Chapter 137: Mr. Cheney, You Can’t Do It
Translator: 549690339
“As long as Sylvan Cheney was there, she decided not to go.
While on the phone, Sylvan noticed Jasmine Yale peep out, and then duck back out of view, he hung up the call.
In the bathroom, Jasmine was drying her hair with a towel.
Sylvan walked over, took her hairdryer: “Let me do it for you.”
Jasmine shook her hair and jumped back in shock.
“That would be too much.”
Especially given the fact that Sylvan’s hair-drying skills didn’t inspire much confidence.
Sylvan’s face fell, he pulled her into his arms and held her tight.
Turning on the hairdryer —
“Why are you so dominating? I’ve already rejected you.” Jasmine complained.
“Mr. Cheney, your skills are so poor that it’s better if you don’t do it.”
“Mr. Cheney, you’re no good.”
“Jasmine Yale.” Sylvan curled up the corners of his lips in an ironic smile, “You’ve already tried me, haven’t you?”
Jasmine hid her emotions.
Could you stop doing that?
Sylvan’s slender fingers worked through Jasmine’s hair, filling the bathroom with the lovely scent of flowers.
After a while, Jasmine realized that his skills were… just as lacking as they were three years ago.
But she didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth.
“Mr. Cheney, can you not focus on one spot? I can smell my hair getting burned…” Jasmine looked heavenward.
“Oh.” Sylvan’s brow furrowed as he realized his mistake.
A bit later, Jasmine suddenly remembered his arm was injured.
She tried to grab the hairdryer from him: “I can do it by myself. You’re still hurt.”
“I prefer to finish what I’ve started.”
Jasmine knew she wasn’t going to win this argument.
Across from her was a misted-up mirror.
Despite the foggy reflection, she could see Sylvan’s concentrated expression in the mirror.
He was always so serious about everything he did, even drying her hair felt like he was negotiating a multimillion-dollar contract.
The bathroom was very quiet, the only sound was the soft humming of the hairdryer.
The warm air blew comfortingly on Jasmine’s head and neck.
After a day out, arguing and having fun, she was tired…
Slowly, she closed her eyes.
By the time Sylvan had dried her hair, she was already sound asleep.
Sylvan gently set down the hairdryer, picked her up, carried her to the bedroom, and placed her gently next to Chale Cheney.
He pulled up the blankets to cover them.
His towering figure stood by the bed, surprisingly unwilling to leave.
Jasmine had a long dream.
In her dream, she saw her little rascal coming back, bouncing around, very healthy.
Just when the little guy called out “mama” and started walking towards her, Sylvan suddenly appeared —
He bent down, picked up her baby.
Her little rascal was crying, crying so sadly.
“Sylvan!” Jasmine shook her head in distress.
Sylvan hadn’t left yet, he quickly bent down and grabbed her hand: “I’m here.”
Was she having a nightmare again?
“Don’t take my baby away, don’t take him away…”
Jasmine’s palm was cold and sweaty.
“Jasy.” He called out anxiously.
Jasmine cried out for a while, then quieted down.
The nightmare was over.
Sylvan was thoughtful, released her hand, stood up, turned off the bedroom light.
The next morning, Chale Cheney was the first to wake up.
Huh, why was dad sleeping on the couch? Why didn’t he sleep with Jasy?
He walked over quietly, and poked Elder Cheney with his small hand.
Sylvan opened his eyes, his voice was a bit hoarse: “Awake?”