Tilda adjusted her glasses and quickly reasoned, "I mean, we have troubled you enough for today, haven't we? You must be busy. We don't want to keep you more from your work."

Letting him join them for dinner? There was no way she would allow that.

Lyndon put his hands in his pockets, his lips curling into a smirk at Tilda's words.

"No matter how busy I am, I still need to have proper meals, don't I? Didn't you just say that you are very grateful to me, Miss Larson?

How can you turn me away from your dinner table?"

Tilda gritted her teeth and stared at the man's calm expression for one tense moment before finally looking away.

"Of course, you can stay for dinner, Mr. Fernandez," Elma quickly interjected. "Please have a seat and wait for a while. The dishes will be ready soon."

"Thank you." Lyndon nodded and plopped down on the sofa, as if it was the most natural thing for him to do.

He had long legs, and the space in the living room seemed to shrink at his presence.

Tilda stayed to the side, fuming in silence. Why was he barging into her life again?

“I'm a little thirsty," Lyndon suddenly said.

Damn it all to hell! Serving him was the last thing she wanted to do.

Tilda swallowed a string of expletives and remained rooted to the spot.

Lyndon cocked his to the side and raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to move. After a few seconds passed with no reaction from her, he stood up and said, "All right, I'll get it myself, then. Elma, can I have a glass of water?"

Elma, who was busily puttering around the kitchen, called out, “Yes, yes! I'll bring you a glass right away."

“What are you making?" Lyndon had already popped into the kitchen and appeared behind her.

“Oh, just something simple. I hope you'll like them."

“But of course. You cooked them, after all. Do you need my help with anything?" Lyndon offered.

"No, no, not at all. Just make yourself comfortable and wait."

Lyndon and Elma were having a friendly chat. Tilda watched their exchange from a few feet away, her brows furrowed.