Florence tossed in the night, her nightgown becoming efficiently rumpled. Eventually she sat herself up with a huff. She crossed the room and opened the drapes, fluttering in the breeze. The moonlight cast cool blue shadows across her room. Her eyes landed on the briefcase, and she sighed dreamily, remembering Clair.
Florence picked up the case and plucked a paper from inside. Taking great care to not crumple it, she moved over to the windowsill, where the moon illuminated her page enough. She was almost halfway through a lovely story about a man who found a secret lover in the woods, when she heard a noise out in the hall.
Florence recoiled, startled at the sound. It was a door, slamming shut. Her mind instantly went to Clair. Had he gotten lost on the way too the washrooms? She knew the guest suites didn't include one, and she hadn't remembered showing him where they were located. Perhaps that was it. In that case should I go out there? Her mind teased her with alternative possibilities.
Maybe he was coming to see her in the middle of the night. Maybe an ungentlemanly thing to do, but a gesture of love in her stories. She imagined Clair, creeping up to her door. His hair a dreadful mess, to declare his love for her. A smile bloomed at her lips as she awaited Clair's soft knock at her door.
It didn't come. She scolded herself for letting her imagination take hold of herself. But in reality, it must've been either Clair or Cathryn. They were the only other occupants of this wing. Florence liked having her own space during the nights. Her lights wouldn't disturb anyone as she read into the late hours of the night.
Florence watched her feet as she took hesitant steps towards the door. She laid her fingers on the doorknob, pressing her cheek to the door. She listened intently, but could barely make out a sound.
"One, two, three." She whispered to herself.
She flung the door open, half expecting to be greeted with a wide eyed Clair. Florence was disappointed to find the hallway empty. She frowned, and began creaking the door back shut. She paused, mid-creak, hand frozen on the knob.
She could barely hear the sound of faint giggling or murmurs wafting down the hall. Her curious mind compelled her to let go of the handle. Florence tiptoed down the corridor, hearing the muffled voices become louder. She drew in a sharp breath when she realized where they were coming from.
She planted herself directly in front of Cathryn's door, hearing not only her voice, but Clair's as well. They both sounded rather breathy, or giggly, she observed. Florence flushed, knowing she shouldn't be nosy. She bit her lip and raced silently back to her bedroom. Her mind quickly coming up with multiple scenarios to explain why Clair was in Cathryn's room in the middle of the night.
She tried desperately to not let her mind wander too far as she lay, staring at the ceiling. But she could only come up with one realistic explanation, and she didn't like to think about it at all.