A Touch of Rain

Chapter 1 When the kettle whistled, Tristan looked up to see the jet of steam shooting out of the snout. How long had he been leaning up against the kitchen counter, staring blankly at the floor tiles? Quickly, he took the kettle off the burner so as not to wake the neighbors. It was three in the morning, and so perfectly quiet in his La Fontaine Park turn-the-of-century building, the neighbors could probably hear him walking around, wondering if he ever slept. Exhausted, but wired with tension, Tristan poured hot water over the bag of chamomile in his cup. Ever since he’d stopped partying six months ago, going to bed at all hours of the morning, the insomnia was like a ghost living side by side with him. An entity unwilling to leave, waiting for the night to come alive and taunt him. Wearily, he blew into the cup, trying to keep his mind off work. He wasn’t going to close his final weekly sale. He’d been in business long enough to read the writing on the wall. The customer hadn’t returned any of his calls today. Tomorrow morning, the man would probably back out of the deal and hand him the contract, unsigned. Tristan’s commission check for the quarter would be a joke. Again. He’d promised his daughters he’d take them back-to-school shopping this weekend. He’d have to put those expenses on his soon to be maxed-out credit card. Cup of tea in hand, Tristan crept down the hallway to the entrance, the hardwood floor creaking under his bare feet. He’d sit on the front porch for a while and maybe the cool September night air would ease his nerves. As he opened the front door, he heard his cellphone buzzing somewhere in the apartment and the sound stopped him in his tracks. He thought he’d made it clear to everyone that he was retiring from the bar scene, but people were still blowing up his phone with text messages and calls. Where are you, Tristan? What happened to you? We’re at the Sky club. Come out, come out, wherever you are. No, he couldn’t live that life anymore. He didn’t have the money, the health, or the desire to continue down that path with Markus and his drinking buddies. Besides, in the last year, he’d slacked off so much at work, he’d be out of a job if he didn’t get his act together soon. Outside, Tristan quietly shut the door behind him and then settled into his favorite wicker chair, curling his long legs under him. Thinking of his new peaceful life, he sipped his tea, and gazed out at the vast La Fontaine Park across the street from his apartment. He hadn’t grown tired of the view, even after three years of living in this upscale and coveted Montreal neighborhood. The wind abruptly picked up, rattling the leaves in the trees and blowing through Tristan’s black hair. He was out in his boxer shorts and a T-shirt. The last thing he needed was to get sick. Maybe he could sleep now. Yes, maybe if he returned to bed and got cozy under the quilt, sleep would finally come. Cup in hand, he stood and turned for the door, but when he heard the neighbor’s door opening at his left he glanced over at it. At the sight of his new, and impossibly cute neighbor, Tristan couldn’t help a smile. “Hey,” he whispered, stepping a little closer to the bannister separating their front porches. Finally, maybe he’d get a chance to talk to this guy. Clad in bright purple silk pajama bottoms and a fitted green tank top that showed off his thin but sculpted chest, the neighbor was holding up two recycling bags full of crushed cardboard boxes. “Oh…hey,” he whispered, obviously surprised to see Tristan standing there. He hesitated, his sexy eyes narrowing a little, and then he descended the three steps leading to the front lawn, giving Tristan a fantastic view of his bouncy little ass. Tristan set his cup down on the floor and watched the man. The neighbor was quietly lugging the bags down the narrow path to the sidewalk, the street lamp’s sheen catching in his blond hair that was bleached at the ends and darker at the roots. The man had an artsy look, something Tristan had always been attracted to. Even back in high school, he’d been drawn to the creative guys in his art class. Intrigued, Tristan stared at the neighbor’s shoulder muscles flexing under his tank top. Ever since the man and his young son had moved in next door last week, he’d wanted to introduce himself to them, but the guy seemed a little shy and clearly not the social type. The neighbor walked back to the porch and glanced Tristan’s way again, his pale eyes flashing in the gray night. “Uh, well, good night,” he said in a soft and androgynous voice. He stepped up the three stairs to his porch. Tristan leaned in a bit, putting his hand on the railing. “Can’t sleep?” With his hand on the door handle, the man looked over at him and smiled a little. “I just remembered Friday mornings are recycling day.” “You remembered at three in the morning?” Tristan cracked a grin and reached his hand out. “I’m Tristan, by the way. Tristan Holt. Been meaning to come by and introduce myself.” The man shook his hand over the bannister. His hand was warm, and his fingers, long and tapered. He had the hands of an artist. Or maybe a musician? “Hi,” he said, “I’m Rain Michaud.” “Rain?” Tristan titled his head. How Interesting. “Spelled like the—well—the precipitation?” Rain held his stare for a few seconds. “It’s short for Rainar. A play on Renard and Rainer.” Renard was the French word for fox. “Nice,” Tristan said, affected by Rain’s eyes. This man was indeed a little fox. “Thanks.” Rain glanced over at the park. “My parents were into original names, I guess.” “So,” Tristan asked, wanting to keep the conversation going a little longer, “how are you settling in?” “Pretty good. The park is a major bonus. Pip likes it.” Rain turned his eyes Tristan’s way again. Were they green or blue? He couldn’t tell in the dark. “Philip is my son’s name, but we call him Pip.” Rain had said we. We as in…my wife and I? Tristan hadn’t spotted anybody else coming in or out of the apartment ever since Rain had moved in, but maybe his wife hadn’t joined them yet. “It’s just such a big change from living in Otterburn Park,” Rain added quietly, crossing his smooth arms over his chest. He had such a tight little body under that tank top. Tristan tried not to be flustered. “Otterburn Park? Yeah, that’s a big change.” Otterburn Park was a small city on Montreal’s south shore. Quaint and quiet. Nothing like Montreal. “What brought you and your son to the city?” Rain’s features tensed a little. “I’m recently separated,” he said. “Sorry. It’s not my business to ask.” “No, no, it’s okay.” “I’m just being neighborly. Well, you know, in other words, nosy and annoying.” This time Rain laughed. “My sister says I’m paranoid. I think she may be right. I’m not used to living in such a busy city anymore. I mean, I used to live in Montreal. God, it seems like a million years ago.” “And your ex-wife lives in Otterburn Park?” That wasn’t smooth at all, but Tristan was dying to know. “Yes, my ex…husband stayed back there and kept the house.” Rain gave him a long look. “Husband. Okay. Right. Cool.” Tristan leaned in a little closer. “Well, if you need anything; sugar, milk or, hey, even an egg. I’m right next door. All right?” Rain laughed again. He had a quirky laugh that made Tristan smile. “Okay. Thanks, Trevor,” he said. “Ouch. It’s Tristan.” “Oh my God, so sorry.” Rain reached out and quickly touched Tristan’s forearm, sending a pleasant sensation through Tristan’s body. “I don’t know why I keep thinking your name is Trevor. So sorry. I thought that’s what my sister said your name was.” “Wait, I know your sister?” Rain let go of the door handle and turned to look at him. “I’m Faustina’s brother.” Yes, now Tristan could see the resemblance. “She did mention having a brother a few times,” he said, “but never by name. So, you’re Faustina’s brother? How is she by the way? I haven’t seen her in months.” Faustina owned the apartment Rain was now living in, but to Tristan’s knowledge, had never lived there herself. Instead, she rented it out and rarely visited, only showing up if there were repair costs to estimate or leases to renew. The last tenants had left three months ago, in June. The apartment had remained empty since then and Tristan had wondered what was going on. Faustina and he weren’t exactly friends, but he’d always enjoyed chatting with her whenever she’d dropped by. “She left for Switzerland last month,” Rain said. “With her fiancé. She’s gonna finish her Ph.D. in urban planning over there, while he works.” Tristan suddenly felt like an underachiever. “Your sister doesn’t mess around.” “My sister is like a machine. If I had half of Faustina’s drive and guts, I’d be satisfied. She clearly got all the brains in the family.” “And you clearly got the looks.” Oh, he was pushing it. Rain’s eyes widened. “Thanks,” he sputtered. Tristan knew he’d really taken a chance with that last line, but he was such a flirt and couldn’t help himself. It was in his nature to chase. What he did best. “She’s renting the place out to you?” he quickly asked, changing the subject. “That’s great. So, I guess your son’s going to that school right in the park?” “Yes, he is.” Rain looked down at the door handle in his hand. “Well, I should check up on him,” he said, opening the door. “Of course.” Tristan stepped back, aware that he’d probably said too much or the wrong thing. “Good night, Rain.” Rain glanced his way again and his stare was bright with mischievousness. “It was really nice to meet you, Trevor,” he teased, before shutting his door. For a moment, Tristan only stared at the door. Then he shook his head, the image of Rain’s little smirk drawing a smile out of him. There was no way he’d be able to sleep now.