Mysterious Mrs. Pansy

Gritting her teeth, Jane did her utmost to support Patrick with one hand while the other delved into his pocket.

Jane’s hand rummaged around his pocket, and soon her fingers brushed against something.

Patrick stiffened.

“What are you looking for? The key or something else?”

“Sorry!”

Jane’s face turned as red as a tomato when she realized what she had accidentally touched. She quickly apologized and began searching for the key in the opposite direction.

Today seemed to be conspiring against her. Even the key had decided to play hide and seek. Jane delved deeper into the pocket, but her search for the key remained futile.

Frustrated, Jane continued to fumble in Patrick’s pocket. Through the cloth, Patrick could feel her hand brushing against his thigh, sending both discomfort and a strangely electrifying sensation through him.

“Patrick, where’s your key? It’s not here!”

After a moment of searching, Jane was exhausted and drenched in sweat, but Patrick was still leaning on her. He casually patted his pocket with his uninjured hand and frowned. It appeared the key was in the other pocket.

After a while, his expression darkened. “I just remembered, it’s in the other pocket.”

“What the-?” Jane cursed.

Patrick shrugged and gestured to the pocket on his right.

Jane was exasperated. She believed Patrick had deliberately made things difficult for her, especially after she had accidentally kicked him. She hadn’t intended to hurt him, but he had rushed in to protect her.

Jane grumbled to herself as she fumbled to unlock the door. Finally, the door swung open, and she used the last of her strength to guide Patrick to the couch.

“Stay here for now.”

As she tried to stand up, her legs buckled.

“Ah!”

With a scream, Jane fell into Patrick’s arms.

“Can’t you wait before you start throwing yourself at me? We just got here,” Patrick teased.

Jane’s ears turned crimson. She glared at him and retorted, “It’s all because you practically made me carry you all the way here!”

Patrick leaned back on the sofa, unfazed. “You kicked me.”

Jane was speechless. She hadn’t intended to kick him! “Time for your medicine.”

Confused, Jane decided to change the topic. She got up and retrieved the prescribed medicine, placing it in front of Patrick.

“One pill a night…”

Before she could finish her sentence, her stomach began to growl.

Patrick chuckled. “Hungry?”

Jane was a little embarrassed. She had been busy all day and had forgotten to eat dinner. She was indeed famished.

“I’m hungry too. Let’s order some takeout.”

As Patrick spoke, he took out his phone.

“What do you want to eat?”

“Is there anything in the fridge? I can cook. My cooking isn’t that bad.”

Truth be told, Jane wasn’t fond of takeout; she often found it unhealthy.

“You can cook?”

Patrick raised his eyebrows in surprise.

Jane smiled. “Of course. I don’t cook often, though. You’re lucky today. Consider it a reward for saving my life.”

“One usually has to marry the person they save,” Patrick said suddenly, sitting up straight.

His normally aloof eyes held a meaningful glint as he looked at the woman before him.

Marry? Jane rolled her eyes at him, stood up, and headed to the kitchen.

Patrick had hired a housekeeper for his apartment. Occasionally, he would ask her to prepare dinner, so the housekeeper kept the fridge stocked.

Jane opened the fridge, finding an array of fruits, vegetables, and frozen goods. Since it was quite late, she decided to prepare something simple – spaghetti.

She chose the ingredients one by one, washed them, and began cooking. After taking his medicine, Patrick craned his neck to observe the kitchen. From his viewpoint, he could only see Jane’s back. Wearing an apron, she appeared as though she was a good wife preparing dinner for her husband.

Patrick’s demeanor softened. He couldn’t help but stand up and make his way to the kitchen. Mike’s words came to mind: “Jane’s a good girl. Spend more time with her, and you’ll see for yourself. Patrick, you won’t want to miss her.”

Maybe he should make an effort to get to know Jane better. Just as Jane was about to place all the ingredients into the pot, Patrick’s deep voice interrupted her.

“Do you need help?”

Turning around, Jane saw Patrick leaning against the door frame with his hands in his trouser pockets. His handsome face looked unusually gentle, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His charming eyes were fixed on her, like two whirlpools drawing anyone who dared to look directly into them.

Under Patrick’s gaze, Jane suddenly felt a little shy. She quickly looked away and focused on his leg.

Frowning, she asked, “I thought you couldn’t walk?”

Patrick said, “You’re right. I need you to help me to the dining room.”

“Go by yourself. Can’t you see I’m busy?”

Jane pushed him out of the kitchen and closed the door behind her. Despite being ousted, Patrick couldn’t help but smile.

When Jane finished cooking, Patrick was waiting for her at the table.

“Here you go.”

Jane placed a plate of spaghetti in front of Patrick.

“It’s late, and I know you’re hungry, so I just cooked some spaghetti.”

Patrick looked down at the food in front of him, and his eyes widened. The spaghetti looked enticing, both visually and aromatically.

He looked up at the woman who prepared the food, but she was already eagerly eating her own serving.

Seeing this, Patrick quietly chuckled. His fiancée was certainly unique. Other women, like Florence and Monica, often pretended to have small appetites in front of him, but he found no interest in women like them.

Jane, on the other hand, didn’t bother with such pretenses and ate as if she were the only person in the room.

After savoring the last bite of her spaghetti, Jane looked up, only to find Patrick gazing at her.

More importantly, his plate of spaghetti remained untouched.

“Why aren’t you eating?” Jane inquired, puzzled. “Don’t you like it?”

Without a word, Patrick raised his injured hand meaningfully.

“You can use your other hand!”

Jane was taken aback by his directness. Patrick pursed his lips.

“But it’s my left hand. I’m not used to eating with my left hand.”

“So you’re saying you don’t want to eat?”

“I’m not,” Patrick replied. He prevented Jane from taking his spaghetti away.

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