Jasmine Yale's brow and eyes were gentle, like a breeze brushing through the willows.
Sylvan Cheney's hand paused as he buttoned his shirt and looked at her: "Why not sleep a little longer."
"I just happened to wake up."
"Are you going home this morning?"
"Mm, you don't have to worry about me. I will take good care of myself. I must learn to give myself a sense of security."
Sylvan Cheney furrowed his brows.
He didn't quite understand what she meant by that.
Jasmine Yale raised her hand, still smiling: "I'll help you with that."
"I can do it myself, you go back to sleep; there's no rush."
Jasmine Yale's hand, resting atop the blanket, stiffened. She pressed her lips together and said nothing more.
Sylvan Cheney turned his head, taking a striped tie out of the cabinet, and skillfully tied it.
From Jasmine Yale's angle, she could see the side of his face, handsome and clear, the lines taut. That attractive face bore an indifferent expression, not too expressive.
