Inside, Curtis felt a surge of emotions.
Seeing Dakota's bright smile fade completely, he suddenly felt an urge to pull her into his arms.
He sighed softly, "Should you give her a call?"
Dakota took out her phone and called Greta, and faint sounds of an argument could be heard from the other end.
Greta answered the call after leaving the meeting room, "Sorry, Kota, something came up at the company, I was in a meeting, and I forgot I promised to come over tonight..."
Dakota's eyelashes drooped, and she remained silent.
Greta tried to soften her tone, hoping to console her, "Next time, okay?"
Dakota gave a soft affirmative and hung up the call.
Curtis reined in his usual carefree demeanor, and the arrogant edge softened as he spoke in a barely audible voice, "What did she say?"
Dakota sniffed, "She said she forgot."
Curtis fell silent.
It seemed absurd to him, and he took a deep breath to comment, but ultimately held back, caught in a rare moment of indecision.
But Dakota suddenly picked up her fork and, lowering her head, scooped a bite of mashed potatoes, "Let's eat first."
Curtis stayed seated, unmoving.
He looked at Dakota calmly, suddenly understanding more clearly her comment about "hustle and bustle" during that day at the Pineda's residence.
"Dakota," he called her name in a low voice.
But Dakota ignored her, holding the bowl with her left hand and using her right hand to scoop up mashed potatoes with a spoon, not bothering to serve any vegetables—just eating the potatoes straight from the bowl.
Curtis sighed helplessly.
He called her again, "Kota..."
However, before Curtis could finish speaking, he suddenly saw a tear drop into Dakota's bowl.
His throat tightened, and his voice cut off abruptly.
Dakota also stopped scooping mashed potatoes, choking up visibly, but tried to lower her head to eat again after pausing.
But Curtis suddenly reached out to grab her fork. He was about to say something when he noticed a few drops of crimson on the bowl.
He immediately gripped Dakota's wrist and turned it over, seeing the injury on her fingertip, his pupils constricting sharply.
"What happened to your hand?"
Dakota, already holding back emotions, burst into tears as if a floodgate had been opened. Feeling even more aggrieved by the sudden concern, she hadn't yet lifted her head, but her nose was red.
"I was cut by a carving knife just before finishing work."
Dakota slowly lifted her tearful eyes, the redness around her eyes spreading like watercolor, her cheeks flushed and slightly puffed, "It hurts so much..."
Curtis glared at her for two seconds, not in a good mood.
Then he sighed and bent down, looking at Dakota's wound, which was worse than when it had first happened, "Stay here and wait for me."
That tone was both harsh and gentle.
As if he wanted to scold her but was afraid of making her cry.
So in the end, he could only suppress his irritation and get the home medical kit.
"It will hurt, can you handle it?"
Curtis led Dakota to the living room sofa and rummaged through the medical supplies for disinfection and bandaging.
Dakota shook her head honestly.
Curtis looked up at her, and in those dark, defiant eyes, there seemed to be a hint of exasperation. But when he met Dakota's tear-streaked eyes, his usually unyielding heart inexplicably softened a little.
There was a strange sense of being subdued and tamed right in front of her.
Curtis frowned a little, irritated, but he didn't pass these feelings onto Dakota, only cursing himself under his breath.
Facing her, all he could do was sigh, "Then I'll be gentler."
But Dakota still had a low pain tolerance, and her fingertip trembled as it was being disinfected.
Curtis lifted his eyelids to stare at her, "Don't fidget."
"I can't help it..."
"Kota, I'm already being very gentle."
"But it still hurts, waaah..."
"..."
So, in the living room of Whispering Pines.
A man dressed in an expensive black shirt impatiently loosened the collar that had been tightly fastened for meeting his mother-in-law.
He found bending his neck too tiring.
So he knelt on one knee on the carpet in front of the sofa, holding Dakota's hand, gently applying medicine and blowing on it, "Is this better?"
"Does it still hurt? It shouldn't hurt now, right?"
"Princess Kota, please stop crying."
"Forget this lousy meal, let's throw it away. After I finish treating your wound, I'll take you out for something better."
"Okay, okay, if you don't want to go out, we won't. What do you want to eat? I'll cook for you."
Dakota choked back sobs and looked up at him with teary eyes.
She paused, her voice still thick with restrained sobs, "Really?"
Curtis: "..."
"Then I want to eat the grilled lobster tail you made."
Dakota's eyes still shimmered with tears, and she looked at him innocently, "The kind that's already shelled."
This time, it was Curtis's turn to choke up.
He was silent for a long time before he slowly said, "You can't eat seafood with your injury."
"But lobsters are from rivers."
"..."
Curtis finished bandaging Dakota's wound, resting his elbows on his knees, and rubbed his temples.
Half an hour later.
A box of fresh and clean lobster tails, ordered on short notice, arrived at Whispering Pines in a hurry.
Curtis removed his wedding ring and placed it aside.
Those small, hard-to-shell lobster tails were peeled one by one by his sexy, jointed hands.
Before he finished peeling half of them, Curtis, who was always extremely impatient, ran out of patience, gritting his teeth and letting out a frustrated sigh, "Oh, come on..."
But the last word was cut short, swallowed back by the tightening of his jawline.
Curtis raised his hand, throwing the lobster shell into the trash with all his might, considering this his release, before continuing to peel the remaining lobster tails with resignation.
Dakota was getting so hungry she could hardly stand it.
Another half hour passed before a fragrant bowl of grilled lobster tail was carried out by Curtis from the kitchen.
Dakota's appetite was instantly piqued, and she looked at Curtis with hopeful eyes, "Just one bowl?"
"Do you want me to peel another bowl for you?"
Curtis's eyelids flickered, his dark eyes full of depth.
Dakota shook her head, "No, what about you? What are you going to eat?"
Curtis sat lazily at the table, stretching his long legs and picking up his fork, eating the now-cooled dishes, "I don't have the patience to peel those things for myself."
"Just eat it yourself. Eat less. Even river food is considered a trigger for inflammation. If your wound gets inflamed, don't start crying again."
His tone sounded like he was very impatient.
His demeanor was casual and indifferent.
But Dakota couldn't detect any real anger or irritability from him, as if it was all just a surface-level act—in other words, all bark and no bite.
