"You have been absconding from breakfast, my dear…"
Old Mr. Thorne's gruff voice floated across the long dining table the moment Gianna stepped in, fastidiously dressed for work.
She softened as she covered the distance between them, smiling before bending to drop a kiss on his warm, wrinkled forehead.
His brows shot up, but he didn't pull away.
"I'll be fine, old man. Don't worry too much," she teased, smoothing a hand over his shoulder.
He snorted loudly—one of his trademark disapprovals—and she chuckled, tapping him lightly on the arm as though patting down his irritation.
"I just have to be at work on time," she added, straightening. "Can't be late on my first day."
Florence, sitting beside her husband with that gentle calm she carried everywhere, nodded slowly. "Alright. But you will get a packed lunch." Her tone dared Gianna to rebel.
Of course she couldn't miss breakfast twice in a row. Gianna's lips twitched in amusement.
