Chapter 110
The noodles were perfectly separated, looking deliciously springy, while the greens were crisp and fresh. A golden fried egg sat invitingly on top just looking at the bowl was enough to make anyone’s mouth water.
Lyman sat at the dining table, taking in the meal before him, his eyes shining with quiet contentment.
“You worked hard on this.”
“Eat up. I’m going to take a shower,” Effie said offhandedly.
At her words, something flickered in Lyman’s gaze, a depth that hadn’t been there before.
Effie could practically feel the heat of his stare. She hurriedly turned and made her way to the bathroom, and soon the sound of running water filled the apartment.
Lyman remained seated, his eyes unconsciously following her silhouette until the bathroom door closed behind her. He glanced down at his bowl-the steam rising, the aroma comforting-and an unexpected warmth bloomed quietly in his chest. He realized, somewhat to his surprise, just how much he enjoyed this simple kind of life.
He picked up his fork, twirling up a mouthful of noodles. They were just as chewy as they looked, the fresh greens and savory egg blending together into something homey and satisfying-simple, but perfect.
After he finished eating, Lyman cleared the table and washed the dishes.
A while later, the sound of the shower stopped. Not long after, Effie emerged, dressed in pale pink pajamas, her hair damp and tumbling messily over her shoulders.
She spotted Lyman standing in the kitchen doorway, and paused, a little startled. “You’re done already?”
“Yeah. It was great.” Lyman nodded, his gaze lingering on her, a familiar heat in his eyes.
Effie shifted, suddenly self-conscious. She lowered her head, rubbing at her wet hair with a towel. “Glad you liked it. I’m going to go dry my hair.”
“I’ll help you,” Lyman said suddenly.
Effie blinked, caught off guard, but before she could protest, Lyman was already beside her, gently taking the towel from her hands and softly patting her hair dry.
His movements were tender, his fingertips occasionally grazing her scalp, sending a shiver down her spine.
She stood there, heart racing, acutely aware of how close they were close enough to feel each other’s breath.
The air between them grew charged, the silence thick with unsaid things.
“You… don’t have to go to all this trouble,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, tinged with a nervous tremor.
“It’s no trouble,” Lyman replied, his voice low and gentle, almost magnetic. “You made me dinner. I can help you dry your hair. Seems fair, don’t you think?”
His words seemed to linger in the air, and before Effie knew it, her hair was dry and she was swept up in his arms, carried straight into the bedroom.
The room’s temperature soared in an instant…
…
The next morning, Effie woke to find faint red marks on her skin. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. She quickly found a shirt and buttoned it up tightly.
When she finally emerged, Lyman had already prepared breakfast.
“You could’ve slept in, you know. If you’re tired, just call in and take the day off,” Lyman suggested with a smile.
“That’s okay, I’ve got work today.” Effie’s voice was soft, still shy. Taking a sick day for this sort of reason? The thought alone made her cheeks burn.
After breakfast, Effie rushed off to the office.
She had just finished the first draft of the jewelry design for Isabel, and planned to send it for her approval today.
When she arrived, her colleagues were drifting in as well, gathering in small clusters, chattering excitedly about some new gossip.
Effie had never cared much for office rumors, so she walked straight to her desk and set down her bag.
Just then, Shirley strode over, eyes wide with intrigue, and leaned in conspiratorially. “Effie, you won’t believe the latest-turns out our Mr. Etheridge really is dating Isabel, the ballerina.”