EVE
On Christmas Eve morning, Eve sat at the dining room table and accepted a mug of coffee from Milton, the ever-efficient butler of the manse. Though Steven rarely—okay, never—joined her for breakfast, this was the first time she felt weirded out by it.
As she nibbled on her toast, that thought gave her pause. Why hadn't she considered it strange Steven didn't wake with her and eat with her? Even though Val had been teasing when she pointed out his strange habits, Eve had never given it much thought.
Did she really think Steven was a vampire? Puh-lease. Vampires weren't real. He kept strange hours because he wrote mostly at night. Granted, he was never in the bed when she awoke, but he always left a note with a flower. He was very kind, very sweet. She had no right thinking he was anything other than a gorgeous, talented writer.
