Chapter 4

Gretchen nervously deleted and undeleted the last paragraph of chapter thirteen, chewing on her lip. Any moment now, that tall jerk was going to show up and ask them to politely leave. Or hey, since it was Eldon, it probably wouldn’t be so politely.

And then what would Gretchen tell her agent? Tell Audrey? I sort of got a look at the owner’s junk when I went exploring, and he’s not a fan of being ogled. That would go over well. God, how could she have messed this up so quickly? She hadn’t even been here a full day yet. She glanced over at Audrey, but her sister was curled up on the bed, flipping through a magazine and glancing occasionally at her phone.

Next to her computer, Igor flicked his wiry little tail and whacked her on the wrist with it. She idly reached over and rubbed her fingers on his soft head. She had zero interest in working on more of sexist Astronaut Bill and his twerpy ladylove. She wanted to go look around. She wanted to take a good look at those letters she’d been sent here to transcribe and somehow turn into a book.

More than that, she wanted to find that naked man she’d spied on and apologize for gawking at him.

Maybe she could introduce herself. He had to be Buchanan. She could have asked Audrey about him, but then Audrey would be giving her suspicious looks and wanting to know just why Gretchen was so curious about the man. Gretchen didn’t want to field questions about him. He was a dirty little secret she was intrigued by, and didn’t want Audrey to ruin it for her with her disapproval. So she said nothing.

She thought of the curious way his face had been twisted on one side. She wondered what would have caused such—

At the knock on the door, she jumped.

Audrey sat up, swinging her legs off the side of the bed and tossing aside her magazine. “Don’t move,” she told Gretchen. “I’ll get it.”

Gretchen remained seated, but her gaze was glued to the door, peeking at it over her computer screen.

Sure enough, the sinister figure of Eldon lurked in the doorway. “Ms. Petty.”

“Good afternoon,” Audrey said coolly. “Can I help you with something?”

Oh, no, Gretchen thought, unable to look away. Mr. Buchanan had complained about her snooping. He’d told that horrible butler that Gretchen had seen his junk, and now he wanted her gone. This was where her spying would be laid out and confessed, and she’d be embarrassed in front of her cool, competent sister and the unpleasant butler. She was going to be fired before she’d even begun. She just knew it.

“I’m here to show the other Ms. Petty the project she will be working on, if now is a good time.” Eldon’s lean face turned in her direction, waiting.

Not . . . fired?

Really? She sat for a minute, utterly surprised. Why had Mr. Buchanan not sent her away? She’d seen him in his birthday suit.

“Is now a good time?” Eldon repeated, his voice flat with dislike.

“A good time?” Was it ever. Anything to get away from writing. Gretchen snapped her laptop shut with an almost gleeful air. “Now is perfect. Audrey, can you keep an eye on Igor for me?”

“He’s a cat,” Audrey said with a hint of amusement, walking back to the bed and picking up the magazine. “Exactly how much watching does he need?”

“Just make sure he doesn’t eat a tassel or something,” Gretchen called out, heading out of the room and shutting the door behind her. She couldn’t help but smile at Eldon’s disapproving face. She’d thought for sure that he’d come here to send her away.

“Lead on, my friend,” Gretchen said cheerfully. “I can’t wait to see this project.”

The butler began to walk down the hall, glancing over his shoulder at Gretchen as if to reassure himself that she was following him. “Mr. Buchanan wanted me to set proper expectations for you in regards to this project.”

“Proper expectations? I think I hear a lecture incoming.” She barely resisted trailing her fingers along a lovely mahogany table. Pretty sure that wouldn’t meet the proper expectations.

“This will be a quite lengthy project,” Eldon droned in his dry voice. “It should take you at least a month to catalog and go through the letters.”

“I’m fine with that.”

“The letters are very old and should be handled with care.”

“Duh. I’ll be careful.”

He gave her a scathing look. “Further, they are not to be removed from the premises. They are also not to be photocopied or scanned in. Mr. Buchanan is very concerned about the privacy of the project and the family’s wishes.”

“Whatever you say,” Gretchen told him. “I’m just the hired help. You just point me at the letters and I’ll get to work.”

“Indeed.”

There was a wealth of unpleasantness in that one word, but Gretchen was determined not to let it bother her. “So the letters are from the Buchanan family’s archives? Is that correct?”

“I am not at liberty to discuss things,” Eldon said, his voice seeming to get even stiffer.

“Well, can I ask Mr. Buchanan about them? I—”

“Mr. Buchanan is busy. He is not going to be involved. Do not disturb him with your questions.”

“And that’s fine, but I just thought that since—”

“You are not to bother Mr. Buchanan!” He turned a baleful gaze upon her. “He is a very busy man and does not want to be disturbed. Your being on location does not mean he is at your disposal.”

Whoa, what had crawled up his ass? Had Buchanan said something to him? Gretchen raised her hands in a defensive posture. “I wasn’t suggesting that. I was just going to say—”

“If you are not interested in reviewing the project, Ms. Petty, I can let the publisher know that we are in need of another writer.”

“If you’d let me finish a sentence,” Gretchen snapped, “you would know that that is not what I’m saying at all. Just show me the damn letters.”

She half-expected him to snap back at her, but he only smiled.

“They are right this way,” Eldon said, gesturing. His voice was as cool as ice all over again, as if he didn’t have to try to be nice now that he’d gotten his way. “Please follow me.”

It was apparently time for a new plan. If she wanted to say hello—and apologize—to Mr. Buchanan, she’d have to see him when Eldon wasn’t around to glare at her. Maybe a late-night visit?

Nah, that’d probably just be weird. He’d think she was creeping on him.

They moved down a long hall decorated in seemingly old-fashioned gilt and blue furnishings. Gretchen made a mental note of this, because she’d be damned if she was going to ask Eldon to show her where the room was again. Too bad she hadn’t brought her phone, since a GPS would be needed for this enormous building. So she noted the surroundings. Blue sofa, old picture with ridiculously ornate frame, case full of Fabergé eggs along the hallway wall, more blue settees, a golden statue, and an old oil painting of the ugliest man she had ever seen (also dressed in blue), wearing a powdered wig.

Then, they turned into a sunlit hallway, and Eldon paused in front of a pair of wooden double doors.

The butler glanced back at Gretchen. “I don’t think I need to remind you to keep these doors shut at all times. The library has many old and priceless books, and the hall here is quite sunny and could age them.”

“Of course,” she murmured, resisting the urge to shove his hands off the doorknobs and sweep the doors open herself. For a moment, she felt like a kid at Christmas. The house had been spectacular so far. What would the library be like?

Eldon pushed the doors open and stepped aside, and Gretchen stepped in, looking around in wonder.

The room was large, though that had been expected. At least as long as a basketball court, the room was two stories, with a flat, painted ceiling of a bright blue mural of dancing Greek characters. The room itself was floor-to-ceiling rosewood, shiny and gleaming. Row upon row of neatly ordered books lined the walls, and there were a pair of curling staircases on the end of each side of the room. Wrought-iron railings lined the second floor, and dotted amongst the endless rows of books were objets d’art. A small piano was delicately situated in the far end of the room near a few more dainty settees, a portrait hung off a decorative easel in another corner. A massive Victorian globe held a place of honor near the large fireplace.

It was a room of wonder and imagination. Gretchen was utterly delighted at the sight of it. Holy crap. I get to work in here for the next month? But she kept her cool and asked, “So this is where I’ll be working?”

“Indeed.” Eldon sniffed. “I should like to remind you that nothing is to be removed from the library—”

“Of course.”

“And please do not touch anything you do not feel you need for your project. Some of these items are quite valuable—”

“Of course.”

“And then I must remind you—”

“Not to open the doors and let the sunlight in because the books will turn to dust. Right.” He’d told her that not five minutes ago. She wasn’t likely to forget. “Do you want to warn me not to feed Mogwai after midnight?”

He stared at her.

“Never mind. Eighties joke.” Gretchen put her hands on her hips, trying not to show her excitement. She couldn’t wait to explore this place, but that wouldn’t happen with Eldon hovering. She needed to act like this was no big deal, and as soon as his back was turned, then she could do all the leisurely exploring she wanted. Time to seem bored.

Gretchen feigned a yawn. “So where are the letters?”

“Right this way.” Eldon made his way to the back of the room and gestured at a matching rosewood secretary desk. She’d seen furniture like this, but only in antique stores or museums. The legs were spindly and painted with delicate designs, and as she watched with growing delight, Eldon opened the desk, revealing a flat writing surface and myriad cubbies used for mail. “This desk has been designated for your work area.”

“Mmmhmm.” She tried to seem casual and unexcited, even though she wanted nothing more than to sit down and run her hands along the wood.

“The letters are in this trunk.”

Gretchen glanced politely at the large steamer trunk set up next to the desk. “The container that holds the letters is in the trunk?”

“No,” Eldon said. “The letters are in the trunk.” He leaned over and flipped open the lid, revealing the contents.

There were letters, all right. She’d been expecting a lot of letters, of course. Maybe she just hadn’t properly visualized exactly how many letters. This trunk was filled top to bottom with envelopes, all neatly left in slit-open envelopes and lined up like playing cards. There had to be more than several hundred letters in that freaking trunk, maybe even a few thousand.

Her mouth fell open and she moved to the trunk, staring at the contents. “All these?”

“All these,” Eldon agreed. “They are cataloged by year.”

“I see that,” she murmured, touching a small tab separating a line of the envelopes. It was labeled 1885. She did a quick glance down the row, looking at the tabs to get an idea of the scope of the project. They started with 1872 and continued all the way up until 1902. “Are there really thirty years of letters in here?”

“So it seems.”

Holy crap! Okay, so she hadn’t been initially excited about this project, but now she was fascinated. What could these two letter writers have to talk about for thirty years that would have been so interesting that the letters were carefully kept and preserved for all this time? “When can I start?”

“You can start tomorrow.”

***

“You’re fine with me going back to work and leaving you here?” Audrey awkwardly patted Igor’s wrinkly little head, then returned to brushing her hair, readying for work.

The hairless cat meowed and rubbed against her hand in response.

Gretchen, still lolling on the bed in her pajamas, patted the blanket to call the cat. She didn’t have a day job like Audrey. She didn’t have to get out of her pajamas if she didn’t want to. “I’m fine. I start the letters today, and if this weekend is any indication, Eldon’s the only one I’ll ever see. Mr. Buchanan is either avoiding us or not in residence, and either way suits me fine,” she lied.

After all, she knew the truth—not only was Mr. Buchanan in residence, but he was totally, completely avoiding Gretchen.

She knew why, of course. She’d seen the man naked as could be. Strangers tended to frown on that sort of thing, after all.

But Audrey didn’t know any of that. If her sister did find out, she’d insist that Gretchen leave at once. Audrey was a bit prudish about that sort of thing. Growing up, the twins had been models of decorum, and Gretchen had been the wild child. Now all the wildness had gone out of Gretchen and seemed to have slid into Audrey’s twin, Daphne. As for Audrey, well, she still had that good girl mentality.

“I’ve met Buchanan a few times, Gretchen.” Audrey brushed her pale red hair in rapid strokes, glancing occasionally at Gretchen through the mirror. “He’s not what I’d call friendly or pleasant. I just worry about you being here with only that man and that horrible butler.”

“I’ll be fine, Audrey. Me and Igor will just work on the book, live off sandwiches, and get this project done as soon as possible. It’s no big deal.”

Audrey paused from pinning up her hair into her typical workday chignon. “You’re sure? It’s not that far of a drive from the Hawkings building. I can get into a cab and come get you if—”

“If what? I fall down the stairs and no one notices my crumpled form for weeks? Come on, Audrey. You’ve seen this place.” Gretchen rolled over in the bed and gestured at the room. “This house could fit all of my apartment building in here with room to spare, and there’s only two guys living here. The odds of me running into him are slim to none. If I need anything, I just ring for Eldon.”

“I know. I still don’t like this.” She licked a finger and smoothed an errant strand of hair, staring at her reflection in the mirror. “It’s a weird setup.”

“Yeah, but if Buchanan was a creepster, there are lots of cheaper ways to get women. Hookers don’t cost nearly what the publisher’s paying me.”

“That is so not funny.”

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s kind of funny if you think about it. I’m the literary equivalent of a hooker. Give me a contract and I’ll do whatever you want, baby.”

“Still not funny.”

“Come on. Just a little bit funny.”

“Nope.”

Igor began to purr, and Gretchen scooped him up in her arms, cuddling him. The cat was surprisingly soft despite his lack of fur. His skin felt like crushed velvet, and she couldn’t resist his sweet but ugly face. “Tell Audrey it’s funny, Igor.”

“Gretch, you’ve really got to get out of the house more if you’re talking to that cat.”

She wiggled Igor back and forth, crossing her legs under her. “Tell Audrey that Mommy’s out of the house right now, Igor.”

“This is what I mean.” Audrey sighed. “That cat gets more attention than your last boyfriend.”

“This cat is better to cuddle with than my last boyfriend,” Gretchen said cheerfully. “And you’re going to be late to work.”

Audrey sighed again and adjusted her dark gray jacket, then picked an imaginary piece of lint off her matching skirt. “You’re going to be fine?”

“Igor and I will be just fine.”

She rolled her eyes and pulled out her phone, jiggling it in her sister’s direction. “Call me if you need me. And keep your phone on you so I can check you via text.”

“I’m twenty-six, Audrey. I can handle myself.”

“You’re in your pajamas, talking to your cat. Forgive me if I feel a moment of doubt. It’s like you’re turning into the crazy cat lady before my eyes.”

“Am not. Igor and I are having a month-long slumber party,” Gretchen said, holding the cat in front of her and making a kissy face at him because she knew it’d drive sensible Audrey bananas. “Isn’t that right, Igor-Wigor?”

“God, you and that cat.” She waved a hand. “It’s no wonder you’re eternally single. I’m out of here.”

“Text ya later,” Gretchen said, and moved the cat’s paw up and down in a facsimile of a wave. She laughed to herself when Audrey shut the door to the bedroom behind her, her sigh of sisterly annoyance still echoing in the hallway. “I’m thinking she’s not fond of you as a roomie, Igor.”

The cat said nothing and simply blinked up at her.

Gretchen sighed and placed him on the bed. “Okay, so Audrey might be right about the whole me-still-in-pajamas-talking-to-a-cat-is-pathetic thing. And given that I’m still talking to you, she might also have a point about the eternally single thing.”

It wasn’t that Gretchen ran into a lot of spectacularly eligible men in her line of work. The only people she knew in publishing were female, as it was a female-dominated business, and when she wasn’t doing job-related networking, she was more or less at home, working on her latest manuscript.

And sometimes she didn’t change out of her pajamas for days, which was kind of gross and not something that a boyfriend would approve of. So it was a good thing that she was single. Single let her hit her deadlines.

Well, theoretically. Since she wasn’t good at hitting those either, she really had no excuse.

She waited a few minutes, listening to her stomach growl, and then glanced over at the clock. Audrey had to be well on her way to work by now. Good. Gretchen rolled off the bed, bounding up onto her feet and heading for the bedroom door. Having her sister around for the weekend was enjoyable for the first night, but after that it sort of made the weekend crawl by. She wanted to explore the house and poke around on her project at her leisure, but all Audrey wanted to do was work on PowerPoints and go through her work email, even on Saturday nights.

The girl needed a hobby. Of course, the odds of that happening were about as good as the odds of Gretchen getting a boyfriend.

She slipped out the door of her room and down the hall. There was no sound of vacuums today. Today they were cleaning the boathouse and greenhouse or something. No flood of maids to drop in on and say hello, since she didn’t know where either the boathouse or greenhouse were. That meant that the only person around was Eldon, and he tended to avoid her.

This also meant that the north wing—Mr. Buchanan’s wing—would likely be deserted.

Gretchen headed there, unable to help herself.

It was a crazy idea, but the more she entertained the thought of apologizing to Mr. Buchanan, the more she wanted to do it. Her spying was going to hang in the air between them, and she didn’t want to spend the next thirty days hiding from him—or having him retreat at the sight of her.

They needed to deal with it like adults. Adults saw nudity all the time. Penises? No big deal. She wanted to apologize and make this next month as smooth as possible, since they’d be living together.

Unfortunately for her, his wing of the estate was entirely deserted. She spent a good half hour knocking on doors, only to come to that maddening conclusion. This place was a maze, and it would be near impossible to find the owner unless she knew where to look for him.

Disgruntled—and a bit hungry—Gretchen headed to the kitchens in the north wing, since it was the only one stocked. Even here, the place was immaculate. Not a crumb marred the gorgeous granite countertops, and the fridge and pantry were brimming with all kinds of delicious things that she was itching to bake with. It wasn’t her kitchen so she wouldn’t touch anything that she didn’t have permission to. Though it killed her not to rummage through the pantry and start baking, she made herself a simple sandwich out of some of the fresh bread left out on the counter (she’d come back later for Igor’s food), washed her knife and plate once she was done, and then wrapped the sandwich in a paper towel and walked the halls as she ate, musing to herself about her surroundings.

As she finished her sandwich, she strolled past a long corridor of windows and almost missed the sight of Mr. Buchanan in the gardens. His tall figure cut a dark form against the naked rosebushes. She moved to the window to watch him, and she noticed that he seemed to be inspecting the bushes. They looked pretty dead to her, but maybe they weren’t supposed to be? Intrigued, Gretchen hunted for a door that led outside.

Five minutes later, she was slogging through the light dusting of snow in a pair of boots that she’d found in the mudroom. Her flannel pajamas were warm enough for the indoors, but the bitter winter wind cut right through them. For a brief moment, she pondered heading back to her room to dress in something other than pajamas, but in that time, the mysterious Mr. Buchanan might disappear on her again.

And she desperately needed to talk to him.

Her footsteps crunched loudly as she walked, and she crossed her arms over her chest, heading toward him with determination. He didn’t seem to have noticed her yet, so she studied him from behind. She’d seen him previously, of course, but not clothed, and he looked different, somehow. Rich guys didn’t need to work hard to get chicks. She always suspected that more often they looked like pasty nerds rather than soldiers. But this man was definitely of the latter variety, however. His shoulders were thick and burly underneath the tan jacket he wore, and his entire frame seemed built for muscle. He wasn’t short either, which was nice. Not that she was interested in those sorts of things. She just wanted to apologize for ogling his junk.

He turned around even as she was considering his nicely formed behind, and her face flushed bright red. She was forever going to be caught leering at him, wasn’t she?

Mr. Buchanan stared at her for a long moment, frozen. Then color began to dot his cheeks. It made the scars on his face stand out even more, like jagged talons of white cutting across his tanned skin.

He also looked like he was torn between running for cover or choking her with the length of rope he held.

“Hi there.” She tried to keep her tone cheerful and nonchalant. “I thought I’d come out and say hi.”

His eyes narrowed warily, and she was reminded for a moment of a wounded animal. That piercing gaze moved up and down her form, noting her pajamas. “Are you drunk?” he asked abruptly.

“No,” she said, drawing out that one syllable. Okay, so the pajamas weren’t making the best first—um, second—impression. “I’m friendly. I saw you out here and wanted to talk.”

His face darkened into a scowl, the scars at the corner of his mouth twisting his entire face into an ugly grimace. He turned away. “I have nothing to say to you.”

So this wasn’t going well. When he began to stalk away at a pace more rapid than she could sustain in her oversized borrowed boots, she panicked. “Your penis!” she called out. “I saw it!”

He stopped in his tracks and turned to give her an incredulous look.

She stomped after him, nearly losing her balance in a snowdrift. “It’s true,” she said, struggling to stand upright. “I was snooping and I saw you naked. All of you. Really naked. That’s why you won’t talk to me, isn’t it?” When he began to scowl again, she continued. “I mean, you can sit here and pretend you don’t want to talk to me, but we both know it’s totally awkward because I saw your dick before I saw your face.”

His scowl seemed to turn even blacker, making the scars livid on his face.

Oh shit, his scars. He thought she was insulting his face.“I, uh, didn’t mean it like that. Damn, I’m much better at banter when it’s on the page.” Gretchen trailed after him when he began to walk away again. “Can we try this again?” She assumed a cheerful expression and made her voice two octaves higher. “Hi there! I’m Gretchen, and I’m working on ghostwriting the project in your library. I’m only going to be here for a month, but I hope we can be friends.”

And she thrust her hand out.

He stopped, stared down at her hand for a moment, and then looked back at her. “I trust you’ll stay out of my way for the next month, then.”

Ouch. She couldn’t help the flinch that crossed her face. “I guess I will.”

He gave a curt nod. “See that you do. I’m a very busy man.” Winding the length of rope around his arm, he continued back toward the house.

Gretchen watched him leave, frustrated and a little embarrassed at herself. Not exactly a smooth conversationalist there, Gretch. Did you hope to wow him with your witty “Your penis, I saw it!” Did you really think that would break the ice?

“Seems to work for Astronaut Bill and Uranea,” she muttered to herself. Then, shivering and rubbing her arms, she headed back to the manor house.

So much for apologizing to the owner of the place.

***

Hunter ripped his snow boots off and tossed them down in the mudroom, discarding his gardening gloves and the rope he’d brought inside. She was heading for the mudroom, too, and he needed to get out of there. Tearing down the hall, he headed for the one place he could truly relax and think—his greenhouse.

God, he’d fucked it all up again.

He headed down the covered garden path that led to the side of the manor house and his private greenhouse. He walked in and the humidity hit him, as well as the perfume of the roses. Immediately, his pounding heart began to calm. He moved to his table of tools and picked up his favorite pruning shears and then moved to inspect his roses. As he knelt and began to prune away the dead leaves, his thoughts whirled with the bizarre, abrupt encounter.

She’d come out to talk to him.

Him. She’d wanted to talk to him. Part of Hunter had been thrilled at the thought, but the larger part of him—the scarred, wounded part—had lashed out. She’d seen him naked. Commented on his face. Pointed out quite bluntly that she’d seen his cock.

It had almost seemed like she’d wanted to break the ice and was having a hard time spitting it out.

And what had he done? He’d snapped at her and tried to chase her off. To her credit, she hadn’t been deterred until he’d more or less told her to stay out of his way for the entire month.

Hunter gritted his teeth, viciously snapping a browned leaf off a wilting Gemini tea rose.

He didn’t want her to avoid him. He wanted to see her. Watch her work. Talk to her. Have her turn that odd sense of humor on him. And instead, he’d driven her away.

Fuck. Why did he always freeze up around women? Hell, around people in general. Eldon was the only one who didn’t make him stiffen with alarm. And she’d been so lovely and . . . odd. He thought back to the sight of her, standing in his snowy garden in Eldon’s borrowed boots and ratty flannel pajamas that outlined the hard tips of her nipples when the breeze had blown her shirt a certain way.

That had made him panic as much as anything, even as it made him hard with need. Hunter groaned and pressed a hand to his cock, willing his erection to go away. He’d give in to the need later, in the privacy of his room. He’d dream about that spill of messy red hair, her pale skin, and the way her mouth made a perfect little bow when she was startled. And then he’d dream of that bow of a mouth descending on his cock, licking the head—

. . . we both know it’s totally awkward because I saw your dick ever before I saw your face.

Yeah, that fucking killed his boner.

Hunter shook his head to clear his thoughts, forcing himself to concentrate on the maintenance of his roses. Some people read or painted to calm their minds but Hunter liked tending to his roses. He grew all varieties, but his favorites were the showy hybrid tea roses that were so delicate in their constitution and yet so incredibly beautiful and fragrant when coaxed into blooming. He ran his fingers over a velvety petal of a Cajun Moon, his exterior calm despite his roiling thoughts.

He’d more or less demanded that she leave him alone.

He didn’t want that. How could he fix it? Demand that Eldon prepare a candlelight dinner and then insist that she show up? Act as if he said nothing to her at all? Better yet, act as if they’d never even met and start fresh?

She’d think he was crazy if he did. Well, more than she already thought.

There was no good answer to this. He thought for a long moment, touching a petal of a blooming Blue Girl. The rose was lovely, the color a cross between pewter and baby blue. He wondered if her eyes were the same color. They’d been pale, making her entire face seem almost too pale in color, and overly round. But he liked that about her. It made her seem less . . . perfect.

With careful fingers, he cut the blue rose and trimmed the thorns off the stem. He’d have to apologize. He wasn’t good at that sort of thing, but perhaps a rose would say more than he could.

***

When Gretchen showered and dressed, she headed for the library. No sense in avoiding it for any longer—she had to start on the project. Her spirits were a bit low after that morning’s encounter, but at least she’d tried. Now when they avoided each other, she’d know it was because he wanted it that way, not because he was embarrassed.

Shame. It’d make this month lonely.

The desk set aside for her use had been opened when she entered the quiet library. To her surprise, there was a beautiful pale blue rose, freshly cut, laying on a silver tray. A small folded note lay under it.

She picked up the note and opened it, scanning the contents.

I was rude. I apologize. Eldon cooks dinner at seven every night. Tonight, I will be eating in the red dining room if you wish to attend. Pajamas optional.

It was signed with a scribbly HB.

And she smiled.

Date: 2015-02-03; view: 597