12
It's drizzling outside, while my bed is dry and warm. I quickly fall asleep.
In my dream, I feel someone gently sniffing me. Warm breaths puff against my face, and a wet nose touches me.
I suddenly open my eyes to find the sky already bright, a sliver of sunlight squeezing through the gap in the curtains.
A black dog is standing by the bed, tilting its head and staring at me intently. Seeing that I'm awake, it whimpers softly and puts its front paws on the bed.
Is this Lincoln's dog? I didn't see it last night.
I sit up and hesitantly reach out to touch its head. The dog instantly becomes excited, wagging its tail vigorously and letting out another whimper.
"Sandwich, come out." Lincoln appears at the door, calling through the gap.
This dog's name is Sandwich? I instinctively recall the dog I once fed a sandwich to by the roadside in the snow. But they don't look alike at all. The other dog was small, with matted fur and eyes obscured by hair.
Lincoln then looks at me through the door, "Sorry, he knows how to open doors."
Oh.
I get out of bed and head to the bathroom to freshen up, but Sandwich follows me.
While I'm brushing my teeth, he looks up at me; while I'm washing my face, he keeps staring; finally, when I need to use the toilet, I have to shut him outside.
When I open the door, he is sitting there waiting for me.
"Breakfast is ready." As I walk out of the bedroom, Lincoln calls from the kitchen.
The table is covered with a variety of foods, from waffles to toast, along with fruits, milk, and coffee.
"So much?" I'm a bit surprised.
"I wasn't sure what you liked, so I made a bit of everything."
"Thank you."
Just as I take a bite of toast, Sandwich sits by my feet, still staring at me. Lincoln, sitting across from me, tilts his head and looks at Sanwich, then smiles, "He remembers you. It's incredible."
I widen my eyes, swallow the toast, and say, "So he's the one who suddenly darted out from the roadside—"
"Yes, it's him." Lincoln nods.
I take a sip of milk and look seriously at Sandwich, "He's grown so much?"
"Time flies, doesn't it?" Lincoln replies.
"But you—" I pause and look at Lincoln across the table, "How did you end up with him?"
He even named the dog Sandwich.
"I saw you liked him but couldn't take him home, so I did a bit of charity," Lincoln sips his coffee. "He usually stays at my company. The employees spoil him like a child, so I don't have to worry about him."
As we discuss Sandwich's past, he walks back and forth under my feet, his tail brushing my legs, I feel both ticklish and warm, extremely comfortable.
After breakfast, Lincoln gets a call from the hospital. They say that Mateo is out of danger and now in the ICU.
"That guy is lucky," Lincoln snorts after hanging up.
Then he goes to the study to arrange my mother's hospital stay; I head to wash the dishes. As I put them in the sterilizer, I suddenly crave the vanilla ice cream I didn't finish last night.
I open the fridge and unwrap a paper package.
Just as I taste a small bite of ice cream, Sandwich stands up straight, looking at me pitifully, clearly wanting some too.
"You can't eat this," I tap his nose, "You'll get sick."
Sandwich whimpers sadly, and I can't help but smile. I take out another paper spoon, scoop a bit, and feed it to him.
Afraid the little dog might really get addicted, I say after one scoop, "No more for you."
I rub Sandwich's face and say, "If your owner finds out, he'll scold me."
I say this instinctively and then feel a bit strange. When Lincoln mentioned adopting Sandwich, he spoke as if he did it for me. Thinking about it that way makes it even stranger.
I slowly let go of Sandwich's face and pick up the ice cream cup, "Anyway, no more for you. Be good."
Sandwich starts to drool.
I have to quickly finish the whole scoop, my teeth aching from the cold.
The study door opens, and Lincoln walks out.
"Everything's sorted. Your mother can move back to the nursing home today. But my doctor friend says the previous one wasn't professional enough, so he recommended a better one. Your mother can have a comprehensive check-up there first."
I hesitate a bit.
"But how am I supposed to tell my aunt?" With Mateo in the hospital, I'll have to go to her house alone, and I'm not sure if she'll let my mother go.
After all, she's used controlling my mother to make me do what she wants all these years. And I still haven't fulfilled her demand that I get pregnant.
Lincoln gently takes my hand, pressing his thumb against the back of it. "Don't worry, the old mansion's butler will handle your aunt."
His voice is soft, soothing my ears.
"Isn't the butler only loyal to Mateo?" I'm puzzled.
"Do you think the butler, after working for the Daniels family for so many years, is a fool? Regardless of what happens between you and Mateo in the future, the fact that you climbed down the mountain to save him is undeniable. He's aware of the wind and wants to curry favor with you now."
I relax and smile. "Thank you."
The next few days, my life suddenly becomes unprecedentedly light and joyful.
I go to school during the day, visit my mother at the nursing home after classes, and then return to Lincoln's apartment to sleep at night.
We still sleep in separate bedrooms. Sometimes, I can sense a different look in his eyes, like when I accidentally get a bit of milk on my lips in the morning or when I bathe Sandwich and end up soaked, with my bra outline showing in the evening.
But he never touches me.
With my mother's situation resolved and no financial worries, Lincoln suggests I focus more on my studies or intern at some fashion companies, which would be more beneficial to my future than tutoring students with their portfolios.
So, I resign from my job with Vivian.
Vivian isn't surprised by my resignation; she assumes I'm just a wealthy wife experiencing life, so she readily approves. However, our receptionist Ava is reluctant to see me go; she's enjoyed the packed lunches I've brought to the office.
On my last night, Ava suggests we have a farewell party at a bar in the design district.
Lincoln is here too. His last encounter at the bar with us was accidental, but this time it's definitely intentional. He plays his role well, arriving at the bar entrance with a surprised and delighted expression, then naturally joining us.
Ava gets excited once more.
As we get slightly tipsy, someone suggests playing bridge.
I don't know how to play bridge; I'm not even sure how many cards there are in a deck.
But Lincoln's skill with cards is apparent from the way Ava looks at him with admiration—he seems to have a natural affinity for numbers.
I drink too much and feel a bit dizzy, so I head to the bathroom to wash my face and sober up.
Looking at my slightly flushed face in the mirror, I find it incredible. The last time I was at the bar, Lincoln and I were like fire and water. But this time, we're living under the same roof.
I wipe my face with a paper towel and step out of the bathroom, thinking that I still need to pretend I'm not familiar with Lincoln.
Also, how many times has he won at bridge tonight? He hasn't lost once. He really shouldn't play anymore, or at least let others win a bit, or everyone will dislike him.
Just as I'm thinking about Lincoln, he suddenly appears in front of me.
"What are you doing here?" I ask.
The hallway is dim, Lincoln's eyes shimmering like moonlit lakes.
"I missed you," he says, walking over and pulling me into a tight embrace.
"Ah." I struggle a bit, but Lincoln's arms hold me firmly against his chest.
I stand there stiffly, my mind going blank and making static noises.
The dim lighting sharpens my sense of hearing. I hear the soft sound of breathing in my ear and even feel the moist warmth of lips on my neck, carrying a faint hint of alcohol.
"—Lincoln?" I remind him, my voice trembling slightly, "This is a public place."
People could walk by at any moment.
"Ali..." Lincoln whispers, his breath brushing against my earlobe with a gentle.
"Your coworker is cute, but I don't like her at all. "
"I only like you, Ali. "
"I love you."
This is the second time he says "I love you," but unlike the first time, I suddenly don't know how to react.
Footsteps grow louder at the end of the hallway.
"Someone... someone is coming!" I say in a panic.
Lincoln turns, holding me close, and hides us behind the curtain by the window.
Our bodies are separated only by two layers of shirts. As I push against Lincoln's abdomen in a fluster, my hand touches his firm abs, and heat spreads from my fingertips to my face.
The night breeze seeps through the window crack, but my body feels even hotter.
Lincoln cups my face and kisses me deeply. His hand slips under my shirt, caressing my skin; he murmurs my name while kissing my neck and jawline.
I start with unease, but gradually, I become immersed in his kisses. Eventually, I have to bite my lower lip to stifle the soft moans.
He seems particularly fond of my neck, his kisses turning into gentle sucking.
Trembling, I clutch his collar and suddenly push him away, my eyes widen with fear.
Lincoln looks down at me, his cool palms holding my face, softly reassuring me, "I won't leave any marks, don't worry."
The night is a wild celebration of moonlight and desire.