Jackson’s P.O.V.
Walking into the kitchen felt like walking into a crime scene. Only instead of blood, the air was thick with embarrassment, and the murder weapon was, apparently, my naked backside if Gran would have walked in instead of knocked. Gran sat at the table like she owned the world—or at least, this particular corner of it. Her tea steamed innocently in front of her while her eyes glinted with way too much amusement.
Eluna cleared her throat and dropped into a chair beside me, her face still glowing crimson.
“Gran… how did you even get in here?”
“Oh please,” Gran said, waving a hand.
“You think I can’t figure out where my granddaughter disappeared to when journalists start piling up outside Koda’s restaurant like it’s an all-you-can-eat buffet? That boy can cook, sure, bu
