"Mom!"
Not far away, George Stephens’s clear voice rang out.
He was holding two ice cream cones, and the staff mber opposite him was holding another one; he obviously couldn’t carry them all.
Charlotte Smith snapped back to reality, hurriedly withdrawing her gaze from the man’s face, and turned around to walk toward Robert Stephens.
Behind her, the man slowly lifted his head, his calm, dark eyes settled on the mother and son.
...
Charlotte paid and asked the staff to take back the remaining ice cream. George pouted slightly and complained in a low voice, "That was for the teacher!"
Charlotte gently replied, "He can’t have ice cream."
Even though he seed in good spirits today, he still couldn’t have it.
George pouted his little mouth, took his ice cream, and went to offer it to Robert Stephens.
The man hesitated for a mont; Charlotte walked over, pulled George aside, and scolded him lightly, "George, be good!"
Robert stepped in, "Charlotte, it’s okay." He raised his hand to pat George’s little head and said gently, "The teacher has a sensitive stomach and can’t eat cold things, sorry."
George blinked, looked at the man, and asked worriedly, "Will he never be able to eat it in the future?"
Robert smiled, "Maybe he can have it in the future."
"Then I’ll buy so for the teacher in the future."
The man nodded, watching him with a very tender gaze.
After finishing the ice cream, the three of them boarded the Ferris wheel together.
George was very excited, looking around inside the Ferris wheel and occasionally calling her over.
Charlotte sat in her seat, feeling the man becoming noticeably quieter.
Her attention was on him, watching him lean back in his seat, eyes slightly closed. She couldn’t help but tug his hand and softly called his na, "Rob..."
Robert opened his eyes, his transparent lashes shimring in the sunlight, his pupils illuminated crystal clear.
At that mont, she saw the eyes of the young boy from many years ago.
She instinctively corrected herself, "Robert. What’s wrong?"
The man looked at her, then lowered his eyes and whispered, "I’m a bit afraid of heights, co closer and don’t ruin George’s fun."
Charlotte slowly moved closer and felt the man lightly rest his face on her shoulder, his faint, cool breath and his skin’s lack of warmth pressed against her own.
He carried a subtle, bitter dicinal sll, devoid of the incense scent that usually surrounded him, making him seem fragile and ethereal.
He now resembled a dream she had as a young girl.
In the dream, she and Robert Stephens were still two clean kids, without any blood on their hands or lives taken by their actions.
She couldn’t help looking down at him, observing his snow-white, transparent eyelashes and the white hair falling down, his matured and refined facial features. The man’s breath was faint, everything like a dream, transparent and fragile.
Charlotte’s breathing slowed, she turned her head slightly to look out the window. At this mont, the Ferris wheel had rotated to its highest point, the entire city lay beneath them, a beam of sunlight leaking from the clouds, scattering upon the world. In her ears, George’s exclamations of wonder, inhaling the clean scent of the man’s presence. She gently tightened her grip and prayed silently in her heart: if there really is a deity, let ti stop at this mont.
This was the closest to happiness she had ever been in her life.
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