Marco Griffin was certain that Gwendolyn Morris had recognized him when their eyes briefly met. Some people have a presence that lingers in the memory—a standout quality. In such moments, the other person would usually initiate the greeting. But Gwendolyn didn’t.
She was busy, gently massaging the arm of an elderly woman with silver hair, her skilled hands alternating between soft and firm pressure. In a soothing voice, she advised the lady to keep her dinner light and avoid overindulging in sweets. The elderly woman agreed wholeheartedly, only to be humorously betrayed by her companion, who revealed her weakness for desserts. This made Gwendolyn laugh—a smile warmer than the spring sunshine.
“Let’s go,” Marco said, turning away, beginning to walk off. Boone Williams, trailing behind him, asked softly, “Aren’t you going to say hello to Miss Morris?”
Marco stopped and shot Boone a sidelong glance. “Do we know each other that well?” he replied, feigning indifference.
Boone lowered his head, acknowledging his error. After exchanging farewells with the director of the nursing home, Marco left.
The sleek black car pulled away from the nursing home, merging onto the expansive highway. Marco sat in the back seat, his gaze settling on Gwendolyn, standing alone at the bus stop.
It was March in the North, the season when cherry blossoms were in full bloom. The highway was lined with cherry trees, and Gwendolyn blended into the backdrop of pink blossoms and the bus stop sign, resembling a picturesque scene. As the car was about to drive past, Marco instructed the driver, “Stop.”
The driver braked, bringing the car to a halt a short distance from the bus stop, then reversed slowly to stop right in front of Gwendolyn.
Instinctively, Gwendolyn turned to look. The window lowered gradually, revealing Marco’s gentle, smiling eyes.
“Miss Morris?”
Marco's smile widened, his tone polite and warm. “What a coincidence, Miss Morris. Are you heading back to town as well?”
Gwendolyn was momentarily caught off guard. They had seen each other just half an hour ago, without exchanging greetings, yet here he was, stopping to ask.
Gathering herself, Gwendolyn nodded with a smile. “Yes.”
“What a coincidence. It’s not easy to catch a cab here. I could give you a ride if you don’t mind—it’s on my way.”
From here to the city, only one bus route operated, with a sporadic schedule. Sometimes, the wait could be over an hour. Normally, Gwendolyn wouldn’t mind waiting, but today she had only taken a half-day leave from work and needed to be back by two o’clock. It was already twelve-thirty.
Gwendolyn smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Griffin, I’d appreciate the ride.”
With Boone in the front passenger seat, Gwendolyn sat in the back with Marco. The car’s interior was roomy, yet sitting next to Marco made her feel uneasy. She subtly leaned towards the car door, creating a comfortable distance between them.
Marco appeared oblivious, turning his head slightly as he asked, “Miss Morris, what brings you here?”
Gwendolyn hesitated. Hadn’t he seen her? But she kept her smile. “I came to visit the elderly at the nursing home.”
Marco looked briefly surprised, a hint of confusion crossing his face. “You were at the nursing home too? What a coincidence. I just left there myself, yet I didn’t see you.”
He chuckled self-deprecatingly, adding, “Sorry, I wasn’t wearing my glasses today. Maybe I didn’t recognize you from afar. If I overlooked you, please don’t take offense.”
Gwendolyn couldn’t decipher his sincerity, but Marco’s excessively polite demeanor almost made her feel like the impolite one. She smiled. “You’re too kind, Mr. Griffin.”
The car sped along the road, the scenery blurring past the windows. The heater was on high, making Gwendolyn feel a little too warm. She unbuttoned her coat, revealing the light pink sweater beneath, the fabric clinging to her figure.
Marco watched her movement with an inscrutable expression, his eyes carrying a hint of skepticism.
The drive took two hours, passing mostly in silence. When the car finally stopped at her destination, Gwendolyn retrieved three sachets from her bag.
“These are sachets I made for the elderly at the home—extras really,” she explained. “They contain herbs that aid sleep. You can place them by your pillow for relaxation.”
With that, she handed the sachets to Marco, Boone, and the driver.
Boone handled the sachet reverently, marveling at its beauty—it was his first time seeing such a delicate item. Made from sea-blue silk and adorned with a golden tassel, it was both elegant and tasteful.
Boone and the driver were clearly delighted, thanking Gwendolyn repeatedly.
Marco held his sachet with a polite smile. “You’re very thoughtful, Miss Morris.” But if you looked closely, his eyes held no warmth.
Gwendolyn nodded politely, thanked them again, and stepped out of the car.
As the car started again, Boone admired the sachet, turning it over in his hands. He chuckled, “Miss Morris gave such a thoughtful gift—a sachet to help with sleep, knowing about your insomnia, Mr. Griffin…”
Boone suddenly realized his oversight. Only those close to Marco knew about his insomnia. How did Gwendolyn, who had only met Marco twice, know?
Boone glanced at Marco through the rearview mirror, choosing his words carefully. “But Miss Morris did say these were for the home, so perhaps it was just a coincidence.”
Marco’s slender fingers fiddled with the tassel, his expression unreadable.
Silence fell over the car once more until they entered a city tunnel. In the brief darkness, images of the elderly at the nursing home, gazing at Gwendolyn with reverent eyes, flickered through Marco's mind. It was as if they were admiring a warm, compassionate presence.
Marco allowed himself a quiet scoff. As they exited the tunnel, Marco rolled down his window, the March sunlight casting a glow on one side of his face while the other remained in shadow.
“Pull over,” Marco instructed the driver.
He stepped out, walked to a trash bin, and casually tossed the sachet inside, muttering a single word: “Pretend.”
Boone, standing behind, discreetly patted the sachet in his pocket. The next moment, he heard his boss say, “Boone, have you heard the saying, ‘Forbidden fruit is the sweetest’?”
Boone nodded, “I think I’ve heard something like that.”
Marco’s eyes held a mocking glint. His deep, leisurely voice carried a hint of coolness. “Yet she seems so devoted to her boyfriend, she might just resist temptation.”
