Lyndon watched her leave, his eyes narrowing in thought.
She seemed to shy away from his touch.
The way she glanced at him before hinted that she was remembering something.
Was Tilda hiding some secret?
Could it possibly involve him? Lyndon pondered.
The night was eerily silent, amplifying the solitude, and memories from his recent dream flashed through Lyndonâs mind.
He frowned slightly, quietly put the ointment back into the medicine box, and then fetched a blanket from the bedroom before settling on the sofa.
He couldnât sleep in Tildaâs room, concerned about experiencing more intense dreams.
Even though it had only been a dream, he felt as if he had offended her.
He turned over and closed his eyes.
Unexpectedly, the image of Tildaâs slim figure invaded his thoughts.
He scowled and muttered a curse under his breath.
This was ridiculous; he must be feeling lonely!
The following morning, Elma awoke to find Lyndon already on the sofa, busy with work.
She expressed her surprise.
âMr.
Fernandez, youâre up early.
â
Lyndon gave a small nod.
âGood morning, Elma.
â
Truth be told, he had hardly slept the previous night.
âJust give me a minute.
Iâll start on breakfast right away,â Elma quickly offered.
Lyndon was impressively committed.
He appeared to be a genuinely decent man.
Lyndon stayed on the sofa, continuing to sort through some paperwork.
Soon after, Tilda also woke up.
She was dressed in a floral house dress, her hair loosely draped over her shoulders.
Upon seeing Lyndon working on the sofa, she hesitated for a moment.