Hand on the elbow, he pushed open the bedroom door and placed her on the bed. She had put a cardigan over her pajamas, and Ian Mitchell hesitated for a moment but still helped her take it off, unbuttoning it one by one, his breathing gradually growing a bit unsteady.

Gently lifting her up, he slipped the outerwear off her arms. Even through the pajamas, the feel of that soft skin on her back made his heart race uncontrollably.

He pulled the quilt over to cover her, then Ian Mitchell quickly got up and walked away.

If he stayed any longer, he couldn't guarantee he wouldn't wake her up in some way.

After washing up in the bathroom outside, Ian Mitchell headed toward the guest room. As he passed the master bedroom, his steps paused for a moment, suddenly remembering something, and he pushed open the door to look at the bed.

Sure enough!

Only half the quilt was on her, the other half trailing on the floor, and one foot was boldly sticking out.

In just a dozen minutes, she could sleep like this. It seemed that when she used to say her sleeping posture was "a bit bad," she was really being too modest.

He learned about her bad sleeping habits during the only winter they spent together. Mason Scott kept catching colds—five times in two months. When he asked her why, she wouldn't say at first, but later, embarrassed, she admitted, "I have a bit of a bad sleeping posture at night, just a bit, I always kick off the covers. At home, my dad comes back late and can help cover me up, but here there's no one, so I always wake up in the middle of the night fishing for the quilt, so you can't blame me for catching a cold." By the end, she was acting as if catching a cold was perfectly reasonable and had nothing to do with her.

Now it seemed, her sleeping posture was more than just a bit bad.

Ian Mitchell picked up the half of the quilt that was hanging off the bed and covered her up again. But as soon as he let go, she rolled over, and the quilt fell off the other side of the bed.

What a sleeping habit!

Ian Mitchell reached out, pulled the quilt over, and once again tucked her in tightly, his eyes, a little fiery, staring at the peacefully sleeping Mason Scott.

If she dared to kick it off again, he wouldn't mind spending the whole night correcting her "sleeping posture."

Unfortunately, after that, Mason Scott slept obediently, not moving at all, and in the end even curled up under the covers as if she was cold.

At times like this, even a sleeping Mason Scott knew how to read the situation.

What time was it? Day or night? How did she end up sleeping on the bed?

She sat up from under the covers, her mind still foggy. Mason Scott, bleary-eyed, got out of bed but couldn't find her slippers anywhere.

Huh, where did they go?

Ian Mitchell came out of the kitchen and saw Mason Scott hopping around the living room in her pajamas. He frowned: "What are you doing?"

"My slippers..." There they were, by the sofa. One more hop, touchdown.

She put on her slippers and looked up, only to see Ian Mitchell glaring at her disapprovingly.

"Uh, I was looking for my slippers..." she said, feeling guilty for no reason.

"Go change your clothes." He threw out the words stiffly and turned away.

Looking down at her pajamas, Mason Scott's face flushed. She almost forgot—there was someone else in this house...

After changing, she came out to find Ian Mitchell already eating breakfast. Mason Scott hesitated for a moment, then sat down next to him, looking at the simple porridge and side dishes on the table, and ate breakfast with Ian Mitchell...

Seeing her not moving for a long time, Ian Mitchell looked up: "Not used to Chinese breakfast?"

"Ah? No." Snapping out of her daze, she quickly took a sip. Huh, it was actually pretty good.

"Ian Mitchell..."

As if knowing what she was about to ask, Ian Mitchell didn't even look up, his tone flat: "Bought it nearby."

"...It tastes really good."

"It's okay." Ian Mitchell replied absentmindedly.

Nothing more to say. Mason Scott buried her head in her porridge, catching a glimpse of the neatly arranged documents on the coffee table out of the corner of her eye.

"Are you going to the law firm today too?"

"Yeah."

"Busy?"

"It's alright." In fact, he was almost swamped, and the only reason he was this busy was because someone had driven him crazy a few days ago.

"Oh."

The drop in her tone finally caught his attention. Watching her drink porridge, her hair was almost dipping into the bowl.

They seemed to be newlyweds.

"How's your English?" Looking away, Ian Mitchell asked, seemingly casually.

English? Why ask that all of a sudden?

"It's okay, but... I haven't passed CET-4 yet." The first time she took the CET-4 before going to the US, her glorious score—fifty-nine.

Not something to be proud of.

"Come with me," Ian Mitchell said.

"Uh?" Mason Scott looked up at him in surprise, "Go where?"

"The law firm, help me translate some materials."

She couldn't do it.

Mason Scott stared at the English on the paper. Unbelievable, all those years abroad for nothing.

Ask Ian Mitchell? She looked up—he seemed really busy, better not disturb him.

Suddenly, the phone rang in the quiet office. Ian Mitchell flipped through documents with his right hand and picked up the phone with his left.

"Hello... I'm at the firm... No, I happen to have something today..."

The person on the other end said something else, and Ian Mitchell laughed: "Old Zhou, since when did you become a matchmaker?"

Old Zhou on the other end was full of complaints: "It's my wife forcing me. Last time she went to court and saw you, now she's set on introducing her niece to you. My old lady has no other hobby, just loves matchmaking. But honestly, Xiao He, I'm not just saying this because she's family—my wife's niece is really great, in terms of education, looks, and character, she's not inferior to you. Why don't you consider it?"

Ian Mitchell chuckled, "Old Zhou, are you trying to get me to have an affair?"

"What affair?" Old Zhou was a beat slow to react, "You mean you're married?" As soon as he said it, he contradicted himself, "Stop joking, anyone could be married, but you, Ian Mitchell, that's impossible."

What a thing to say. Ian Mitchell couldn't help but laugh.

After hanging up, Ian Mitchell looked over at Mason Scott, who was working hard beside him.

Biting her pen again.

A bad habit she never learned to break!

She used to do this when she couldn't solve calculus problems—after biting for a while, she'd push the homework to him, looking at him ingratiatingly: "Ian Mitchell..."

Poor him, a law student, who knew calculus better than the science majors.

"Ian Mitchell..." Mason Scott really couldn't translate anymore and looked up for help.

Sigh!

He walked over to her, habitually taking what she was holding. "Where?"

"Here, how do you translate this?"

mobilia personam sequuntur.

Movable property follows the person.

A very technical term, in Latin—of course she wouldn't know it.

He was very close, his breath lingering around her nose. Mason Scott suddenly remembered how, when they used to study together, Ian Mitchell would always say very seriously: "Mason Scott, don't sit next to me."

"Why?" She was there just to study with him.

"You distract me."

She felt a little sad, but immediately raised her hand and swore: "I promise not to talk to you, not to go out for snacks, not to fidget..."

But before she could finish, Ian Mitchell would look defeated and say, "Even if you're quiet, you still distract me!"

What the heck! She was so mad at the time she grabbed her book and stormed off.

But now, she seemed to understand a little...

Because he wasn't doing anything either, just standing behind her, leaning over, his fresh masculine scent surrounding her, her hair lightly brushing against his jacket, and if she looked up, she might bump into his chin.

Her face inexplicably grew a little hot. He really did distract her...

Then, before she even realized what she was doing, she suddenly jumped up, bumping her head right into his chin.

"What are you doing?" Ian Mitchell rubbed his sore chin, startled by her.

"Uh, I..." How could she say it? Her face grew even redder. "...I, I want to go eat."

She regretted it as soon as she said it. What kind of excuse was that? Now it was only... She glanced at the clock on the wall—not even ten thirty.

"Now?" Ian Mitchell frowned, as expected.

"Yeah, I didn't eat enough this morning." She braced herself and stuck to her story.

He glanced at the mountain of work on his desk, then at the "hungry" but slightly odd-looking Mason Scott in front of him, and surrendered.

He should have known—bringing her to the law firm was definitely a mistake.

Chapter 8: If We Part

KFC was crowded and lively on Saturday.

Mason Scott never expected Ian Mitchell would actually bring her here. She tugged on Ian Mitchell's sleeve: "Ian Mitchell, are you sure you didn't walk into the wrong place?"

"No."

"Didn't you used to say this was a place only kids liked?"

"You used to like this place a lot too." A trace of unappreciated annoyance flashed across Ian Mitchell's face.

Uh...

"Then I'll save us a seat." Mason Scott wisely chose the easy job.

Sitting by the window on the second floor, after two bites of her burger, Mason Scott couldn't eat anymore. She swirled her cola, making small talk with Ian Mitchell, and somehow the conversation turned to the material she had just translated.

Ian Mitchell raised his eyebrows as he listened: "Since when did you become so interested in law?"

"Well... it's always good to know a bit more about the law."