Page 19 of Necessary Time

“Just glad to see you’re awake.”

“Some of us work.”

“I want to work.” I could hear the pout in Wesley’s voice.

“Then get a job?”

He sighed. “I will once I get settled in. Just another week or so probably. I’m not freeloading, though. I had some money saved.”

“I never said you were,” I told him.

Wesley didn’t say anything back to that, but the silence stretched between us, punctuated by the noise of traffic as I sped away from work. I could picture Wesley in my passenger seat, trailing his arm out the window, fingers dancing through the breeze while he talked and, in that moment, I realized how much I hated his silence.

I’d like to have you as a friend.

My own words echoed back to me again, an answer to the question that had been plaguing me all week. Without even trying, Wesley filled the silent places of my mind and I didn’t realize how much I’d needed that until he was there. Until he was doing it.

“Is there a reason you were asking after my nighttime schedule?” I asked, hoping to draw him out and back into the conversation.

“Oh. Yeah. Right. Uhm, did you want to hang out?”

The light back in his voice like someone had flipped a switch had me smiling. “What did you have in mind?”

“Can you come pick me up?” he asked. “Or I can meet you at your place and we can go?”

I huffed a breath. “Go where? I’m still dressed for work.”

“What do you wear to work?”

I glanced down at my pressed navy slacks, navy tie, and white button-up. “Nothing exciting.”

“Do you wear ties?” Wesley asked.

“Sometimes.”

“Right now?”

“Yes, Wesley,” I told him.

“What’s the pattern?”

“The pattern?”

“Yeah,” he said like it was obvious. “On your tie.”

“My tie is plain. It’s blue, like my slacks.”

“Slacks.” Wesley chuckled. “What shade of blue?”

“Is any of this relevant?”

“It’s interesting,” he said. “Anyway, there’s this bar by the beach that has turtle races and I was told that would be a cool thing, and I wanted to see if you want to go do that. With me.”

“You’re not old enough to go into a bar,” I reminded him.

I reminded myself.

“It’s not abarbar. It’s like a pub. Restaurant. Whatever. With a bar, which I can’t sit at, but thanks for reminding me,” he grumbled.