Chapter 3

I looked up at him suddenly.

Franklin was carefully peeling an egg for me. When he noticed me staring, he glanced up and asked, "What's wrong? Don't like it?"

"It's nothing," I said.

I lowered my head and quietly drank my soup, my feelings all mixed up inside.

I thought to myself it must be a coincidence.

I wouldn't buy into that. After dinner, I kept pushing Franklin, determined to make things tough for him.

"Franklin, go pull out all the weeds in the garden. No tools. Use your hands only," I demanded.

My garden was massive, practically the size of a park. If he tried to weed it all by hand, he'd probably break his hands before he finished.

"Sure," Franklin said.

Without another word, he headed straight for the garden.

I hid behind the curtains on the second floor, secretly watching him.

He was dressed in a simple T-shirt and pants, squatting by the flower bed and carefully pulling out the weeds one by one. The sunlight fell on him, highlighting the strong yet gentle lines of his profile.

As I watched, I found myself zoning out.

He actually looked kind of decent.

An hour went by, then another...

He just kept at it, pulling weeds nonstop, without even pausing for a drink.

I was starting to get restless, unable to sit still.

If he kept pulling weeds like this, his hands would get ruined. And if that happened, no one would peel shrimp for me.

With a glass of lemon water in hand, I walked over to him and cleared my throat to get his attention.

"Hey," I called out.

He turned around, his forehead covered in sweat, a few strands of hair plastered to his cheeks.

"Yeah?" Franklin asked.

"You looked so pathetic, so here, this is for you," I muttered, handing him the glass and turning my face away, feeling a bit awkward.

He took the glass and downed the lemon water in one go.

The way his Adam's apple moved in the sunlight was surprisingly hot.

My heart skipped a beat.

"Thanks," he said, handing the glass back to me. Then he held up his hands. "Leila, look, I'm almost done."

His hands were caked with dirt, his nails black with grime, and there were several cuts with blood seeping out.

My heart gave another little tug.

"Who... who told you to finish? I was just messing around." I snatched the weeds from his hands and threw them on the ground. "Alright, that's enough. Stop it already. It's driving me crazy just watching you."

With that, I bolted.

I didn't feel like some evil mistress at all. Instead, I felt like a helpless maid getting teased by her master.

I couldn't fight him like this.

I decided it was time to call in reinforcements.

I dialed Katherine Morton, my best friend, put her on speaker, and started pacing around my room.

"Katherine, listen up. I did it. Franklin's totally doing whatever I say now," I bragged.

On the other end, I could hear Katherine eating peanuts.

"Oh? For real? How obedient is he, exactly?" Katherine asked.

"I tell him to sleep on the couch, he sleeps on the couch. I tell him to cook, he cooks. I tell him to pull weeds, he pulls weeds!" I said, getting more and more smug. "He's basically in the palm of my hand now."

"Tsk tsk tsk," Katherine drawled. "Leila, are you sure he's not just pampering you like a little kid?"

"What do you mean?" I asked, totally lost.

"Just think about it. You've got this six-foot-three, eight-pack abs heartthrob, and he's totally willing to do all the grunt work for you, laundry, cooking, whatever. If that's not spoiling you, what is?" Katherine said.

"That's called admitting defeat. That's called surrendering," I retorted stubbornly.

"Alright, whatever floats your boat," Katherine said, clearly not bothered to argue. "By the way, you made him pull weeds; his hands are okay, right? Those hands are meant for the piano, you know."

I froze.

I realized that Franklin was a star at the music academy and a piano major.

Suddenly, I panicked, hung up, and dashed out to grab the first aid kit.

As soon as I rushed into the living room, I saw Franklin sitting on the couch, treating his own wounds.

His hands were clean, but the scratches were now even more noticeable, with lines and gashes everywhere. It was painful to look at.

He was awkwardly dabbing iodine onto his cuts with a cotton swab, his brows furrowing with every sting.

I stopped in my tracks.

I berated myself for what I did to him.

"Let me handle this," I blurted.

I hurried over and grabbed the cotton swab right out of his hand.

Franklin looked genuinely startled, glancing up at me.

"You..." he began.

"You what? Are you out of your mind? Do you even care about your hands?" I snapped, my eyes starting to mist up.

I pulled his hand over and started cleaning up his wounds, making sure I didn't hurt him.

His hands were big, with strong, prominent knuckles and just a hint of calluses in his palms.

When my fingertips touched his skin, it felt like a spark ran through me.

Things got really quiet between us for a moment.

I kept my head down, didn't dare look at him, and my heartbeat just kept getting louder and louder.

"Leila," he suddenly said.

"What?" I snapped, trying to sound tough.

"Are you... worried about me?" Franklin asked, a trace of teasing in his voice.