###Guest Rooms and Late-Night Truths
Charlotte hadn't planned on houseguests tonight, let alone these houseguests.
She moved briskly through the upstairs hallway, fluffing pillows and throwing open windows to let in the crisp country air. Eleanor's guest room was easy—Charlotte had stocked it with lavender sachets and freshly laundered towels out of sheer politeness.
But Alexander's room?
That one gave her pause.
She pushed open the door to the smaller guest bedroom. Neat, modest, a little rustic. No espresso machine, no city skyline view. Just wood beams, white sheets, and the faint scent of mint from the hand soap.
As she tucked the corner of the bedspread, she heard footsteps behind her.
"Should I be worried you're sabotaging my pillow to suffocate me in my sleep?" came Alexander's voice, dry and quiet.
Charlotte didn't turn. "If I were, I wouldn't make the bed first. That's just wasted effort."
A beat. Then a low chuckle.
