Page 444 of The Sinner: James

“It’s so nice to finally meet you,” she says. “I’ve heard so many things about you.”

“Not all good, I suppose,” I murmur, a rush of blood warming my cheeks.

“No, no. It was all good,” she says in a breath.

I gesture at her, chuckling.

“Don’t worry. It’s all in the past. So... Where are we going from here?”

“I’m hungry,” Thea says. “Maybe we should grab a bite.”

“Or we can all go to my place. Dinner must be ready by now, and I usually eat alone. I wouldn't mind some company. Liz?”

“Sure,” she says.

Thea looks at me.

“I don’t want to impose.”

“You don’t. You can drop off your suitcases first, get what you need from your apartment, and sleep at my place. I usually work at night. I won’t bother you. That goes for you too,” I say to Liz. “Unless you have other plans.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, then. I’ll follow you,” she says, pointing to her car and pulling away while my driver greets us.

He tucks Thea’s suitcases in the trunk of his car while we climb in.

One hour later, we leave Thea’s place, slip back into the limo, and travel across town.

Soon, we enter the property, and minutes later, we find ourselves in my home.

The food is on the table on the patio. We all sit as the staff attends to us.

Moments later, we are finally alone.

“This is a bit intimidating,” Thea says, motioning around with her fork.

“It’s beautiful,” Liz comments, chewing slowly on her food.

The evening is quiet, the breeze caressing our shoulders.

“Thank you,” I say in response to her compliment before looking down. “It’s great. I can’t complain. Although sometimes, it’s a bit too big.”

Smiling, I focus on my salad.

“Ed told me you might want to look at new places to live,” I say, tipping my gaze to Thea.

She looks strikingly beautiful in the candlelight, with her hair cascading down her shoulders, her lips plump, and her eyes sparkling.

She gestures softly, grinning.

“I mentioned it at one point, mainly because I couldn’t see myself living in a big place. His home is beautiful––don’t get me wrong––but I always thought I’d live in a small house by the beach. I love the ocean breeze, the empty sidewalks in the summer, and the waves crashing against the shore.”

Liz listens to us in silence.

“My dream house is not much different than yours,” I say. “When I started to write, I had this picture in mind. Me sitting on the porch of a tiny house with the ocean in the distance and the beach within walking distance. Writing and sipping a colorful drink through a straw. That’s how I imagined life before James.”

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