Sylvan Cheney, while complaining, placed another custard bun on her plate.
Jasmine Yale smiled and unceremoniously ate the small custard bun. It was warm, truly delicious.
Sylvan Cheney didn't eat much; he poured himself a cup of tea.
The steam from the teacup enveloped his cold, stern brows and eyes.
For some reason, seeing her satisfied made him feel content too, as if he wanted to give her the best things in the world.
Many women pursued him; he interacted with numerous women daily, but none could evoke his full protective instincts like the woman in front of him.
That protective instinct was roughly wanting to shield her from the wind and shield her from the rain.
This desire came without reason.
Before long, the waiter served the dishes Sylvan Cheney ordered.
The exquisite dishes looked particularly tempting under the lights, filling the table to the brim with color, aroma, and taste, and the table emitted steaming mist.
