Chapter 219: Chapter 219: Does It Hurt?
In the living room.
The LCD TV was playing a classic romance TV show, probably the type that older people like.
But Ann Vaughn was watching with great interest, even discussing the plot with Old Master Hawthorne from time to time.
"Grandpa, look, the female lead is about to get hit by a car..."
"How could she get hit by a car? Is this show trying to tarnish our country’s reputation for traffic..."
Before he could finish speaking, the exciting scene on TV unfolded.
With a loud "bang," the female lead’s body was thrown 20 meters away in the shape of a salted fish, accompanied by a slow-motion replay.
Ann Vaughn crunched into the apple slice in her mouth, internally critiquing how predictable such TV shows were.
After watching for a while, Ann Vaughn glanced towards the kitchen and hesitated to ask, "Grandpa, are you really sure about leaving the kitchen to him?"
She was truly afraid she might end up in the hospital from food poisoning after eating Cyrus Hawthorne’s cooking.
It’s been said that a gentleman stays away from the kitchen, and Cyrus Hawthorne exemplifies that.
Not to mention cooking, he probably can’t even tell salt and sugar apart.
Old Master Hawthorne gave her a reassuring look, "If that little rascal’s cooking is bad, just scold him and don’t hold back."
He’s such a grown man who can’t even handle something as simple as cooking; it’s a wonder how he managed to marry such a good girl like Annie.
Thanks to the Hawthorne Family’s ancestral blessings.
Ann Vaughn gave a faint smile but didn’t really agree to that.
"Master, Miss, the food is ready." Nearly half an hour later, the butler came into the living room to remind the engrossed grandparent and grandchild watching the TV show.
For some reason, he felt like Mr. Hawthorne’s position had been stripped away by this young lady.
Look, this is the kind of treatment a true grandchild should have.
In the dining room.
The rotating glass tray on the round rosewood table was filled with exquisitely plated dishes, appearing colorful and fragrant, greatly stimulating appetite.
Ann Vaughn sat to the right of Old Master Hawthorne, looking at the dishes as she inwardly criticized.
The presentation is nice, but if it’s not tasty, it’s all for nothing.
Just then, Cyrus Hawthorne came downstairs after bathing and changing, with one hand in his pocket, walking calmly into the dining room, wearing a white silk shirt paired with black pants.
This simple casual outfit, worn by him, inexplicably added a sense of clarity and nobility.
He walked to the seat beside Ann Vaughn and sat down, noticing her conflicted expression, with his narrow eyes slightly lifting at the corners.
"Don’t worry, it won’t kill you." Cyrus Hawthorne placed a bowl of soup in front of Ann Vaughn, speaking leisurely.
Ann Vaughn: "..."
Even Old Master Hawthorne couldn’t keep his mouth from twitching, wondering how he ended up with such an oblivious and troublesome grandson, his very own.
Skeptically, Ann Vaughn tried taking a small bite of the stir-fried bamboo shoots.
The fresh and fragrant taste surprised her a bit, bringing an unusual expression to her face.
She initially thought it would be some kind of disastrous dish, but it was unexpectedly good.
"How does it taste?" Cyrus Hawthorne asked in a low voice.
Ann Vaughn swallowed the meatball in her mouth and smiled politely, "If this was ancient times, you might get executed."
"Why?"
"Because speaking is forbidden while eating or sleeping."
"..."
Watching the interaction between the two, Old Master Hawthorne was full of cheerful smiles, realizing that this little rascal might not have any status at home in the future.
Serves him right; not listening to the advice of elders leads to losses right before one’s eyes.
But remembering the incident with Ann Vaughn four years ago, Old Master Hawthorne couldn’t help but sigh.
What a disaster.
After lunch, Old Master Hawthorne unusually skipped his nap and took Ann Vaughn to fish behind the bamboo grove.
Seeing Cyrus Hawthorne joining them, Old Master Hawthorne’s face was full of disdain, "Why haven’t you left yet? Did your company go bankrupt?"
Cyrus Hawthorne: "..."
Stay calm, this is his own grandpa.
Cyrus Hawthorne pressed his lips lightly, not uttering a word as he sat on the lounge chair beside Ann Vaughn, observing her skillfully handling the fishing rod and directly casting out the bait.
Her fingers were slender and smooth, nails cut round and smoothly, forming a distinct contrast against the black fishing rod.
Cyrus Hawthorne’s gaze paused briefly, his Adam’s apple moving twice before he withdrew his gaze and cast the fishing line.
After securing the fishing rod on the bank, he returned to the lounge chair.
Ann Vaughn and Old Master Hawthorne were chatting, from lunchtime until now, without paying him a proper glance or speaking to him proactively.
Cyrus Hawthorne rested one hand behind his head, narrowing his eyes to lock onto the back of Ann Vaughn’s head firmly, feeling a bit frustrated in his heart.
This woman...
Her courage was growing day by day.
After a short while, Old Master Hawthorne’s family doctor came to remind him that it was time for his health check-up, and that with his cold not fully recovered, it wasn’t suitable for him to stay outdoors too long.
Sitting for this moment, Old Master Hawthorne didn’t feel uncomfortable; on the contrary, he seemed full of energy, feeling spirited.
But after a glance at his disappointing grandson, Old Master Hawthorne set down his fishing rod, cheerfully instructing Ann Vaughn to enjoy herself, then left with the family doctor.
With Old Master Hawthorne gone, the atmosphere by the fish pond immediately shifted.
Ann Vaughn had felt a sharp gaze pinned on her back since earlier, knowing exactly who it was without turning around.
She glanced at the few small fish in her bucket, then went to the bank to retrieve her fishing rod.
However, when Ann Vaughn stood up and turned, she was met with a cold, hard wall.
Her nose hit it directly, causing her to retreat a step, glaring at Cyrus Hawthorne in annoyance, "Why are you suddenly standing behind me?"
She reached out, hoping to rub her sore nose, but Cyrus Hawthorne took her wrist suddenly, preventing her from pulling away.
"Ann Vaughn, is there nothing you want to say to me?" Cyrus Hawthorne asked in a deep voice, focusing his narrow eyes on her slightly reddened nose, feeling a touch of heartache.
Unable to resist, he raised his hand, gently rubbing her nose, his voice soft and low, "Does it hurt?"
This naturally intimate gesture made Ann Vaughn, who initially felt angry, furrow her brows, stepping back to shake off his hand.
"Don’t touch me, all thanks to you!" Ann Vaughn rubbed her wrist, lifting her delicate chin, looking at him arrogantly, "Plus, I already paid you that night, what more do you want?"
It was 48 dollars, enough to buy a cup of ice cream.
Already paid him?
How could she say such a thing?
Cyrus Hawthorne almost laughed from anger, lightly tapping his tongue against his teeth, moving closer to her, "Ann Vaughn, what do you take me for?"
Want to sleep with him whenever and leave whenever.
Could it be that his body wasn’t as tempting to her as his person?
Thinking along those lines, an imperceptible trace of defeat crossed Cyrus Hawthorne’s eyes.
Ann Vaughn was driven by his approach until she was almost at the riverbank; upon hearing this, she suddenly gave a dazzling smile.
"Mr. Hawthorne is a smart man, no need for me to state the obvious, right?"
If not for the fear of him discovering her true intentions, Ann Vaughn might have acted even more outrageous.
"Heh." A cold, low laugh escaped Cyrus Hawthorne’s throat, staring at her with a gaze that suddenly turned dangerous.