Page 74 of The Billionaire's Wife

I wanted that.

When I heard a key in the lock, I turned my head to peer down the hallway. I spotted Tristan with two paper bags. He set one down on the little table by the door, kicked off his shoes, and turned the deadbolt.

Something in my chest clinched.

Maybe I had it already.

Tristan looked up and his eyes met mine. Everything about his seemed to brighten. He hurried down the hall and dropped the bag he still held on the island. “Bakery bread, as requested.”

Angie walked to the bag, opened it, and looked in. “Tristan Lee.”

“What?” His face was the picture of impish innocence.

Angie reached in and pulled out a clear bag of sliced wheat sandwich bread. “You know this isn’t what I meant. The mass-produced part of the commentary wasn’t my issue.”

“It wasn’t? You should’ve been more specific. They had a really nice-looking sourdough boule that I would have bought instead if I’d known.”

Angie propped her hands on her hips and scowled at him.

Steve started to chuckle.

Tristan fought to keep a straight face.

I just shook my head.

“Go get it.” Angie pointed toward the door.

Tristan made a show of his shoulders slumping. “All right, but it means dinner’s going to be that much further off.”

Angie just pointed again.

“You’re really sending me back out into the cold? For bread?” Tristan gave an exaggerated shiver and started to shuffle toward the hallway.

Angie looked at the sliced bread with disdain. “Is this really all you brought?”

“Why?” Tristan stopped and glanced back at his mom.

She groaned. “Fine. It’ll do. The soup is ready, so we might as well eat. I’m sorry, Faith, that it has to be served with…this.” Angie flicked the top of the bag with her fingers.

“It’s all right.” I stood. “Let me get bowls down.”

“No, Mom. If it’s that important, I’ll go back out.” Tristan started down the hallway. “Don’t worry about—oh, hey, what’s this?”

He came back with the other paper bag. “Maybe I did get that sourdough.”

Angie shook the wooden spoon in his face before taking the bag and peering in. “Much better. Maybe I don’t have to disown you after all. Sliced wheat bread.”

The last was a mutter under her breath and I had to turn away not to laugh. Even the sliced bread looked yummier than the grocery store bread in the fridge. I’d enjoy it for sandwiches at lunch.

Tristan rubbed my arm as he stepped past me to get the bowls. I hurried to the silverware drawer for spoons and a ladle while Angie sliced thick slabs of sourdough.

In minutes, we were all back in the living room with dishes balanced on our laps. Steve said a quick, but thorough, and in no way perfunctory, blessing.

“You need a dining room table.” Angie looked around the space. “There’s room for something small.”

Tristan shrugged. “It’s been mostly just me, so the island works. Even with Faith here now, there’s just two of us.”

“And when the guys come over?” Angie shot him a pointed look.

---