Every minute she spent with Warren was a test of her will and her limits. She really couldn’t bear it.
For Penelope, the feeling of falling in love with someone was similar to an itch that demanded scratching. It made her uncomfortable when left unattended, but the more she scratched, the itchier it became. Penelope found herself firmly entrenched in the first stage, and the discomfort was palpable.
The following morning, when she awoke, she had huge black circles under her eyes, clear evidence of her ongoing battle with insomnia.
Alone in the house, she moved around like a ghost, swaying from the kitchen to the balcony. At that moment, she held a sprinkler to water a clivia plant.
“Oh!” She quickly released the sprinkler, narrowly avoiding a spill.
Aware of her disoriented state, she let out a sigh and rolled back into bed.
She needed to compensate for her lost sleep. Early mornings were not her forte.
****
After breakfast at Duncan’s house, Warren returned. He opened the door and thought that she would be watching TV on the couch, clutching a mess of snacks. Unexpectedly, the house was quiet and empty. Only the SpongeBob pillow in the corner of the sofa could prove that she had been here.
He stood for a moment and went upstairs.
The door to her bedroom was not closed. He reached out and pushed it.
One slipper was on the sofa, and the other was under the bed. Obviously, she hadn’t gone to bed properly. The person on the bed had curled up, only revealing the top of her hair.
Ross barked, leaped out from a small blanket, and wagged his tail eagerly at him.
He was hungry and, at last, had seen a living person.
Warren picked him up and cast a glance at the still figure on the bed. He closed the door and took Ross downstairs to feed him.
****
Penelope rolled over, sat up, and stared around in a sleepless daze. Had she imagined hearing the dog’s barking? It must have been an illusion.
However, if Ross were hungry, he would have surely woken her up. So, Penelope lay back down and attempted to continue sleeping without dwelling on it.
Warren sat downstairs for the entire morning. Even though the TV was on, he frequently glanced upstairs. The door remained closed, and there was no sign of movement.
With a thud, the door swung open. A disheveled figure half-stumbled out.
Yawning and stretching as she descended the stairs, Penelope suddenly heard the sound of the TV.
Then Penelope tumbled onto her knees on the last step, clutching the railing for support.
Her hunger had made her legs go weak.
Warren hurried forward to assist her, causing Penelope to startle and almost leap up.
“You didn’t recognize me again?” Warren’s face darkened like the ink of an octopus.
“Hah ha ha ha… How could I?” Penelope scratched her head.
One, two… She suddenly turned back and dashed upstairs.
“Why are you running?” He stood there dejectedly after being pushed away.
“To wash my hair!”
One of the criteria for judging if a woman likes you is whether she’ll wash her hair before coming to see you.
Clearly, Mr. Duncan was unaware of this.
Penelope finished washing her hair and finally made her way downstairs.
The living room was empty.
She wandered around and halted at the kitchen. Pushing open the kitchen door, she spotted a figure with his back to her, busy cooking.
The clean countertop, the soft lighting, and the handsome figure in front of her were among the most precious scenes in her life.
“It smells good,” she remarked as she walked in and noticed that he was frying cod. Next to him were the golden-brown fries.
Penelope reached out to touch the French fries, but halfway there, a large hand clutched hers.
Penelope giggled. “Let me try it.”
He quickly responded, “It’s hot, wait a minute.”
“Well…”
“Um.”
Penelope withdrew her hand and said, “I just want to eat one. You don’t have to break my hand.”
Warren released his grip, turned off the heat, and removed the cod from the pot.
Penelope lowered her head and inhaled the aroma. “It smells delicious. I really want to eat it!”
“Um,” he responded, focused on his cooking.
Penelope gazed at him. “What’s wrong with you? Aren’t you happy?”
“No.”
“Don’t try to hide it. You clearly look unhappy.” Penelope tried to look at his face.
She quickly added, “You can talk to me about anything except work. Even though I might not be as smart as you, I can still offer you comfort.”
“You can’t comfort me.” If she knew the secret in his heart, what would she do?
She might think he’s a pervert.
Penelope rolled her eyes. Her mind worked quickly. “Is it an emotional issue?”
She made a bold guess and ventured carefully.
“Um.”
Penelope’s eyelids twitched. What had she just asked? He had responded with a simple “Um”? “So, it really is an emotional issue…” Penelope offered a faint smile.
He reached out and said, “Hand me the salt.”
Penelope handed it to him and remarked, “I never expected you to be concerned about emotional matters. I thought people like you were always invincible.”
Warren hesitated before sprinkling the salt. He turned to look at her.
“What’s wrong? Did I say something inappropriate again?” Penelope asked nervously.
He picked up the small white jar and said, “This is sugar. Do you want to have sweet steak?”
Penelope quickly chose another container, pointing to the label as she said, “This one is correct. It’s salt.”
He took it and lightly sprinkled it over the steak. Then, he instructed, “Go set the table.”
“Okay.”
After a while, she returned from the dining room and asked, “Is it because of Miss Foster?”
It was an abrupt question with no hesitation.
He took out her long-awaited fries and replied, “No.”
Her shoulders slumped. Damn! How many rivals did she have on this Earth?
Kathrine Foster might be relatively easy to deal with. But who was the other woman?
Penelope looked up at him resentfully.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I’d rather it be because of Miss Foster,” she snorted, took the plate of fries, and turned toward the table.
Warren was left dumbfounded. Did she understand what he was referring to?