Stiles
"I'm nervous," I admitted.
"It's understandable," Lydia told me. I nodded and shrugged. The pack had left at 4:30 this morning and now it's 9:03 at night. Lydia is sitting at the island, Melissa and my dad next to her. I was cooking, baking and frying anything I can. My hands wouldn't stop shaking and the only thing I could do to keep my hands busy was cook. Everyone was enjoying my attempts at calming my nerves by stuffing their mouths full
"When did you get so good at cooking?" Dad asked through a mouth full of food.
"I had to do something in my free time while I was in Texas." I pulled out my new batch of cookies and set them on the counter. I sighed and leaned on the counter, head bowed. "I need a drink," I grumbled. Before anyone could say anything I reached under the sink and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. "Who wants one?" Lydia, Melissa and my dad all raised their hands. Then we all started to get drunk.
