Page 110 of Sinners Retreat

Kindra

Rain patters outside the window on this dreary October night. I’m busy in the kitchen, trying to carve a pumpkin. Cat thought it would be fun to have a contest and vote for the best one. I think this is just a mess.

But sometimes, a mess is okay. Cat taught me that.

I called her from the hotel that first night back in Miami and apologized profusely. She accepted, and we’ve gotten even closer since then. We’re like oil and water on the surface, but scratching a little deeper showed me we don’t have to share a million similarities to become best friends. Now, we’re almost as inseparable as me and Ezra.

Speaking of Ezra, he’s out on the porch with his creation. He didn’t want to work on them side by side because he wanted it to be a surprise. I told him I didn’t need more surprises, that he was the best I’ve ever received, but he just laughed and told me to go inside.

I make the final cut, remove the last piece of pumpkin flesh, and take a step back. It’s not great, but I can only hope it looks better once it’s lit up.

The front door opens and closes, and Ezra’s footsteps draw closer. I spin my monstrous creation so he can’t make fun of it yet. There will be plenty of time for that once Bennett arrives.

“Have you finished already?” I ask as he enters the kitchen. “I figured you’d be out there for at least another hour.”

He raises an envelope with a puzzled look on his face. “This was in the mailbox. It says it’s from Jim.”

“Jim? From the retreat?”

He nods and motions for me to follow him into the living room.

We take a seat on the couch, and Ezra pulls the wax seal from the envelope—so extra—and opens it. Inside is a handwritten letter.

“An email wouldn’t suffice?” I ask.

Ezra begins unfolding the parchment. “In case the retreat wasn’t any indication, Jim is a bit...eccentric.”

“Understatement of the year.”

As he begins reading the letter to himself, his expression shifts from perplexed to overjoyed.

“What?” I say. “What is it? Did he finally get rid of Chef Maurice?”

Instead of answering me, he places the letter in my hand and gestures for me to read it for myself.

Ezra,

Hey, kid. I’ve been running the summer retreat for a while now, but I’ve always wanted to expand to somethingbigger. After all, folks like us shouldn’t be relegated to one vacation a year. What would you think about a winter retreat?

I wouldn’t be able to run it, mind you. I’m far too busy with work and the island. But I would be happy to fund it. Jeff decided to go on a spree in Europe, so he isn’t available, and between you and me, I wouldn’t trust him with something this complex.

Would you be interested in taking this on?

I’ve already scouted a location in Alaska. If you give me the green light, we can start planning. My full account would be at your disposal. Ideally, I’d like you to host the first retreat this winter. Say, after Christmas?

Let me know how this suits you. If it doesn’t, scratch out your name and give it to your brother.

Jim

I hand the letter to Ezra. “What do you think? Is this something you’d want to do?”

He pauses and stares down at the letter. Without answering me, he stands and grips my hand. “Come with me. I need to show you the pumpkin I’ve carved.”

I don’t really have a choice in the matter because he yanks me up from the couch and drags me toward the front door like a child who’s just said fuck in church. As I step onto the porch, he turns and grips my shoulders.

Why are his hands so shaky?

“Kindra, when I first met you, I had no idea how you would capture my heart. Your looks ensnared me, but your wit and intelligence bound me to you for eternity. My heart is yours.”

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