“Shhh.” He poked a button on his steering wheel, turning the volume up. Millie whooped from the back seat and sang even louder. “I’m listening to this.”
I didn’t think it was possible, but he’d stunned me into silence. I had no words, no comebacks. Nothing. My brain couldn’t string coherent letters together, when all I could think about was how nice it felt to have my hand nestled so tightly in his.
All the way to my parents’ home, it was the only thing I could concentrate on. And as horrible as it was to admit, I missed his touch when we climbed out of the car.
Ofcourse, Miss Millie’s excitement couldn’t be contained. She ran ahead of us, opening the door and rushing inside before we’d even reached the porch.
“She didn’t knock,” Tristan said, his tone rife with confusion.
I gave him a confused look of my own. “She’s family, she doesn’t have to knock. Doyouknock at your parents’ home?”
His frown deepened as he scraped a big hand over the nape of his neck. “The few times I’ve been there, yes.” His voice was softer, almost a whisper. And I might have imagined it, but I could’ve sworn there was sadness too.
“Why?”
The question was out before I could stop it. And although I really wanted to know, I still added, “You don’t have to answer; it’s none of my business.”
He made the same humming noise as earlier. But unlike the car, silence didn’t follow.
“Manners are very important to my mother. She had countless tutors drill them into me from the moment I could talk. I couldn’t imagine she’d find it endearing if I just wandered through her front door without an invitation or Beaufort announcing me.”
A laugh bubbled up my throat, but when I noticed Tristan’s serious expression, I swallowed it before a single sound could escape. It wasn’t a joke. That’s really how it was between him and his parents.
My heart broke a little. I might not have always gotten along with them, but my family was the most important thing in my life. If we’d ever treated our relationships like business transactions, I’d never have survived it.
“My parents would be incredibly hurt if their children felt the need to knock. Even if I don’t live here anymore, this is and always will be my home. You don’t ask for permission to enter your own home.”
He hummed again. That’s all I got. I’d take it though. Without him realizing, he’d let me peel back a layer. Later, when I was alone, I’d roll this new puzzle piece around inside my brain until I found out exactly where it fit.
First, I had to get through lunch and the million questions my family would undoubtedly have.
Chapter twenty
Kate
Tristan cautiously followed as I, too, walked through the door without knocking.
“Where’s everyone hiding?” I called out.
A grunt came from the living room while my mom yelled, “In the kitchen. Where else would I be?”
I laughed. Growing up, my mom used to joke that she spent so much time in the kitchen, she didn’t even know what the rest of the house looked like. It was all good-hearted though.
Mom loved to cook and bake. Feeding her family was her love language. She even had the plaque to prove it.
That was why I wasn’t too surprised to find her with a potlid in one hand while carefully stirring her stew with the other.
“Hey, Mom.”
“I tried to call you last night.” She spoke without taking her eyes off her food.
Heat settled in my cheeks. Behind me, Tristan snorted, and I barely resisted the urge to elbow him in the gut.
“Yeah,” I said sheepishly. “My phone was kind of disposed. Sorry I missed your call.”
Mom waved a hand through the air and returned the lid to the pot. Still not facing us, she busied herself with washing her hands.
“That social worker who oversaw how well Millie adapted to living with you. I forgot her name now.” Snapping her fingers, she pulled random names from her head. “Crenshaw or was it Hubert?”
