Chapter 9
The next morning, when Chris came downstairs, I was already sitting at the dining table.
It was still early, and sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, making the glass vase on the table shine. The maid had brought out breakfast: a bowl of oatmeal, a fried egg, and a plate of fruit I always had.
I lowered my head and sliced into the half soft-boiled egg on my plate. As the tip of my knife touched the yolk, I heard footsteps coming from the hallway.
Chris was wearing a dark gray shirt, the cuffs buttoned all the way up, and his eyes still had that brooding look.
He probably hadn't slept well last night because there were faint dark circles under his eyes.
I looked up at him and smiled. "Morning."
He stood there, watching me, as if he were searching for any hint of emotion on my face.
But he found nothing.
After a couple of seconds, he walked over.
"When did you go to bed last night?" he asked.
"Pretty early," I said, popping the sliced half of the egg into my mouth. After swallowing, I added, "What, are you checking up on me?"
Chris sat down across from me, not reacting to my joke.
The maid served him some oatmeal, and he took the bowl but set it aside without even taking a bite.
"I had someone look for my old ring," he said.
I glanced up.
"And?" I asked.
"Didn't find it," he replied.
As he said this, Chris kept his eyes on me.
He was waiting to see if I'd press further.
I picked up my spoon and scooped up some oatmeal.
"That's a shame," I said.
"Kate," Chris said.
"Yeah?" I replied.
"What is it that you really want?"
I looked up at him, a smile I hadn't quite managed to hide still lingering in my eyes. "Can't I just look for the old rings?"
"You know that's not what I meant," he said.
"Then what do you mean?" I set my spoon down and leaned back in my chair. "You saw some flower last night, and this morning a ring's gone, and you're already looking so tense. Mr. Ford, you're really not handling this well."
Chris tapped his fingertips softly against the table.
It was very light.
That was his go-to gesture whenever he was trying to keep his emotions under control.
Back when he was younger, he couldn't hold back. If he got annoyed, he'd stand up and leave. But now, the quieter he looked, the more you could spot these little gestures in his hands.
Watching him tap the table, I suddenly remembered a moment from years ago.
Back then, it was his first time leading a project solo, and the client rejected his proposal on the spot.
After the meeting, he was alone in the parking lot, smoking. By the time he was on his second cigarette, I walked over and took it from his hand.
He stood there, eyes red, still trying to smile through it. "Pretty humiliating, isn't it?"
I leaned against the car door, watching him, and asked, "Are you scared I'll think you can't handle it?"
He stayed silent.
After a long while, he finally murmured a barely audible "Mm."
It was so soft, I almost missed it.
Later, I took him home and sat with him, reworking the proposal page by page. When dawn came, he was passed out at the table, still holding his pen.
As I covered him with my jacket, he groggily grabbed my wrist, eyes still closed, and mumbled, "You haven't given up on me yet, have you?"
Back then, I truly believed he would always stay that way, stay by my side, keep moving forward with me, and never let me go, no matter what happened.
"Kate," Chris called, yanking me back from my memories.
I looked up and gave him a smile. "What's up?"