Cup of tea in hand, Rain stood in his kitchen, aware of every sound—every shadow the sun threw on his kitchen floor. His anxiety hadn’t been this bad in a long time. He took another sip of his hot tea and set the cup in the freshly rinsed sink. He’d spent the morning and a good part of the afternoon, unpacking, dusting, and then scrubbing the bathtub, but every task had been out of order or never finished. His hands were sore. His throat was tight. He knew a storm was gathering. He could feel it in the air.
Milo was coming. He’d called him from the car, and by the tone of Milo’s voice, it was clear that he knew about Tristan. Pip must have said something about their Friday dinner.
That was okay. That was all right. He wouldn’t be made to feel ashamed.
Tristan had been right about the ni
