AUTHORS POV

The previous night had been hell for Pedro. Dean would not stop tossing, waking up midway sleep to cry and go back to sleep.

Tessa had called but Pedro missed it.

He wished he had not missed her call, perhaps speaking to Dean would have brought about some relief, he returned twenty calls and she ignored all of them or maybe she was busy and would probably reach out to him later, or so he thought.

In the dining room, a pristine white tablecloth waited. Pedro had brewed strong espresso, but his concern was planting it in Dean’s stomach now.

He prepared scrambled eggs, fruit, and toast—thinking it...