Freya Rose
Tristan, Tyler and Cassie walked into the kitchen, so I put my phone back in my bag. I began pouring out five glasses of orange juice.
“Hi, Mrs. Rose,” Tyler and Cassie greeted my mom.
“How many times have I told you two? You are family, call me Eleanor,” she said while folding a tea towel.
“Sorry, Eleanor,” they apologized while taking their seats at the other end of the dining table. Tristan sniggered as he picked up the plates of pancakes from the worktop. He walked over to us and placed them in the middle of the table. My mom followed over and sat in an empty seat to my right. Tristan came up to me and held my face between his hands and then softly kissed my lips. I slid my hand through his hair and pulled his face in closer, deepening the kiss. I heard Cassie whistle
