Chapter 10: Chapter Ten: A Love Letter?

This night, I didn't dare to sleep too deeply, always feeling that there were clicking sounds in the room. Every time I closed my eyes, it felt as if someone was approaching me. Even so, it seemed like I had a whole night of nightmares, leaving me utterly exhausted when I woke up.

Unable to fall asleep, I got up early and went to the kitchen to make a sandwich. While slicing the sausage, I almost cut my finger.

In the past, I never cooked; every meal was prepared by Dad. He said I didn't need to learn these things, that girls should know less, just like Mom, so that the people who love me would do everything for me in the future.

Back then, he always thought he could be with me for a long time, but before I found someone who loves me, some things had to be handled by myself.

So, girls should still learn more. You don't have to do it, but you can't not know how.

At most, when I meet someone who loves me, I can pretend not to know, I laughed to myself, countering Dad's words.

The instructions were found online, seemingly simple, but frying an egg is truly a test of patience and skill.

I placed the third unburnt egg in Stan Wallace's portion, added the sausage and a slice of green vegetable, wrapped it in cling film, and cut it in half. It actually looked pretty good.

When I handed it to Stan Wallace, I was full of confidence, holding my own portion in my hand. Even on the way to the company, we could consider it having breakfast together.

The uncomfortable atmosphere from yesterday seemed to have dissipated. Stan Wallace casually glanced at my new gray outfit, then fixed his gaze on my hat and mask, asking, "Caught a cold?"

I shook my head, then remembered that my eyes were still a bit swollen from crying last night, and nodded, "Maybe a little."

Stan Wallace stared at me for a moment, parked the motorcycle outside the community, and said, "Let's take a taxi today."

The car arrived quickly. On the way, Stan Wallace unwrapped the sandwich and ate it in a few bites.

Completely different from his usual slow and deliberate manner, his thin lips were tightly closed, one side of his mouth puffing up high. His jawline was still very attractive, and with his neat short hair, even the female driver couldn't help but glance at him several times in the rearview mirror.

To be honest, I didn't know how his sandwich tasted, but mine was really salty.

At the time, I thought that putting tasteless things together wouldn't be good, and without any salad dressing, I sprinkled some salt on top. Each bite was filled with granules, making a crunching sound.

I prayed that the salt in his sandwich had fully dissolved, and I ate absentmindedly, feeling a bit anxious.

In the end, I couldn't finish half of it and wanted to quietly put it in my backpack to throw away, but Stan Wallace noticed. He reached out and said expressionlessly, "Not full yet."

Me: "..."

In the morning, the company's CEO called all the upper-level employees to a meeting, a regular practice of painting a rosy picture of the company's future. Thanks to Stan Wallace, I also joined in, getting to hear some inspiring prospects.

Stan Wallace's proper posture and his overly short hair gave off a somewhat incongruous vibe. Perhaps because his features were too well-defined, the short hair added a touch of rebelliousness to him. Like his age and his composure in the workplace, they clashed in a particularly... charming way.

"Stan Wallace, why are you drinking so much water?"

The uncle sitting next to Stan Wallace suddenly spoke in a low voice. The question wasn't loud enough to attract attention, but since my gaze was fixed on Stan Wallace and I wasn't far away, I heard it clearly.

Stan Wallace's slender fingers lightly touched the thermos in front of him. Hearing this, he lifted his thin eyelids. Just as I thought he would look at me, a bit dazed, he lowered his gaze again and said softly, "Yeah, the water is good today."

I thought I saw a faint smile on his lips, but because he kept his head down, I wasn't entirely sure due to the angle.

Initially, he drank very restrained, but after the uncle asked, he simply tilted his head back and finished the water in his cup. Then, he poured the tea from the uncle's thermos into his own and drank several large gulps.

During the peak season, the company doesn't have weekends off, and we finished work at 3:30 PM on Sunday.

I was about to tell Stan Wallace that I would take a taxi to the appointment, but when I looked up, he was already standing in front of my workstation, handing me the file bag I had asked him to bring.

"The bag wasn't sealed, and a letter fell out this morning." Stan Wallace paused, then suddenly asked, "A love letter?"

My breath caught. The colorful stationery inside was self-explanatory, and I couldn't lie to Stan Wallace, so I nodded.

"R-Return it." Maybe because I was scared last night, I stammered a bit.

Stan Wallace's thick, neatly groomed eyebrows raised slightly, his lips pressed together, staring at me without speaking.

"Brother," I called him, but before I could say anything else, Stan Wallace spoke first, "I'm heading that way too. A friend is picking me up, want to go together?"

I looked at him in surprise, grabbed my backpack, and nodded, "Okay."

The two people waiting at the company entrance were Stan Wallace's high school classmates.

Back in school, the three of them used to come and go together every day, but after Stan Wallace didn't go to college, I never saw them gather again.

"It's so hard to get you to hang out once." The guy with bleached blonde hair and an earring, Trista Fowler, hugged Stan Wallace while speaking.

Stan Wallace stumbled back a step from the momentum, smiled, and said nothing.

The other guy, Ken Sheridan, with a neat, shaggy haircut, wiped his eyes, "You're so heartless. Not seeing us once since high school, not even going to college. What wind blew you here today, agreeing to have dinner with us?"

Stan Wallace pulled them closer with his free hand, and the three of them bumped together.

He didn't respond to their questions but turned to introduce me, "Trista Fowler, Ken Sheridan."

As if they just noticed me, they looked over from Stan Wallace's shoulder. I stood awkwardly, forcing a smile and waved at them.

"My sister," Stan Wallace introduced me to them.

Thinking they might not remember me, I was about to introduce myself, but Trista Fowler said, "Sister Gloria Kit, you've become more beautiful."

"Sister?" Ken Sheridan sniffed, giving me a once-over from head to toe, and then turned to Stan Wallace, his voice thick with nasal tones, "You're not..."

Before he could finish, Trista Fowler tsked and kicked his calf.

"Let's go, I'm hungry," Stan Wallace immediately hooked his arm around Ken Sheridan's shoulder and turned towards the black G-Class parked by the roadside.

I watched their interaction in a daze, and suddenly, Trista Fowler, who was walking behind, turned to me, lowering his voice, "Sister, hurry up. Without you, your brother won't join our gathering."