Rain Day Antiques Novels & Stories

Harvey approached the most famous Italian chief designer of Forever Gorgeous, Antonio Bianchi. Chief designer Bianchi signed an agreement with Harvey Stanton that he would only design luxury clothes for Rain. He also meticulously crafted custom-made perfumes, specifically designed to suit her unique preferences. After she dressed up, she headed to the kitchen to prepare the food. She was craving a peanut butter sandwich and soda. While she was eating, her mother-in-law walked into the apartment without knocking, with a young woman trailing behind her. She looked at Rain with disdain in her eyes and said, “My son has sold this apartment to this lady. She will be moving in tomorrow.

The air in the tattoo shop always carried the sharp scent of antiseptic and ink, but tonight it was different. Tonight it smelled like rain and wild things. The man who walked through her door just before closing moved with a predator’s quiet grace, his shoulders filling the doorway. He gave his name as Roric. His eyes, a startling shade of amber, held a stillness that felt ancient.

A balcony attached to the back of the building held small tables with metal chairs for those who wanted a view of the river while enjoying the cool evening breeze. At least, that described a typical night at Embers. However, this Friday night the Florida weather dropped a deluge of rain upon the inhabitants of the East Coast. Rhychard darted in, using his jacket to try to cover his head, but barely succeeding. He bought a Rocky Patel and a Jameson before sliding out the back to stand under the overhang and enjoy the serenity of the storm. He had the wooden deck to himself as most of the small gathering of clientele preferred the dryness of the indoors. He needed the quietness, time alone wit

ZZRRRRRRRRRRRSSSSHHHHHHHH The sound of rain hitting the roof and windows of a house in Obsidian Port City filled the house. RUMBLE RUMBLE ZZRRRSHHHHH TAK TAK TAK TAK TAK “Ah-chee!” Harriet wiped her nose after a sneeze. The cold and damp air attacked her when suddenly it rained. She sat by the window on the side of the house. She was reading the latest report she had received from Jake Scolecite about the current state of the Imperial Continent.

THIRD PERSON POV The rain fell on London in a relentless, grey sheet. It was the kind of weather that made the city feel like a sprawling, waterlogged grave. Elias Thorne hunched his shoulders against the chill, his worn leather satchel held tight to his chest. He was late. The exclusive auction at "Obscura," a gallery known for its collection of the macabre and the arcane, was due to start in minutes, and the item he was sent to acquire was the final lot.

It all seems to be a little extreme if you ask me. It was twelve forty five and I found myself walking up a dark stairway of Ale’s Bistro, some Italian spot uptown. When I had requested a meeting with the legendary Kale Spencer, I was under the impression that he would have set it up at some swanky restaurant, but a mom and pop shop like this would do just fine. Taking a look around, it was more secluded. Not many people filled their tables. As soon as I walked in, I was approached by an older woman wearing all black. Her name was in small cursive letters above her left breast, but she moved at such a fast pace that I wasn’t able to take in a name. She went straight to the point and asked, “

“What’s in it? Come on, give me a hint, just one!” “Patience, Manolya!” His eyes twinkled, promising secrets as he tapped the wheel, rain drumming outside. “Good things come to those who wait. Trust me on this.” We pulled up to his shop with a sharp whoosh, tires crunching on the wet gravel lot, rain pelting the roof. “Eren Antiques” swayed above the door, the blue, black and white Nazar boncuğu (Evil eye charm) glinting through the downpour.

(Alison P.O.V) As Ethan led us down the bustling road, I marveled at the array of shops selling various antiques. The scene was vibrant, with the vendors' shouts mingling with the chatter of customers. Some vendors were hawking their wares loudly to attract attention, while others were engrossed in conversations with potential buyers. The shops displayed an eclectic mix of treasures from bygone eras: grand old standing clocks reminiscent of our grandparents' time, vintage telephones, and myriad other antiques.

The air grew thick with the promise of more rain. My neighbour, Mrs Callahan, called from the balcony, “Looks like another storm’s coming, dear! You might want to close your windows.” I smiled faintly. “Maybe I’ll leave them open for a while.” Because for once, I didn’t dread the rain. My feet carried her back to Willow Brew, though I told myself it was only for coffee. I didn’t admit — even to myself — that part of me hoped he might be there. The moment I pushed open the door, the familiar chime sounded. And there he was.