“Good morning, mate,” Tristan’s deep voice greeted me the moment he stepped into the room, a tray of breakfast balanced effortlessly in his hands.
I blinked in surprise, sitting up in bed with wide eyes. He was serious—deadly serious—about this whole mate thing. Dressed in an apron like a seasoned chef, he crossed the room and set the tray gently on the table. The scent of warm bread, spiced tea, and freshly cooked eggs filled the air.
A soft chuckle escaped my lips. The image of the feared Tristan, apron-clad and fussing over breakfast, was something I’d never imagined. I slipped out of bed, still smiling, and headed to the bathroom to freshen up.
By the time I returned, he had removed the apron and was seated at the small dining table, waiting patiently for me.
“Sit,” he said softly,
