2
A few minutes after Tristan left her room, Kat did the same. She could hear Tristan’s voice echo up from the stairs. It sounded like he was talking to her father. She heard the word Super Bowl and rolled her eyes.
Her father was a football junkie. No one would know it to look at him; he was a polished, well-dressed investment banker, but when it came to football, he was one step away from painting his face and waving a giant foam finger.
Lizzy met her at the bottom of the stairs, smiling warmly. “The boys are occupied with sports, so we can make our escape.”
“I’m ready to take on the last-minute Christmas shopping,” she said, grinning as she followed Lizzy out the door.
Tristan’s mother smiled back. “Me too. Let’s hope the crowds aren’t too terrible.”
A black Porsche SUV was parked
