The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains. Grace stirred as the cheerful lilt of Rose’s voice pulled her from a restless sleep.
"Wake up, Mrs. Black," Rose chirped, the steam rising from a cup in her hand. "I made you a coffee. You look like you’ve been wrestling with ghosts all night."
Grace stretched, the unfamiliar silk of her sheets rustling against her skin. She climbed out of the massive bed and took the cup, the warmth of the ceramic grounding her. "I feel like I have," she muttered, taking a cautious sip.
Rose leaned back against the vanity, her eyes dancing with mischief. "Are you alright? You’ve been quiet since you woke up."
Grace nodded, though her mind was already drifting back to the moonlit kitchen. "I’m fine. It’s just... I ran into Tate in the middle of the ni
