Chapter 19
The next night James awoke to the sounds of pots and pans clanging and clashing in the kitchen. He dressed, opened the bedroom door, and saw Sarah stirring something in a pot on the stove. The room was dark except for ten pillar candles burning on the countertop, giving the house a romantic glow. He heard the low, mellow music from the CD player in the living room and grinned at the sight of Sarah in a flowing black dress and strappy gold heels. She nodded when she saw him.
“Happy birthday,” she said.
“Happy birthday?”
“It’s April 19. You’re three hundred and fifty years old today.”
“I don’t feel a day over thirty.”
“You look good for your age.”
“You’re not so bad yourself, Mrs. Wentworth.” He kissed her lips, running his fingers over the softness of the black silk dress,
