Old Mr. Thorne could understand his granddaughter's awe at the scenery in front of her, could understand her twitching nose, could understand her inhaling deeply as if to suck as much beautiful air as she could.
After all, this was the place tended lovingly by his wife, a place he usually came to when he needed to think, to make critical decisions, to relax without the interruption of the outside world.
"It is your space too. You can come here when you need to think… so you don't make hasty decisions."
The softer allure of his last words got Athena's attention, her brows knitting together as she tried to comprehend his intent.
"Grandpa, if this is about—"
"It is." Old Mr. Thorne agreed, his eyes meeting hers in so much fatherly love that Athena's defensiveness faded away. She instead shifted closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder.
It, however, didn't mean that she was planning to change her mind—only to listen to him.
