"You’re quite good at ordering people around." Sylvan Cheney took the hairdryer she handed over, a barely noticeable smile in his eyes.
"Weren’t you the one who promised to help dry my hair in the future?" Jasmine Yale said without thinking.
"Hm?" Sylvan Cheney frowned, had he made that promise?
"Can I sit on the balcony?" Jasmine asked, not noticing his expression, putting on her clean slippers.
"Sure." Sylvan followed her over.
He thought, she probably mistook him for her deceased husband again.
Had he ever promised her he’d dry her hair?
They had only known each other for a few months, there were so promises he still rembered.
Jasmine laid a soft blanket on the chair, happily sat down, her face couldn’t hide her joy. It was a kind of joy that naturally radiated from within.
She started humming a song.
Sylvan turned on the hairdryer.
Soon, the sound of the hairdryer mixed with Jasmine’s singing spread across the balcony.
Jasmine was in a good mood, and Sylvan seed to be in a good mood as well.
Short hair was easy to dry, not taking as long as long hair.
"Alright, all done." Sylvan used his hand to style her hair slightly, "How do you think my skills are?"
Jasmine laughed, "They’re good."
"If you’re tired, go to sleep. I’m going to take a shower."
"Thank you." She looked up at him.
The light on the balcony wasn’t very bright; the dim light against Jasmine’s small face gave her a clean look.
Sylvan looked at her uncontrollably.
She was a woman already pregnant, yet she looked like a seventeen or eighteen-year-old girl, like snow on a mountain, her eyes pristine.
Sylvan admitted once again, her previous man had protected her well, leaving her untouched by worldly impurities.
"It’s what I should do." He didn’t say much, just turned around with the hairdryer.
Jasmine sat on the chair, swinging her feet as she always did.
Soon, the sound of water ca from the bathroom.
She sat on the balcony for a while, then went to the fridge to warm so fresh milk.
His once cold and quiet apartnt suddenly beca lively, as if the bleak winter had swiftly turned into bustling spring.
Jasmine held the cup of milk on the bed, flipping through her work notes in hand.
Where there were mistakes, she made corrections; unclear areas were noted down.
The little one in her belly wasn’t calm, occasionally kicking, starting to act up at night.
When it got particularly unruly, Jasmine couldn’t even work, and had to stop to soothe the little one’s mood.
She was finally going to have a child of her own.
She looked forward to the arrival of this child.
The sound of water from the bathroom stopped.
Soon, the man in a black robe ca out, toweling his hair.
His tall figure was filled with noble, haughty elegance, every move exuding aristocratic grace. Under the light, his features were distinct and sharp, lips pressed together, sotis drops of water would fall from his hair.
The robe’s neckline was half open, revealing a patch of sensual skin.
He ca out just in ti to see Jasmine leaning against the pillow, lounging there so lazily, her eyelids barely lifting.
Milk stains lingered on her lips, the half-finished cup of milk set on the bedside.
His gaze involuntarily fell to the skin below her neck.
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