Chris
Everhart attends his best friend’s weeklong wedding festivities. He meets
handsome, enigmatic, Owen, and in a haze of attraction ignores the strangeness
surrounding Owen. Convinced he’s falling in love, Chris spends every moment he
can with Owen, until on the final day of his best friend’s celebrations he
discovers a heartbreaking and shocking truth. He and Owen can never be
together.
Traumatized,
lonely, Chris can’t settle into another relationship, and then, after two years
of wishing he could feel the way he felt for Owen with another man, fate
intervenes. He meets gorgeous, gentle Matthew.
Spooked,
Chris is about to run from Matthew who reminds him so much of Owen, but Matthew
asks Chris to dance with him.
In
Matthew’s arms, Chris can’t ignore the feeling of belonging that rushes over
him.
Will
he take the risk to love again, or continue to yearn for a ghost?
He peeled the label that named him from his
jacket lapel, and stuffed it into his pocket. Then left his half-empty glass on
a bench beside a row of rose bushes, heavy with large pink blooms, and wandered
off down the path that wound around the house. The hem of his jacket trailed
along two of the flowers and the perfume shed by the roses followed him.
The path forked at a corner of the house,
and Chris took the one that led into an archway of trees. The path beneath his
feet changed. Some of the paving stones held large cracks where tiny white
daisies grew among dark moss. Chris bent and picked one—so small, yet so perfect.
He put it into the buttonhole on his collar. The tree branches met at their
canopy and only a few slanting rays of sun penetrated. Some scented climbing
flowers wove through the trees, twining around their trunks. Chris smiled,
enjoying the fragrant enclosure. Peace dropped over him as he walked.
At the end of the path, he turned at a fork
that led toward the house again. Chris considered striking out across the lawn
for a look at what appeared to be a small round pond, but the evening sun had
disappeared behind a bank of clouds. He glanced upward at the sky. A few large
orbs of rain splattered on his face. Funny,
only minutes ago it didn’t look like rain at all.
He walked more rapidly in the direction of
the house as the sky became overcast. On this side of the building, he could
see a long line of windows, two of which from that angle, seemed to be French
doors, and they were flung open. As Chris neared them, strains of music floated
in the descending twilight. Fairy lights glittered, strung across the tops of
the doors, and as the rain fell, the drops reflected their silvery twinkle.
By the time Chris reached the entrance,
dark stars of raindrops patterned his dove-gray suit jacket and dampened his
face. Chris dashed into the room accessible from the large glass doors and
froze. He’d expected this to be another way into the living room he’d left
earlier, especially with the lure of music guiding him, but a totally different
and smaller room lay before him, and in the middle of the parquet, a man danced
a kind of waltz, alone, clutching a rectangular cushion to his chest.
There was time to assess the man before he
noticed Chris. He wore well cut black pants and a plain white shirt, the collar
turned up to reveal a black tie that must have been undone as it dipped loosely
at the back. His dark collar length hair curled a little behind his ears. An
amused smile crept onto Chris’s face as he registered the fact the man was
barefoot. The guy couldn’t have been any older than Chris, maybe early twenties, and as Chris gazed at him, a strange longing
filled his heart. He’s beautiful.
As the man spun, holding his make believe
partner, he opened his eyes, and obviously catching sight of Chris’s stare, he
stopped. With delight shining from his clear blue gaze, he approached Chris. He
held out a hand in greeting, while his other arm dropped to his side and the
cushion bounced on his thigh.
“Owen Elmdale. Oh, is it raining? Spring,
huh?” He sparkled at Chris, a smile on his handsome face.
Enchanted, Chris took the offered
handshake. “Christopher Everhart.”
Owen’s smile turned into an amused grin.
“Elmdale and Everhart, sounds like a law firm.”
Chris still held Owen’s hand. He smiled.
“Actually, I am—a lawyer that is.” He gazed into the blue eyes locked with his,
and read attraction there. Warmth rose through him. For a few seconds a feeling
of belonging blanketed him, and then he let go of Owen’s hand, and stood
wondering what to do next.
Copyright E. D. Parr, Evernight Publishing
https://www.evernightpublishing.com/shower-you-with-love-by-e-d-parr/
OR available
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