By the time the clock showed past midnight, I gave up on sleep. I slipped on a robe over my nightdress and went downstairs to the kitchen. Mrs. Hale had shown me where everything was, and I figured making coffee couldn’t hurt. Maybe it was stupid, trying to be nice after everything. But sitting alone in my room with my thoughts felt worse.
The kitchen was dark and quiet. I turned on the small light above the counter and started the coffee machine. I poured a cup and took a deep breath. My hands shook a little as I carried the mug upstairs toward his west wing.
I stopped at the edge of the forbidden area. The door to his study was slightly open. I could hear the low sound of typing on a keyboard. Before I could chicken out, I knocked softly.
“Come in,” his voice came, sharp and tired.
I
