Wei Anning saw him staring blankly, biting a half-cooked noodle, and she waved her hand in front of his eyes, "Hey, is my cooking so bad you can't even swallow it?"
Leng Youchen snapped back to reality, looking up at her with those spicy red puckered lips, his gaze gently shifting, "This bowl of pig slop thing, you're really half-hearted."
Wei Anning glared at him, reached over to take the pot, "If it's pig slop, then don't eat it; I'll eat it myself."
Just as she touched the handle of the milk pot, a pair of large hands covered hers. Startled, she quickly withdrew her hand and sat down with a blush.
The atmosphere in the dining room was eerily quiet. Wei Anning lowered her eyelashes slightly, the warmth of his palm lingering on the back of her hand. She was biting her chopsticks when a flick hit her forehead, "Eat up, what are you daydreaming about?"
Wei Anning rubbed her forehead, glared at him, and then continued eating.
