Finn Wilson parked the car in the yard of a mansion.
Viola Harris opened her eyes to a brightly lit courtyard. The ginkgo trees lining the driveway were half illuminated by street lamps, while the other half was shrouded in darkness.
"Where are we?"
"My home."
Viola Harris scoffed, "How many homes do you have?"
She remembered the last time he said those two words, it was in a high-end apartment where a lotus pond lay in the transition area between the foyer and the living room.
Finn Wilson retrieved a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the glove compartment. As he lit a cigarette, the blue flame illuminated his handsome face.
Exhaling a puff of smoke, he lowered the car window and flicked the ash outside. "They're just cold houses. Get out of the car."
Viola Harris didn't move.
She couldn't believe a man who brought a woman home in the middle of the night just wanted to chat over drinks.
