Work Text:
Harold is yawning over his croissant when Grace exclaims quietly. "Oh, no! I don't have anything to wear to the gallery opening tonight."
"I picked up your brown dress from the dry cleaners," John tells her.
"When did you have the time? You ran out of here after that number and didn't come back until midnight!"
"I made time."
Grace coos and reaches over the butter dish to squeeze his hand. "You are so sweet!"
John deposits the jam Grace likes next to her plate with a faintly mischievous smile. She starts laughing, utterly charmed.
Harold sips his tea, content.