“Here’s the invitation for University C's centennial celebration, it was sent together with Lawyer Wilson and Lawyer Wilson's, but I brought yours over separately.”

“Thank you.” Ian Mitchell nodded and took it, opening the beautifully designed invitation featuring University C's iconic building. It stated that the centennial celebration would be on November 15th at University C.

Beth glanced up at the clock on the wall—5:40. “Lawyer Mitchell, if there’s nothing else, I’ll get off work now.”

“That’s all, you can go.”

“Then I’ll head out.” Beth packed up her things, then suddenly remembered, “Lawyer Mitchell, your phone rang several times just now.”

He hadn’t brought his phone when meeting with the client, and there were two missed calls. One was from another client; Ian Mitchell immediately called back, talked for a few minutes, and hung up. The other one… he pressed the green button.

The other party picked up right away. “Ian Mitchell.”

“What is it?” His voice was a bit cold.

“Um.” The other person seemed put off by his coldness, hesitated, then said, “Ian Mitchell, I can’t find my keys.”

She was waiting for him across the street, bag slung over her shoulder, wearing a sweater with a big collar, head down, counting the tiles on the ground.

Red light. He stopped, watching her from a distance.

So many things hadn’t changed. She still liked wearing sweaters, still dressed like a student even though she was twenty-six or twenty-seven. When waiting for someone, she still liked to count the tiles on the ground.

Back then, he always made her wait.

Once, she waited so long she lost her temper at him: “I counted all the way to nine hundred ninety-nine before you showed up! If you make me count to a thousand next time, I’ll never talk to you again!”

And yet, another time, he was suddenly called to a meeting by the department. When the long meeting finally ended and he rushed over, she was still there. This time, she wasn’t even angry anymore, just looked at him aggrievedly and said, “Ian Mitchell, I’ve counted to nine hundred ninety-nine several times.”

And in these seven years, how many times had he himself counted to nine hundred ninety-nine?

It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought of giving up, he just could never make it to a thousand.

He hurried across the crosswalk. Next to Mason Scott, a chubby foreigner had appeared out of nowhere, smiling and saying something. Ian Mitchell slowed his pace, walking over, and vaguely heard the foreigner say, “…your spoken English is perfect.”

“Thanks, I have been there for seven years.”

Her fluent English rolled off her tongue effortlessly, as natural as her native language. Ian Mitchell's hand in his pocket unconsciously clenched.

Just then, she turned her head and saw him, smiled, and said to the foreigner, “My husband is coming, maybe he knows how to go there.”

Then she asked him, “Ian Mitchell, do you know how to get to XX Road?”

He nodded and gave the foreigner directions. The chubby foreigner thanked him repeatedly and left.

Now only the two of them were left. Mason Scott suddenly seemed awkward, not knowing what to say to him. It was Ian Mitchell who spoke first: “Where are your keys?”

“Uh… I probably lost them.” She looked down uncomfortably, avoiding his eyes. “Or… maybe I just forgot to bring them this morning.”

Ian Mitchell's sharp gaze took in her unnatural expression, and a feeling he couldn’t name slowly rose in his heart.

If he couldn’t see through her guilty conscience, all his years in the legal field would be for nothing. If Miss Morgan ever committed a crime, she’d better keep silent, or she’d give herself away in just a few words.

“Let’s go.” He suddenly strode ahead, suppressing the feelings quietly stirring in his heart, the ripples caused by her little thoughts, by her saying “My husband.”

“Where are we going?” Mason Scott hurried after him, realizing they weren’t heading to his place—wait, it was in the direction of their home.

“Dinner.”

Dinner? Mason Scott half walked, half ran to keep up with his fast pace. “…Can we eat at home? Let’s go to the supermarket first, it’s not too late.”

When did she learn to cook? And for whom?

Ian Mitchell felt a pang, his voice dropping ten degrees: “No need.”

Fine, no need, but… could he at least slow down?

“Ian Mitchell, slow down.” Mason Scott said, slightly out of breath, and naturally grabbed his sleeve, not even realizing how intimate the gesture was.

Ian Mitchell's heart skipped a beat. He looked down and saw her fair fingers clutching the sleeve of his iron-gray suit.

He said nothing, but slowed his pace.

After several turns, they entered a small alley and walked into a very ordinary little restaurant. Mason Scott looked around curiously, not seeing anything special. But then again, the best food often came from the most unremarkable places. If Ian Mitchell brought her all the way here, it must be good.

The owner greeted them warmly: “Mr. Mitchell, it’s been a long time!”

Mason Scott was surprised—he spoke in pure City Y dialect.

“I’ve been busy lately.” Ian Mitchell replied in dialect as well.

The owner looked at Mason Scott curiously: “Mr. Mitchell, is this your girlfriend? First time I’ve seen you bring a girlfriend, she’s very pretty.”

Ian Mitchell smiled, “Not at all. This is my wife.”

“Wife? Mr. Mitchell is married?”

The owner exclaimed in surprise, then turned to Mason Scott, “Mrs. Mitchell, you’re so lucky to marry someone like Mr. Mitchell. Where are you from, Mrs. Mitchell?”

“I’m from City Y too.” Mason Scott could understand the dialect but couldn’t speak it, since her mother was from another place and they always spoke Mandarin at home.

The owner chatted as he handed them the menu. Ian Mitchell gestured for Mason Scott to order. Mason Scott flipped through the menu and found that all the signature dishes featured bamboo shoots: chicken with bamboo shoots, shredded pork with fresh bamboo, stir-fried pickled vegetables with bamboo… Not surprising, since City Y was famous for bamboo, and it was in season.

She loved bamboo shoots, but… she decided not to order them.

After a while, she finished ordering and handed the menu to the owner. The owner looked at it and actually scolded her: “Mrs. Mitchell, you’re from City Y too, how come you’re not eating bamboo shoots?”

Is it really that strange not to eat bamboo shoots? Ian Mitchell never ate them. When they used to eat together, he always said bamboo shoots had a weird taste, and no matter how she tried to trick him, he wouldn’t take a bite.

“…Mr. Mitchell orders them every time he comes.”

The dishes were served one by one, but Ian Mitchell never touched the bamboo shoots.

Mason Scott said awkwardly, “Why aren’t you eating? The owner said…” She suddenly couldn’t finish.

He ordered them every time—why?

Ian Mitchell was silent for a long time before finally saying just four words: “Hard to refuse kindness.”

She happened to have a piece of bamboo shoot in her mouth, but now she couldn’t taste its freshness at all. Swallowing it, it tasted just as Ian Mitchell said—a bit strange.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the owner, now speaking City Y Mandarin, enthusiastically greeting new customers and loudly boasting about how delicious the restaurant’s signature dishes were.

Truly.

Hard to refuse kindness.

“Aren’t you going home?” After leaving the restaurant, holding the keys Ian Mitchell had given her, Mason Scott asked hesitantly.

“I’m going to the office, still have some things to handle.” Ian Mitchell said coolly.

“Oh.” She gripped the keys tightly in her hand. “Then when will you be back?”

Ian Mitchell looked at her, a strange light flickering in his eyes. “Are you going to wait for me?”

“…Mm.” Mason Scott nodded, then awkwardly explained, “I have your keys.”

“There’s a spare at the office, you don’t have to wait for me.” He withdrew his gaze, not sure if he was disappointed or something else. His tone grew even cooler, tinged with self-mockery. “I’m not used to being waited for, anyway.”

Whenever he came home, it was always to an empty, quiet place.

Again, it was eleven o’clock.

Ian Mitchell opened the door, his fingers habitually reaching for the light switch, but stopped just before pressing it.

The light was already on.

He lowered his hand and looked around the room. The TV was on, but no one was in sight.

He walked over to turn off the TV, and as he passed the sofa, he caught a glimpse of someone curled up asleep there and stopped abruptly.

Ian Mitchell stared at that sleeping face, really wanting to shake her awake and scold her.

Sleeping on the sofa on such a cold night—was she out of her mind?

He was clearly angry and annoyed, but could only bend down and carefully lift her from the sofa.

Her soft body filled his empty arms, her warm breath gently brushing against his cold suit.

All these years, he’d never dared to imagine a day like this, when she would be so close, within reach. Just a stretch of his hand, a bow of his head, and Mason Scott would completely belong to him.

He lowered his head slightly, his cheek brushing against her soft face. Even after sleeping outside for so long, she was still warm.

The Mason Scott in his arms suddenly shifted uncomfortably, dodging his touch. Ian Mitchell held his breath—was she awake?

But she only snuggled into a more comfortable position, burying her head deeper into his arms, falling into an even deeper sleep, completely unaware of how her small movements sent waves through his heart.

She… Sigh. Ian Mitchell sighed inwardly, unable to control the growing softness in his heart.