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chapter 43
Sucking on a sweet candy, Lynette quietly looked at Sian.
He sprayed disinfectant on her injured finger, then gently applied ointment. After that, he neatly wrapped it in a bandage.
“Make sure not to get it wet for a while. If you keep getting it wet, it’ll get worse.”
“I know that, but… I still have to work.”
“I know that too, but if water gets in, it’ll take longer to heal. Are you okay with that?”
“You talk just like a doctor, for someone who claims to hate going to the clinic.”
Looking at her finger, now wrapped neatly in white gauze, Lynette felt a dull ache. She was relieved that the wound wasn’t as bad as she had feared, and she reached for the knife to finish slicing.
She needed to hurry and finish making the sandwiches. But instead of grabbing the knife, Sian caught her wrist.
“Um, Sian?”
“I’ll do it. It’s just slicing vegetables, right? I can make a sandwich just fine.”
He sliced the vegetables and mixed them with the dressing she’d already made. Then, he packed the fillings tightly between buttered bread, topped it with another buttered slice, and pressed it down with something heavy. His movements were practiced—it wasn’t his first time doing this.
She’d thought he cooked pretty well before, but now he made sandwiches as easily as breathing. After he even cleaned up afterward, Lynette served him one of the sandwiches she’d made earlier, along with freshly brewed coffee.
“Thank you so much.”
The stick had already melted away, leaving only the round lemon candy rolling around in her mouth. Watching her savor it, Sian smiled warmly.
“Don’t mention it. It’s only natural to help.”
Was he… a chef by trade? But then, what chef went on business trips? That didn’t seem likely.
A man who wasn’t a chef but still cooked this well—it made him seem like one of those “sexy men who cook.”
She’d never seen Sian shirtless, but she could easily imagine the muscles beneath his shirt if he just undid a few buttons.
“When did you learn to cook, Sian? You’re really amazing.”
“I started learning slowly about two years ago. I was living alone… and, well, my first love wanted me to.”
“Huh? That’s impressive—learning to cook for your first love?”
She wanted to clap for him—what kind of man learned to cook just to please a woman? Her hand still hurt, though, so she settled for a smile instead.
“So, your first love couldn’t cook?”
Maybe the woman had dumped him for that reason—but she couldn’t ask outright.
“No, she could cook pretty well too. I just… wanted to become closer to her ideal type.”
“And what kind of man is her ideal type? A chef?”
“No, she once said—half drunk—that her ideal type was a gentle man who could cook. I don’t think she even remembers saying it. To be fair, I was drunk too, so it’s all a blur.”
Did they… sleep together that night? Maybe. As long as both were happy, there was no problem.
“You must’ve both been very drunk then. But you know… a gentle man who can cook happens to be my ideal type too.”
Smiling slyly, Lynette wondered if all women were just wired the same way. Sian’s grin brightened.
“Then, what do you think of me?”
“I think you’re too good for me. Besides, I’m already someone with a broken engagement. I’m not interested in marriage or anything like that right now.”
Even if they had kissed while pretending earlier, she kept catching herself glancing at his lips. Every time that happened, she shook her head vigorously. Then something occurred to her, and she looked straight at him.
“By the way… how did you come here before opening hours? From outside, you can’t really see this part of the shop.”
Sian always came during quiet hours when there were few customers. He definitely knew the opening times—so it was strange that he’d shown up early and treated her wound out of nowhere.
“I was just passing by, and I sensed someone inside, so I came in.”
“Ah, I see. I thought—never mind.”
She had assumed he’d been waiting around for her to open the shop. Lynette laughed softly and bit into the candy still in her mouth, crunching it between her teeth before getting ready to open for the day.
“I’ll help you.”
“What? Oh, there’s no need. Angela will be here soon anyway.”
She didn’t want any more help from this “gentle man who cooks.” So she declined lightly—but his perked-up ears somehow looked like they drooped in disappointment.
“Then could you wrap this sandwich and put it in the showcase? Just wrap this side with paper.”
Lynette demonstrated once, and Sian copied her movements carefully. It wasn’t a big task, but he wrapped it neatly and lined it up in the showcase, glancing at her like he wanted praise.
“You did great. Thanks for the help.”
When she raised her hand and gently patted his dark hair, Sian’s expression lit up—only to cloud over again a second later.
“Um… I might not be able to come by this afternoon or tomorrow.”
“Something important going on? It’s fine. The shop won’t fall apart just because you miss a day. But… I’ll probably miss you a little.”
“I’m sorry. I really don’t want to, but there’s something I have to do.”
His invisible tail seemed to droop sadly. Lynette couldn’t help but chuckle.
“I’ll wait until closing. If you can’t make it, we’ll see each other the day after tomorrow.”
“Yes. If I can, I’ll come no matter what. So please don’t close up early even if there are no customers. Promise? You must wait.”
He took her right hand and hooked his pinky around hers. Startled, Lynette blinked, but nodded—making a pinky promise with him before she realized it.
Judging by his serious expression, it was clearly something important. Still, she doubted he’d finish whatever it was quickly enough to come back that night.
Sure enough, Sian didn’t show up that afternoon. It wasn’t disappointing—coming to the shop every day had been impressive enough. Instead, Lynette decided to leave work a bit early.
“Angela, I’m heading out a little early today. You can go too.”
She had plenty to do at home, so she rushed off the moment she closed up.
❅
It had been twenty years ago, yet the memory was painfully vivid. For Catherine, the sorrow still cut deeper than any joy. Her newborn daughter and her kind husband—so generous he’d give everything away—had both died of illness.
She had cried for days, clutching their lifeless bodies. Anyone who had seen her then would remember the grief. Exhausted from weeping, Catherine had no choice but to let them go.
When she finally came to her senses, she saw her swollen breasts—engorged with milk she had no child left to nurse.
While suffering from mastitis, she heard that the Count of Pruina’s household was looking for a wet nurse.
Broken in both body and spirit, Catherine went there, thinking her late husband and child wouldn’t want her to give up on life just yet. She decided to live as long as she could—and one day tell them her story in heaven.
Several wet nurses had already tried, but the baby had cried inconsolably, rejecting each one. Then it became her turn.
The infant, about the same age her own child would have been, was strong and healthy. When the baby began to cry at the sight of her, Catherine almost walked away—but she wanted to hold the child just once.
Just once, she wanted to nurse again—to feed a baby with the milk that her own child had never tasted. So she picked up the baby girl. The moment she did, the child sniffed instinctively, recognized the scent, and began to suckle.
Tears welled up again as Catherine watched the little mouth nurse eagerly. From that moment, she became the wet nurse of the baby girl named Lynette.
She cared for little Lynette with all her heart, pushing her pain deep down as she watched the child grow strong and bright. No matter what, she always took Lynette’s side.
That morning, she woke early to prepare breakfast before Lynette rose. But when she looked around, Lynette was already gone. On the table sat a small bouquet of delicate white flowers and a note.
“I’m heading straight to work—don’t worry about me, go take care of your errands.”
Holding the bouquet of pure white blossoms, Catherine smiled faintly.
“She’s so thoughtful. I wonder who raised her to be this quick-witted.”
Skipping breakfast, Catherine carried the flowers to the carriage station. Handing the driver some coins, she climbed in.
The carriage rattled to life—clack, clack. It left Indigo and rolled on for quite some time before stopping atop a tall hill. From there, the imperial capital of Iraine spread out in full view. Catherine stepped down and laid the bouquet gently on the ground.
“My dear… my baby… I’m here.”
She had scattered her husband’s and child’s ashes here long ago, honoring his last wish: he’d always said he wanted to look down upon the grand city one last time. She hadn’t buried them, but let them become the wind across the hills.
“Is it warm where you are? It’s quite warm here too. Are you taking good care of our baby? I’m doing well here—with our little Miss Lynette.”
Talking softly as if they could hear her, Catherine stood for a long time, gazing over the city. When the sunlight grew harsh, she sat beneath a tree and stared up at the sky.
She had loved them deeply—too deeply. But love hadn’t been enough. The poor had no power to save their loved ones. She’d wanted to take them to a doctor, but there was no money. They had lived day to day.
So she had stopped dreaming big. Even if a child survived birth, there was no guarantee they’d live to adulthood. People had many children just to ensure a few survived. But her husband had wanted only one—to raise that child well and not pass on poverty.
Yet both her husband and her beloved child had died, leaving her behind. She had resented them once, but now, only pity remained.
The saying was true: the living must keep on living. She had eaten and slept only because she couldn’t bring herself to die.
After becoming Lynette’s wet nurse, she never thought of ending her life again. She was too busy—and every time she held the baby, smiles came without effort. When the little one giggled, the knots in her heart loosened just a bit.
“My little lady… she used to laugh and cry so loudly.”
When Lynette cried, the whole Pruina mansion shook. Her voice was so powerful that people joked she could become a commander someday.
“Dear, I’ve told you about our Miss Lynette before, right? The coffee she brews is truly the best in the world. If only you could taste it once.”
Catherine smiled fondly, thinking of her husband in heaven. These days, she started her mornings with the honey-sweet coffee Lynette made for her before work—it brightened her day.
At first, she had found it too bitter, so Lynette had begun adding honey for her. The warm honey sepiano blend melted away her worries.
“It’s just the two of us now, and I couldn’t be happier. No one to bother us. But someday… she’ll have to return to the Pruina estate, won’t she?”
She murmured softly to the wind until the sun began to set. Then she climbed back into the rented carriage. Watching the hill recede through the small window, she whispered:
“My dear, my baby… I’ll come again next year. I’ll bring happier stories next time, so please wait for me.”
Leaving her heavy heart behind on that hill, Catherine didn’t go straight home—she stopped by the market instead.
She wanted to cook something special for Lynette. Since it was for her, she only picked the freshest, finest ingredients, no matter the cost.
“Hehe, these days our lady earns enough that we can afford as much salt as we like!”
Delighted by the simple joy of shopping with the money Lynette brought home, Catherine headed toward their home—only to stop in her tracks.
There, in front of the house, stood a young woman pacing back and forth as if waiting for someone.
Seeing the child she had once nursed now grown and waiting for her made Catherine smile warmly. She hurried over.
“Miss, what are you doing out here?”
Lynette quickly took the heavy bags from her arms and shrugged playfully.
“Oh, nothing. Just came out to… look at the moon. Definitely not waiting out here for you.”
