooper needed help, but also because... because I wanted to spend time with you. Outside of school, without the teacher-parent roles getting in the way."

The admission hung between us, honest and vulnerable and terrifying.

"Wade..."

"I know it's complicated. I know there are professional considerations. But I also know that I haven't felt this comfortable with anyone in years, and Cooper has never taken to a teacher the way he's taken to you."

I found myself telling him about Portland, about David Rivera's accusations, about the way suspicion could spread and destroy a career even when there was no basis for it.

Wade listened without interrupting, his face growing darker as I explained how my dedication to a struggling student had been twisted into something sinister.

"That's fucked up," he said when I finished. "That man used his own bigotry to punish you for caring about his kid."

"It taught me to be careful."

"And you think I might react the same way?"

I looked at him—really looked at him—trying to read his expression. "I don't know. People can surprise you, and not always in good ways."

Wade was quiet for a moment, processing what I'd shared. When he spoke again, his voice was steady and sure.

"I'm not that guy, Ezra. I'm not going to twist your kindness into something ugly, and I'm sure as hell not going to punish you for caring about Cooper. If anything, I'm grateful for it."

I made a decision. "Okay. Let's build the best family tree ever."

We spent the next hour creating something beautiful together, and with every passing moment, I found myself falling deeper into dangerous territory.

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.