’Still wearing a short-sleeved shirt on an early autumn evening. He must run hot... or maybe he’s just afraid people won’t notice his great physique.’
’Exhibitionist...’
Joanna Kennedy grumbled to herself, yet her gaze was involuntarily drawn to the man’s neck and arms. She would steal a glance, then hastily pull her eyes away, only to look again, feeling like a thief.
So engrossed in her surreptitious glances, she failed to notice the slow curl of the man’s lips.
Veins stood out on Simon Lockwood’s arms as he held the bouquet. Noticing her gaze lingering, he flexed slightly, causing the veins on the back of his hand to bulge as well.
His long, fair hands had well-defined knuckles. The blue veins were clearly visible beneath his cool, pale skin, exuding a sense of power.
There was an aesthetic beauty to it, laced with an indefinable, sensual allure.
With a soft DING, the elevator arrived at the top floor. Joanna Kennedy finally managed to tear her gaze away and stepped out.
The fingerprint lock clicked open, and Joanna Kennedy went in first. After walking a few feet, she realized she hadn’t heard another set of footsteps and that the man hadn’t followed her in.
She turned and saw him standing quietly at the door, still holding the flowers. Joanna Kennedy frowned. "What are you doing just standing there?"
"...Can I come in?"
He had made a mistake once, so now he didn’t dare barge in. He had to think thrice before even asking, terrified of saying the wrong thing again.
Meeting his intense, dark eyes and noticing the barely perceptible caution in them, Joanna Kennedy felt a surge of annoyance at his question. "I never said you couldn’t come in."
"I was mad last time because you lied to me," Joanna Kennedy couldn’t help but add. "You haven’t lied to me this time..."
At the mention of his past transgression, Simon Lockwood’s lips thinned. "I’ll... never lie to you again."
’An overly eager approach and a crude, poorly-thought-out lie are easily seen through, only making things worse. He wouldn’t make such an amateur mistake again.’
There were so many bouquets that by the time they were all finally brought upstairs, they filled nearly half the living room. A faint, fresh fragrance permeated the air, and at first glance, it looked like a sea of flowers.
If they weren’t properly preserved, they would wilt within two days, destined only for the trash.
Joanna Kennedy grew sullen at the thought of such beautiful flowers ending up in the trash. She idly toyed with the petals of one bloom.
’How was she supposed to preserve them? Dry them? There were far too many. Trying to turn all of them into dried flowers would be the death of her.’
’It was all Simon Lockwood’s fault. Why on earth did he buy so many?’ The more Joanna Kennedy thought about it, the angrier she became. But the object of her ire was nowhere to be seen. She scanned the room and finally spotted him on the balcony.
The balcony was spacious, containing only a few pots of pothos and a cat bed. Simon Lockwood was unwrapping a bouquet, taking out the pink roses and arranging them in a vase of water.
The glass vase complemented the delicate pink of the blooms, creating a warm, romantic scene. Even the green thorns on the stems seemed to gain a certain beauty.
Simon Lockwood’s gaze lingered on the sharp thorns, his expression unreadable as he seemed lost in thought.
After a long moment, he finally moved. He pulled a single rose from the vase. The stem was still wet, and as it touched his skin, a droplet of water trickled down the back of his hand.
The thorns were sharp. He pressed the stem hard against his forearm and dragged it slowly downward. It left a deep, red line in its wake, the thorns easily breaking the skin.
Only when he saw a line of blood beads slowly welling up did Simon Lockwood stop, hissing softly.
The faint sound from the balcony caught Joanna Kennedy’s attention.
Puzzled, Joanna Kennedy ambled over. She was just about to ask, "What’s wrong?" when she got a clear look at the scene on the balcony. Her pupils constricted, and the words caught in her throat.
A long, red scratch marred the clean lines of his forearm. It was already beading with blood—a frightening sight. As the seconds passed, the droplets of blood swelled.
Yet Simon Lockwood acted as if it were nothing, moving to wipe the blood away with his other hand. He stopped halfway, as if only just noticing her presence.
His eyes met hers, and he instinctively froze. Following her gaze to his arm, he seemed to react a moment too late, pulling his arm behind his back to hide the injury. "There’s still some space out here. I’ll move the rest of the flowers to the balcony later."
’Even now, all he can think about is those damned flowers.’ Joanna took a deep breath to calm herself. "Come here."
Without waiting for his reaction, Joanna Kennedy spun on her heel and stalked away, her very posture radiating suppressed fury.
And Joanna Kennedy was, in fact, truly furious.
Simon Lockwood was hurt, and his first instinct was to hide it instead of telling her. Joanna Kennedy felt an unexplainable rage ignite in her chest, burning hotter and hotter.
She marched to the washroom, only to find him had stopped outside again. She snapped, "I know you’re tall, but you don’t need to stand there on display! What are you showing off? Who isn’t over five feet tall?!"
Joanna Kennedy: "Get in here!"
’Her tone was fierce, but her eyes were filled with distress and frustration. Cute...’
Simon Lockwood slowly lowered his gaze, his long lashes concealing the dark glint that flashed in his eyes.
From Joanna Kennedy’s perspective, he looked hurt, yet he obediently came inside.
Seeing his meek and submissive act, Joanna Kennedy found her anger dissipating. She unceremoniously yanked the arm he’d been hiding behind his back and thrust it under the automatic sensor faucet.
Clear water from the faucet rinsed the blood and sap from his arm. Joanna kept her head down, and once she was sure the wound was clean, she pulled a bottle of iodine and some cotton swabs from a drawer.
Sitting opposite each other on the living room sofa, Joanna Kennedy dipped a cotton swab in iodine. She gingerly touched it to the wound, but paused the instant it made contact.
She’d never had any medical training, but a thought surfaced in her mind out of nowhere—*rolling the cotton swab in one direction reduces the pain.*
It was as if, somewhere in her past, someone had once treated a wound for her in this exact way.
Joanna Kennedy was momentarily lost in a daze. Fragments of a memory flashed through her mind: a man, his gaze lowered as he treated a wound for her. His eyelashes were long and thick, his expression intent.
’Who was he? This man who kept appearing in her thoughts... who was he? Why couldn’t she ever see his face clearly?’
"Joanna? Joanna?"
The man’s low, pleasant voice pulled her back from her chaotic thoughts. Joanna Kennedy squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, and by the time she opened them again, she had suppressed the dull ache spreading in her chest. Her tone was sharp. "What? Did I hurt you?"
"Weren’t you acting so tough just a minute ago?" Joanna taunted. "Afraid of a little pain now?"
Simon Lockwood never rose to her verbal spars. Her words made him flinch, and it took him a few seconds to reply. "No, it doesn’t hurt..."
"Oh. Good for you."
Her voice dripped with sarcasm. Simon Lockwood wisely decided to shut his mouth.
Though her tone was harsh, her hands were impossibly gentle. With her head bowed slightly, she focused on carefully cleaning his wound.
The bright living room light illuminated her face, her lowered lashes casting soft shadows beneath her eyes.
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