Outside the nursing ho.
Nathalie Quinlan, dressed in black, casually walked out of the nursing ho with one hand in her pocket.
Amadeus Yancey leaned against the car by the side of the alley.
He didn’t drive the Hongqi today, but had switched to an off-road vehicle, a tall and handso model with its wild tallic fra glistening with a silver sheen under the light.
A car that was quite eye-catching.
But none of it compared to the man leaning against the off-road vehicle who drew even more attention.
Amadeus Yancey wore a black shirt today, the collar slightly open, revealing an attractive collarbone, white as jade, an austere look with three parts of alluring charm.
Nathalie saw him, paused her steps, raised an eyebrow, her dark eyes glanced in his direction.
But she only took a deep look for a mont before quickly retracting her line of sight and nonchalantly walked over as if nothing was wrong.
"Alfred Garland didn’t co?"
Amadeus Yancey raised his head, only then noticing Nathalie was out.
The girl wore a duckbill cap, standing tall and proud, carefree and casual. She had a faint sll of disinfectant, indicating she had been in the nursing ho all day with Mr. Zachmann.
He opened the car door, put the cigarette lighter back into the seat, turned around, and opened the car door for the girl, his brows peaceful: "Mm, he had sothing co up. Get in the car first."
"Oh." Nathalie didn’t think much of it, nodded calmly, sat in the passenger seat, and reached out to buckle her seatbelt.
Amadeus Yancey walked around to the other side and got in the car, buckled his seatbelt, then adjusted the car window for her, letting in fresh air from outside, then turned his head to ask her: "What do you want to eat tonight?"
"Hmm..." Nathalie pulled out her phone with one hand, looking at the ssage Shawn Norton sent her, then raised her head at his question, her eyes dark and bright. She leaned casually against the car window, supporting her arm, thought for a long ti before lazily saying: "I don’t know."
"You don’t know?" Amadeus Yancey couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh from his throat, leaned back like Nathalie in the sa lazy manner: "Hot pot?"
The girl glanced at him, soon withdrew her gaze, shook her head, straightforwardly said: "I’m tired of it."
"Tsk." Amadeus Yancey curled his thin lips, his deep eyes like cold pools, looking at the person beside him: "I thought you would never get tired of hot pot."
Nathalie considered his words, quite rarely seriously replied: "Not really, if you let have it three tis a week, spaced out, I won’t get tired of it. But if you let have hot pot three tis in a day, I actually would get quite tired of it."
This explanation itself was rather like a big boss.
Yet Amadeus Yancey didn’t say anything, turned on the car’s air conditioner for her, started the car, and then said: "Then we’ll eat at ho. I’ll go to the supermarket to buy so groceries."
Nathalie certainly had no objections, lifted her eyes up, quite charming: "You cook?"
Amadeus Yancey’s gaze fell from her striking brows to her luscious red lips, paused for a mont before withdrawing, lazily replied: "How about Nathalie the Goddess cooks personally?"
Nathalie was quite composed, rely glanced at him briefly, crossed her arms, very openly said: "If you don’t mind having scrambled eggs with tomatoes, I can cook."
Amadeus Yancey chuckled, reached out to gently ruffle the top of her head, a tickling sweet sensation before reluctantly withdrawing his hand, clutching the steering wheel again, stepped on the accelerator: "Our family doesn’t need you to cook."
His voice was lazy, but full of indulgence: "Whatever you want to eat, I’ll make it for you."
Nathalie pursed her lips, looked at him again through the rearview mirror for a while before clearly replying: "Whatever you make, I’ll eat."
She thought for a mont, raised her eyebrows, casually added: "I’m not picky."
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