When I returned home, Grandpa and Gemma were already asleep. The spacious living room stood empty, my footsteps sinking into the white shag carpet with a soft crunching sound like walking on snow. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the sky showed the first hints of dawn, while the antique grandfather clock in the living room displayed 3:15.
I entered my room without turning on the lights and threw myself onto the bed in the neon glow from outside—only to land on something warm. "Ah!"
The pained groan made me realize someone else occupied the bed.
I sprang up and flicked on the light. The figure beneath the deep purple comforter rolled over lazily, unruly black curls tumbling across the pillow. "Darling, you're back?"
His sleep-thickened voice carried a note of accusation, as if I were some bar-hopping delinquent returning at dawn.
"Lancaster?!"
