Chapter 90

• He stuffs his hands into his pockets. His black suit has to be custom made. He’s no off the rack sort of guy and even if he was, I don’t think they make suits his size for the general public.
• His brows furrow as he scans the space. The small kitchen is to the left of the door and an open living room doubles as a dining room with two chairs next to the window. It’s the only window with a view—a view of the apartment building next door complete with its peeling terracotta paint and broken gutters.
• I try to always be happy with what I have, but that doesn’t stop me wishing for something more. Or just different.