My heart hammered a frantic tattoo against my ribs as I stared at the door. Every creak of the floorboards and every rustle in the hallway sent a jolt through me. Was it him? Had he changed his mind and decided to come back?
The silence stretched on, thick and suffocating. With a sigh, I reached for the diary, shoving it hastily into the side pocket of my bag.
Rushing to the door, I flung it open, only to have my heart sink into my shoes. It wasn't Alexander. Instead, a young woman stood there, pushing a trolley piled high with silverware.
"Dinner, compliments of Mr. Westcott," she announced, her smile polite.
I forced a smile in return. "Thank you," I mumbled, stepping aside to allow her entrance.