Andrew's POV
The next morning, I dragged myself down for breakfast, bleary-eyed from a night of fitful sleep and worried thoughts.
As I entered the kitchen, I was met with a sight that momentarily drove all concerns from my mind.
My dad who was supposed to be at his short business trip, stood at the stove wearing a frilly pink apron that definitely belonged to Ms Thompson, our cook.
He had definitely returned from his journey at midnight when everybody was asleep.
He was frantically waving a smoking pan, cursing under his breath as he tried to salvage what I assumed was supposed to be breakfast.
"Uh, Dad? Is everything okay there?" I managed, biting back a laugh.
He whirled around, a panicked look on his face.
"Andrew! Thank goodness. Quick, how do you put out an egg fire?" He asked, looking all serious.
I blinked, processing his words.
