Page 44 of Two Sides of Sin

“Make a list for me, please,” he urged, his grip on me tightening. “Of things you want to do. Things you want to see, or experience, or taste. Places you want to go. It doesn’t matter how small or silly you think they are. If it’s something you’ve ever dreamed of, I want you to put it down on paper.”

There was an urgency in his voice that made my anxiety peak. It felt less like a romantic gesture and more like… a mission. Like he was trying to pack a lifetime of living into a single piece of paper.

I thought about the one thing I actually wanted. I closed my eyes and for a split second, I saw it—a bright classroom filled with the smell of finger paints. I saw myself showing a child how to mix blue and yellow to make green. I wanted the degree, the stability, the chance to be an art teacher for kids who still thought the world was beautiful. But I couldn’t tell him that. Giving him my real dreams felt like giving him even more power to break me if he walked away.

“Why now?” I whispered.

“Because I want to be the one who gives them to you,” he replied. The grief I’d seen there before was still present, but beneath it was a desperate sincerity. “I want to see you happy. I need to know that you’ve had those things.”

I looked at him, searching for the catch. “I… I can’t do that right now, Julian,” I said, pulling my hand back. “You can’t just ask for a person’s dreams on a piece of paper in an instant. It’s not that simple.”

“Take all the time you need,” he said. “Just do this for me, please.”

A fine, persistent mist had begun to settle over the Manor grounds. I sat at the small desk in my room, the lamp casting a warm glow over a fresh pad of paper. I’d been staring at the lines for twenty minutes, the pen clicking rhythmically in my hand. Click. Click. Click. Click.

Years ago, I could have done this in my sleep. I was haunted by bright ambitions. But the last few years had stripped those away until I wasn’t even sure who the girl was who wanted them. Hopes felt like a liability now.

What do I even have to lose? I thought bitterly. It’s just paper.

I stopped thinking and just let the pen move.

15 minutes later I was done. I folded the paper once, then twice, tucking it under my pillow.

“Hands on the wheel, June! Ten and two, not in your lap!” Julian laughed, his large hand quickly reaching over to steady the steering wheel as I let go in a fit of giggles.

The car jerked as I eased off the clutch too fast, the engine dying with a pathetic shudder. We were currently the main attraction at the drive-in entrance. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks as I realised everyone was watching the girl in the fire-engine red Camaro stall for the fourth time.

“I told you I’m terrible at this!” I gasped, leaning my forehead against the wheel while Julian’s deep, melodic chuckles filled the cabin.

“You’re not terrible, you’re just not confident,” he teased. “Try again. Slow feet, steady hands.”

With a shaky breath, I managed to crawl the car forward, finally guiding us into a secluded spot in the back row. Outside, a light drizzle had begun to fall, blurring the lights from the screen into smears of green. Inside the car, the laughter died down.

Over the last few weeks, the weight of the Manor had lifted, replaced by the frantic, beautiful momentum of the list. Julian had taken it like a sacred text. But while we were crossing off dreams, we were actively ignoring the feral electricity sparking between us. We hadn’t pushed the physical boundaries in months—not since Billy.

I wasn’t ready yet.

Tonight, however, that restraint was starting to tether and I forgot about the incident altogether. A movie, Ghostbusters, was playing on the massive drive- in theatre screen, but I couldn’t have told you a single line of dialogue. I was too busy being hyper-aware of Julian. He was leaning back, one arm draped over the steering wheel. He looked devastating in the dim light, his sleeves pushed up to reveal pumped veiny muscles.

I shifted in my seat, my thigh brushing against his. I didn’t pull away. Julian’s fingers tightened on the wheel, but he didn't move his leg either.

“Watch the movie, June,” he warned, his voice a low, authoritative growl.

“I’m watching,” I lied.

The air in the car was think with tension, the windows beginning to fog. Every time he shifted, our skin met. I wanted to reach out and put my mouth right over the pulse jumping in his neck.

“You’re not watching the movie,” he whispered, his gaze dropping to my lips.

“Neither are you,” I countered.

Julian reached for something and his elbow caught the edge of my soda. A wave of ice-cold liquid flooded my lap. I jumped, letting out a sharp “ah!” as it soaked through my skirt and underwear.

“Damn it—June, I’m so sorry,” Julian blurted out, looking for napkins.

The cold shock was the final push I needed. Without a word, I reached under my skirt, hooking my fingers into the damp lace and slid them off. Julian turned back and nearly choked.

“June…” he warned, his voice a dangerous rumble.