By eleven o'clock that night, the rain had settled into a steady, rhythmic patter against the glass roof of the sunroom.
Mailah was fast asleep, tucked safely inside the soft pink blanket fort. Her breathing was slow and peaceful, her hand still resting lightly on the edge of Grayson's dark sweater.
Grayson remained entirely still for ten full minutes. He did not move a single muscle, acting as a human-sized pillow until he was absolute certain she was deep in dreamland.
Slowly, with the extreme grace that only an ancient lord could pull off, he slid his sweater out from under her fingers. He pulled the heavy fleece blanket up over her shoulders, adjusted her pillow by two centimeters, and placed a warm kiss against her forehead.
"Sleep well, my love," he whispered softly into the quiet room.
He stood up. The relaxed, petty, scone-baking husband vanished instantly.
