TRISTAN'S POV
After consuming more than half of Aunt Marissa's stress-management baking, Tristan patted his still flat stomach with a sigh of contentment.
"Wish I can take your kitchen home with me."
Marissa smiled. "I'll have you know that I cherish my kitchen too much to give away, but I'll arrange a lunch box for you."
Tristan pouted. "I guess that'll have to do."
He noticed the smile waning from her face as she nagged the insides of her lower lips.
Sure enough, when her eyes flickered towards him they were more serious than he'd ever seen them. Protective Mommy Mode activated.
"How's she doing? Audrey?"
Tristan contemplated what to tell her. He didn't want to lie…he never lied, why should he? But he had no idea what the actual truth was either.
He busied himself with clearing the used dishes and, despite her protests, took them to the sink for cleaning.
He relaxed his shoulders as he tried to appear casual. Also, he couldn't remember the last time he did dishes.
