Lyndon looked at her.
âYou expect me to apply it myself?â
âWho else?â Tilda asked.
Lyndon raised an eyebrow.
âI canât see my face.
â
This wasnât what he expected.
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He thought she might apply the ointment for him.
After all, she had caused this, and she had suggested the ointment.
âSpare me a moment,â Tilda said.
She got up and fetched a mirror from Elmaâs room.
âNow you can apply the ointment on your own.
â
Lyndon was speechless.
Lyndon picked up the ointment and gently applied a small amount to his face.
The soothing coolness relieved the burn on his skin.
As he looked into the mirror, he commented, âThis ointment works really well.
â
Tilda watched him, slightly mesmerized by his attractive face, her lips slightly pursed.
Memories briefly flashed through her mind.
In the vividness of spring, a man sat beneath a cherry tree in full bloom, his knee bent, offering a smile to the woman next to him.
The woman, smiling sweetly, offered him a piece of fruit.
A breeze swept by, swirling the pink and white cherry blossoms in a floral flurry.
He drew her close and kissed her, their moment filled with tenderness and romanceâ¦
âWhatâs wrong?â Lyndon, noticing her gaze, looked at Tilda with concern.
Her eyes were a bit red, her expression tinged with sadness.
Tilda snapped back to reality, quickly shifting her gaze and adjusting her glasses to play it off.
âItâs nothing.
Do you feel better now? Iâm going to sleep then.
â
With those words, she stood up and hurried toward Elmaâs bedroom.
She hurried along, almost like she was escaping.