There was a man made pound out the backside of Alistairâs villa. It had a little fountain in it and was deep enough to swim in. Nearly all of the day, the pound was in the sun and laying out next to it had rapidly become one of Gideonâs favourite things do when in need of some relaxation. He found himself spread out, almost like a cat, on the cool bricks daily. Today, was better than most. Alistair was close, laying out in chair next to a table and Peter, who didnât seem able to sit still was in the water. Every now and then when heâd get close enough, Gideon would reach out and run his fingers though the youngerâs hair. Just play with it a bit before he was off swimming again. Other than the three of them, the only other sounds were birds. The wind rustling tree leaf or the sound of someone turning a page in a book. Be it himself or Alistair. The silence was comfortable and as warm as the sun beating down on all three of them. It seemed far too good to be true and yet, this was life now.Â
Rolling his head to the side a bit, Gideon dropped one hand from his book into Peterâs hair again. His eyes moved to Alistair. He couldnât tell if the guy was still reading or if heâd fallen asleep. âAli,â Gideon called his name. âI donât know how the hell I am supposed to say this word.â Gideon tapped the book he was reading. It was a french text book more than anything else. For the most part Gideon was doing alright. Heâd learned other languages before but he was stumped. âLook,â he pointed to the word on the page, heureuse, tapped it with his finger so that Peter could see it. âDoes that look like a word to you?â He asked looking at Peter and then back at Alistair.Â
