The last of the laughter had faded, leaving behind a comfortable silence in the grand house. Amber and Aiden had retired to the guest rooms prepared for them, their doors softly shut. The fire in the drawing-room hearth had burned down to a bed of gently glowing embers, casting a soft, warm light that pulsed like a sleeping heart.
In the kitchen, the pleasant sound of water and the soft clink of porcelain filled the air. Eric stood at the large sink, his sleeves rolled up, carefully washing the last of the dinner plates. Delia stood beside him, a soft cotton towel in her hands, carefully drying each dish as he passed it to her.
They worked in a quiet, easy rhythm, moving around each other with the familiar grace of two people who knew each other completely. No words were needed. A shared, tired smile was enough.
