“Wow, Valen, you look like hell,” Griffin teased from the kitchen table, sipping his coffee with an infuriating grin. Valencia rolled her eyes, brushing past him as she carried Alaric into the living room. “He kept me up all night,” she mumbled, gently setting her pup into the swing before returning to the kitchen in search of orange juice.
“Actually,” Griffin added smugly, “you look more like you’ve been crying.” Valencia froze, hand on the fridge door. “I have not . . .” She sighed and turned back toward him. “Spill the tea,” he said, patting the seat next to him with exaggerated flair. She groaned but slid into the chair beside him. “Fine. But you can’t say anything yet.”
Griffin dramatically mimed locking his lips and tossing the imaginary key over his shoulder. Valencia gave a sma
