"Hmm, go to bed early, I put a hot water bottle on the bed for you," said Sylvan Cheney. "No need to wait for ."
Jasmine Yale was taken aback, not expecting him to do this.
"You shouldn’t work too late either. Take a hot shower and co to bed. You have to work tomorrow!"
"Alright."
Jasmine didn’t concern herself with him further. She vaguely slled smoke on the balcony — was he smoking?
n often have uncontrollable hobbies, like smoking or drinking, and he was no exception.
There was a warm hot water bottle on the bed, but Jasmine still preferred the warmth of Sylvan’s body.
She brought him a thick blanket, worried he might catch a cold in the living room.
Afterward, she said nothing and returned to the bedroom.
She didn’t plan to continue working or reading, turned off the light, and lay down on the bed.
Coming to his apartnt, she had no other purpose but to talk and sleep together with him. Now, it seed to deviate sowhat.
In the past few days, he had indeed been very attentive to her, cared about every detail.
But a busy person cannot be attentive every day, and she didn’t have much complaint, she understood.
Tossing and turning in bed, she soon drifted into sleep.
Outside, the wind was clear and the moon bright, very quiet.
In the middle of the night.
She didn’t know what ti it was.
Probably Sylvan had just finished his shower, climbed into bed and wrapped her in his warm embrace.
"Hmm..." Jasmine lightly furrowed her brow, her small hand naturally grabbed his robe’s collar, in a daze, half-awake, "Are you done working yet..."
"Sleep, don’t talk."
"What ti is it..." she mumbled, persistently asking.
"Don’t talk, keep sleeping."
"Mhm."
Jasmine didn’t ask again, indeed snuggled into his neck and slept again.
Maybe his scent reassured her, she slept soundly until dawn without waking.
When she woke up, it was already past eight in the morning.
Sylvan had long gone to the office.
She rubbed her eyes, yawned, and upon exiting the bedroom, she saw the note on the table: "Rember to heat the breakfast on the table, don’t forget to eat the apple and supplents. Dress warmly, don’t catch a cold."
It was his handwriting.
Jasmine quietly heated the breakfast, then sat alone at the table eating.
Most of the breakfast was bought by him, the red bean and black rice porridge was made by him. It wasn’t too sweet or greasy, particularly refreshing, and tasted good.
Yet, Jasmine couldn’t taste much of it.
She didn’t know what was wrong with her, as if emotions suddenly surged up, leaving an indescribable feeling in her chest.
Was it the severe mood swings of pregnancy? She didn’t know.
After eating half a bowl of porridge and drinking a cup of milk, Jasmine put down the bowl and chopsticks.
She tidied up Sylvan’s apartnt, washed the changed clothes, and ticulously folded the quilts.
Although Sylvan told her not to do these chores, she felt she could, so she did.
Outside the window, the sunshine was glorious, under the azure sky, the morning breeze gently blowing.
...
During those days, Jasmine maintained this state with Sylvan.
He was quite busy with work; when he left in the morning, she hadn’t woken up, and when he returned at night, she might have already been asleep.
In contrast, he worked every night until one or two in the morning.
They didn’t spend much ti together each day.
He wouldn’t co ho for lunch, sotis he would take her out to a restaurant.
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