Page 36 of After the Rain

SEVENTEEN

STOLEN MOMENTS

WADE

T he pizza boxes were empty, Cooper was sugar-crashed from birthday cake leftovers, and Ezra was loading the dishwasher with the casual domesticity that still made my chest tight with wonder.

Tuesday evening had brought the news we'd been holding our breath for—the school board had officially dismissed all complaints against Ezra, declaring them baseless harassment rather than legitimate professional concerns.

"Victory pizza was the right call," I said, watching Cooper arrange his remaining birthday presents for the fifteenth time since Sunday. "Though I think someone's about to crash harder than a meteor."

"Am not," Cooper protested through a yawn that could have swallowed half his face. "I'm just resting my eyes."

Ezra caught my gaze over Cooper's head, his smile warm with shared amusement. Three days of being openly together had created this easy rhythm between us, like we'd been co-parenting for years instead of just figuring out what the hell we were doing.

"Sure you are, buddy," I said, ruffling Cooper's hair. "Just like last night when you were 'resting your eyes' during movie time and somehow ended up snoring on the couch."

"I wasn't snoring!" Cooper protested indignantly. "That was just... heavy breathing."

"Heavy breathing that shook the windows," Ezra added with a grin, earning himself a scandalized look from Cooper.

"Mr. Mitchell! You're supposed to be on my side!"

"I'm on the side of truth, kiddo. And the truth is you snore like a freight train."

Cooper's mock outrage dissolved into giggles, and watching them tease each other made something warm settle in my chest. This was what I'd been missing during my marriage—the easy banter, the comfortable teasing, the sense that we were all on the same team.

"Bath time, loud sleeper," I announced, scooping Cooper up before he could launch another defense of his sleeping habits.

"Can Mr. Mitchell read me a story tonight?" Cooper asked, his arms tight around my neck.

"If he wants to survive another thrilling episode of Captain Underpants," I said, glancing at Ezra.

"I live for Captain Underpants," Ezra replied solemnly. "It's high literature."

"See, Daddy? Mr. Mitchell has good taste."

An hour later, after stories and teeth-brushing and the elaborate bedtime ritual that seven-year-olds require, Ezra and I finally found ourselves alone in the living room. The relief of the day's news still hummed between us, comfortable and warm.

"So," I said, settling onto the couch with two beers, "we survived our first major crisis."

"Barely," Ezra replied, accepting his beer with a grateful sigh. "For a while there, I thought I'd be updating my resume and looking for apartments in other states."

"Not happening. Cedar Falls is stuck with you now."

We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the weight of what we'd overcome settling around us like a warm blanket. Ezra's presence in my house felt so natural now, like he'd always been part of our evening routine.

"Can I ask you something?" I said, turning to face him more fully.

"Shoot."

"How would you feel about making this official? Moving in, I mean. Cooper already assumes you live here half the time, and honestly, it feels weird when you're not here."

Ezra's beer paused halfway to his lips. "Are you asking me to move in with you?"

"I'm asking if you want to move in with us. There's a difference."

"What kind of difference?"

"The difference between 'hey, want to be roommates' and 'hey, want to build a life together,'" I said, suddenly nervous about his reaction. "But if it's too soon, or if you need more time?—"

"Wade," Ezra interrupted gently, "it's not too soon. It's just... big. Moving in together, officially combining our lives, dealing with whatever scrutiny that brings. I want to think about it, make sure I'm ready for everything that comes with it."

"Take all the time you need," I said, though part of me wanted him to say yes immediately. "I just wanted you to know the offer's there."

"I appreciate that. And Wade? I want this. I want us. I just want to make sure I'm thinking clearly and not just caught up in the euphoria of keeping my job."

Wednesday morning found us making coffee together while Cooper ate cereal and provided running commentary on everything from the weather to the relative merits of different breakfast cereals.

"Cheerios are boring," Cooper announced, examining his spoon with scientific intensity. "They're just circles. Food should be more exciting."

"What makes food exciting?" Ezra asked, genuinely curious.

"Shapes! Colors! Maybe some explosions."

"Explosions?" I raised an eyebrow. "In your cereal?"

"Pop Rocks cereal would be awesome," Cooper said dreamily. "Every bite would be like fireworks in your mouth."

"That sounds like a recipe for chaos," Ezra observed.

"The best kind of chaos," Cooper replied with seven-year-old wisdom.

Watching them together—my son and the man I loved debating the explosive potential of breakfast foods—felt like glimpsing the future I'd never dared to imagine. This was what family looked like when it was built on love and laughter instead of obligation.

"Can Mr. Mitchell come to the science museum with us?" Cooper asked through a mouthful of non-explosive cereal.

"That's up to Mr. Mitchell," I said, catching Ezra's amused expression over my coffee mug.

"I think that could be arranged," Ezra replied. "But you'll have to promise to teach me about dinosaurs."

"I know everything about dinosaurs," Cooper declared with absolute confidence. "Did you know that T-Rex had tiny arms but could lift five hundred pounds?"

"Five hundred pounds with tiny arms?" Ezra looked skeptical. "That seems physically impossible."

"It's science, Mr. Mitchell. You can't argue with science."

"Fair point. What else do you know?"

"Velociraptors were actually only about the size of chickens, but movies make them big because little dinosaurs aren't scary enough for grown-ups."

"So Hollywood has been lying to us about dinosaur sizes?"

"Basically, yeah. Grown-ups lie about a lot of stuff to make it more exciting."

I nearly choked on my coffee. "Thanks for that wisdom, Cooper."

"You're welcome, Daddy."

Our first official date night exceeded every expectation. The drive to Romano's—thirty minutes away from Cedar Falls—felt like escaping to another world where we could just be Wade and Ezra instead of the divorced dad and the teacher everyone was watching.

About ten minutes in, Ezra turned slightly toward me in the passenger seat, his voice quiet. “Hey… who’s with Cooper tonight?”

I glanced at him, a small smile tugging at my mouth. “Kane and Jazz are tag-teaming. Kane’s got bedtime duty—his routines are military-grade—and Jazz is staying over, just in case. Between the two of them, he’s probably having a better night than we are.”

Ezra nodded, visibly relaxing, but I could tell it wasn’t about doubt. It was about care.

“You know,” he said gently, “if you ever needed to cut a night short, I’d get it. No hard feelings.”

I looked over at him, the streetlights casting soft shadows on his face. “I know. That’s part of why I’m here. Because you’d mean it.”

Inside the restaurant, my hand found the small of Ezra’s back as the host led us to our table. “I can’t remember the last time I went on an actual date,” I admitted.

“Well, you’re in luck, because I’m an excellent date,” Ezra said, leaning into my touch in a way that made my pulse quicken.

The hostess seated us at a quiet corner table with soft lighting and enough privacy to make it feel like the rest of the world had faded.

Across the candlelit table, I couldn’t stop staring—at the way the flame caught the gold in Ezra’s hair, how his blue eyes seemed to glow in the warmth, and how lucky I felt, just being here with him.

"You're not even looking at the menu," Ezra observed, amused.

"I'm looking at something better," I said, reaching across to take his hand.

His fingers intertwined with mine, and the simple contact sent warmth shooting up my arm. "Smooth talker."

"Just honest." I brought his hand to my lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. "You have no idea how good this feels."

"What? Holding hands?"

"Being able to touch you in public. Looking at you without worrying who's watching." I turned his hand over, tracing patterns on his palm with my thumb. "I want to touch you all the time, and I'm tired of hiding it."

Ezra's breath caught slightly. "Wade..."

"I know we're in a restaurant," I said quietly, "but I can barely keep my hands off you right now."

"Good thing I feel the same way," he murmured, his foot finding mine under the table.

We ordered pasta and wine, but I was more interested in the way Ezra's lips curved around his wine glass, the way he used his hands when he talked, the way his eyes darkened when I traced circles on the back of his hand with my fingers.

"You're going to get us kicked out of here," Ezra said as I lifted his hand to kiss his wrist, right where his pulse was racing.

"Worth it," I replied against his skin.

When our food arrived, I moved my chair closer to his side of the table instead of sitting across from him. "Better," I said, my thigh pressed against his.

"Much better," Ezra agreed, his hand settling on my leg under the table.

We shared bites of each other's pasta, and every time Ezra fed me a forkful, I let my lips linger on the utensil longer than necessary. When he reached for his wine glass, I caught his wrist and pressed my mouth to the sensitive spot just below his palm.

"You're killing me," he whispered.

"Good," I said, my hand sliding higher on his thigh. "I want you thinking about me."

"I'm always thinking about you." His fingers found mine under the table, squeezing tight. "But right now I'm thinking about how much I want to get you alone."

"Dessert?" I asked, catching the server's attention.

"To go," Ezra added quickly, making me laugh.