Sylvan Cheney’s hospital room was a private single room, where sunshine stread in through the half-drawn curtains, casting light on the floor and the bedsheets.
The weather was nice today, the lazy sun hanging in the east, its rays not too harsh.
When Jasmine Yale appeared at the door of the hospital room carrying a thermal container, Charles Mcintosh was taken aback.
She lifted her watery eyes to look at Charles Mcintosh, "Mr. Mcintosh, hello."
Charles Mcintosh’s eyes hardened, "Miss Yale, why have you co back?"
He ntioned it had been nearly two years since he had last seen Jasmine Yale.
Now, seeing her again, she was still her usual self, radiant and even more beautiful than before.
A light yellow coat complented her tender, fair skin, and a slight movent of her lips revealed two shallow dimples.
"I heard Mr. Cheney was ill."
"Oh, it’s nothing serious," Charles Mcintosh, quick-witted, instantly understood sothing. It seed soone had called Jasmine Yale back, "Miss Yale, you don’t need to worry."
"Nothing’s wrong?"
"Nothing."
"You aren’t lying to ?" Jasmine Yale tugged at her heart, her large eyes intently staring at Charles Mcintosh.
"I wouldn’t dare."
Jasmine Yale bit her lip, it seed Joe Heath had lied to her.
Sylvan Cheney was indeed sick, but seriously ill was an exaggeration.
"Is he awake?" Jasmine Yale looked towards the hospital room, but the door was ajar, and she could see nothing.
"Not yet." Charles Mcintosh stood respectfully at the door, showing no intention of letting Jasmine Yale inside.
Jasmine Yale wasn’t a fool; she saw it.
She lowered her head and handed the thermal container to Charles Mcintosh, "Butler Santana made chicken soup, give it to him and tell him to take care of himself, to smoke less. If he catches a cold, remind him to take his dicine on ti."
"Alright."
Charles Mcintosh took the thermal container from Jasmine Yale’s hands, but still did not intend to let her go inside.
"There’s nothing else, then that’s all. I thought he was in serious condition, but since Mr. Mcintosh says it’s nothing, I’ll leave..." Jasmine Yale’s eyelashes drooped, casting a tiny shadow in the light.
"Miss Yale, when did you arrive in Landon?"
"Not long ago."
"Oh, it’s not easy coming all this way. Why not sit in the rest room for a while?"
"No, thanks." Jasmine Yale suddenly realized that the people here did not welco her.
She didn’t know what she had done wrong.
She just felt she was reckless, coming without asking clearly, just trusting Joe Heath’s words.
Flying from Chicago to Landon took 12 hours.
She didn’t know how many tis she had cried on the plane, her eyes still swollen.
Yet, after arriving, she found she was just being sentintal.
But it was a relief there was nothing serious.
She wished him peace and safety.
"Mr. Mcintosh, go in and look after Mr. Cheney. I can manage the airport myself," Jasmine Yale said to Charles Mcintosh.
This man was still the sa, reticent with few words.
"I’ll take you to the airport."
"No need, Mr. Mcintosh, you’re busy. I can manage on my own, don’t need to take up your ti." She gave a slight smile.
On the way here, she had imagined many scenarios, but never expected this.
Hurry here only to hurry away?
Saying this, Jasmine Yale turned around.
Charles Mcintosh made no effort to retain her, and her heart felt cold.
No matter what, even if they didn’t want to see her, they could have let her see Sylvan Cheney at least.
She was just worried about his illness, nothing more.
She wasn’t clinging to him; she certainly wouldn’t disrupt his life.
She had just co to see him.
"Miss Yale, don’t co to Landon again," Charles Mcintosh’s voice called out from behind her.
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