Gorgeous, businessman, Saxon Dearing buys a pied de terre in the city where he works. Only using the place for three nights, he goes home to his beachside house for the rest of the week. At thirty-two, immersed in his work, he doesn’t know he’s lonely until delicious, twenty-five year old Jon Palmer literally drops into his life during a thunderstorm.
Artist
Jon struggles to sell his paintings from a tiny studio, and works in a city
gallery to pay his rent. As the two
men fall in love, Jon can’t overcome the idea his lack of success is a barrier
to telling handsome, wealthy Saxon how he feels.
Will
he risk telling Saxon he loves him or let his lack of confidence lead him
astray and away from the man who loves him, too?
#FirstChapterFriday
Chapter One
Saxon Dearing owned a pied-de-terre on the outskirts of the
city. That summer, after much searching, he’d chosen it for the huge French
windows along the studio balcony, and
for the two skylights in the shape of triangular prisms, one of which surprised
him with a view of stars on clear nights from his bed. Saxon had meant to buy an
apartment closer to the central business district, but on seeing the light
pouring into the rooms, its location had become secondary for Saxon. He
reasoned that it was close enough to where he worked. He could still walk
there, and Saxon intended only using the apartment three nights a week anyway.
Impatient to secure the place, Saxon offered cash in settlement, and to his joy,
the purchase sailed through rapidly. He was soon jingling the keys in his
overcoat pocket as he rode the old-fashioned elevator in the building to his
second home on the fourth floor of the converted warehouse. Saxon could have
run up the carpeted stairs, but the ornate metal cage with its diamond shapes, and
the carved oak half-doors of the elevator, gave him a surge of happiness as he
used them.
****
The early autumn morning dawned gray. Thunder growled in the
distance as Saxon drank his breakfast coffee and gazed out of the French
windows. The view of the city resembled a black and white still, slowly being
dappled with muted yellow and orange lights that flickered on as people arrived
in the office blocks and lit their working environment.
Thursday meant Saxon wouldn’t stay in the studio apartment
that night. He put the dishes he’d used the night before and his coffee mug
into the dishwasher. After setting it going, he tidied the place before taking
a shower and dressing. He emptied the laundry hamper that included the towel
he’d used into his expensive washer-drier and threw in the detergent capsule.
He never used any other cycle so he snapped the door closed and pressed the
button that shone lime green telling him the machine was ready to go.
Saxon sang snatches of a favorite song as he pulled on his
overcoat and picked up his grip bag and briefcase. Rain splattered noisily on
the skylights and Saxon glanced up. Rivulets ran down the apex and disappeared.
Saxon presumed guttering then carried the water away.
As he locked the door, a smile spread on his face. Saxon
knew how lucky he was to leave the city behind for a whole three days each
week. He worked from home on those days. Home in this instance, being the beach
house up the coast given to him by his grandparents. Deciding against the
elevator, Saxon ran down the stairs to the lobby of the building and froze as
the severity of the downpour became clear. Rainwater pooled outside the door
and practically a stream ran along the sidewalk. Hell, I better get a cab. He snatched his smartphone from his
pocket and pressed the number he’d allocated to quick call for a taxi company.
****
There’d been no letup in the autumn storm all day. Twilight
fell early and Saxon gazed from his office window at the lights from nearby
office blocks undulating in the sheets of rain. Flood warnings popped up on his
desktop from the two weather bureaus he subscribed to, bringing a frown to his
face. He flicked his gaze back to the stock market figures with a sigh.
Clearly, he’d be staying in the city at least that night, maybe longer. He
worked until trading closed in New York, and then after calling a cab, he
packed up to go home. Best go home and
start work again. If I stay here, I might not get a cab later. London doesn’t
close for a while anyway…
Copyright E. D. Parr, Evernight Publishing
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