Head of the house

Clara turned back swiftly, ending the call instantly as she faced her father-in-law.

“It’s nothing; I was talking to Wyatt about a new item I’m expecting,” she replied hurriedly, trying to sound casual.

Timothy Crawford descended the stairs, leaning on the walking stick he used for balance. Even in his old age, his sharp eyes missed nothing.

“You sounded like you were talking about someone instead of something,” Timothy said.

He eased himself into one of the couches, his eyes never leaving Clara. “Anyway, you don’t have to end your call because of me.”

“Oh, I was actually done talking to him,” Clara replied, trying to keep her voice steady.

“Alright, if you say so,” Timothy said, leaning back into the couch.

“Yes, hmm,” Clara stammered, eager to escape his probing gaze as she said, “I’ll just go check on the chef.”

Once she was out of sight, Clara let out a long, shaky breath.

A few seconds later, "Dad?" Peter called, walking down the stairs, over to Timothy.

"Where are your sons?" Ti