I’m surprised to find Gavin on the other side, holding a tray with two coffee mugs and a plate of cookies.

“It’s hot cocoa.” He nods, as if the confusion on my face is about the drink and not his presence. “Can we talk?” He jerks his head toward the dining hall.

Our decoration team is working the night shift. I’m sure if I go back there, someone will catch me, asking about the wedding. But right now, I’m too tired to field questions from our excited staff.

“Can we sit here?” I give him space to step inside the suite.

He takes a seat on the couch, making it look smaller, and then places the tray onto the glass table. He pushes one cup in my direction, and until I’ve picked it up and taken a sip, he doesn’t drink his.

“I talked to Andy Bruno this morning. Our team will pick up his and the bride’s family day after tomorrow at nine in the morning. They won’t all arrive at the same time. We’ll try as much as we can to make them look like independent guests and not some wedding party. But I’ve heard keeping secrets is harder in small towns. There’s always some old lady with binoculars more informed than Sherlock Holmes.”

I smile at his crazy but apt statement. “You’re right.”

I take a sip of my drink. There’s a gnawing suspicion in my gut that hot cocoa with my favorite cookies isn’t entirely Gavin’s idea.

Does Lukas somehow know I skipped dinner?

“Are you listening?” Gavin knocks on the table.

“Um…yeah. Yeah, I’m listening.” I nod a few times, and thankfully he doesn’t call me out on my lie.

“So I’ll pick up our mouse tomorrow evening. You make sure she has food and whatever she needs delivered to her room. I don’t want her roaming around until necessary.”

“Will you keep calling her that?” I perch onto the edge of the bed, facing him.

“In my head, it suits her.” He shrugs. “Why do you ask?”

“Because she might think of it as offensive, like…calling someone little wife.”

His forehead furrows in confusion before his eyes widen, and I know he remembers the moment in Keith and Clementine’s home when he called me that.

“I’m sorry. I was hungry,” he says sheepishly, and I can’t hold back my smile.

“No problem.”

Gavin gets up after placing our empty cups onto the tray, where there are still some cookies left.

“You can leave it here,” I tell him, trying to grab the tray, but he shakes his head.

“No. I’ve got it.”

Gavin is out the door when I ask him, “You could have told me this tomorrow morning or in a text. Why did you come here tonight, Gavin?”