Woman In Irish Linen Shirt

Prevent misfortune in the first place rather than in the aftermath. Know and act cautiously, a gentleman does not stand under a dangerous wall. Confucius said this.

If a gentleman does not stand under a dangerous wall, how can he wait and see him?

How can I wait...

The gentleman is really amazing. Fortunately I am not.

My fingertips are trapped in her hair. It felt like stroking the silk thread, the soft texture wandered along the back of the hand, and it was not clear whether I was touching the silk or the silk touching me. There was a fragrance in its nose, but it quickly forgot to work, and then it went on strike.

For a moment, my stiff body became soft with my breathless breathing, as if there was a very thin and warm stream of water stroking me, stroking the lines of time, and merging into her gentle homeland.

I put her in my arms.

The surroundings are extremely quiet, my senses have abandoned everything, and only the touch has become all reality. Miss Pande is very close to me, and my lips describe her, like touching an inch of velvet. She is soft and warm, sharing a tender kiss with me. The point is clear until the end, but the unfinished part is smeared, and the water mist is full, and go to a place that can only be touched by the mind.

It felt like it was sunny, and I was lying in the same cloud with her.

"My God..." I restrained my separation from her a bit, sorting out my messy breathing.

She sighed slightly, her hand still leaning on my shoulder, a little lost. After a while, Miss Pan De had a little teasing in her eyes, and she looked at me and said, "I thought you were an atheist."

"My thoughts haven't changed." After speaking, I licked my lips, my eyelashes drooped, and then leaned in.

Oh My God.

The sweetness of her still remained on my lips, and I was still a little bit unsatisfied, and moved my throat patiently, and let go of the arms that were confining her. Miss Pande relaxed, leaning her head against my neck, with one hand wrapped around her waist, as if she was afraid that I would run away. Her nose sprayed on the skin and felt a little itchy, but she couldn't calm down, and her breathing was still light or heavy.

I opened my mouth for a long time before saying, "We shouldn't continue."

She raised her head to look at me, bit her lip, said nothing, and went back.

"Are you hungry?" I raised the hand with my arm around her shoulder. "It's just over three o'clock, okay. When I didn't say it."

"You can start preparing first. I plan to make a more complicated soup today." She moved a little, "Five more minutes?"

"Okay." I kissed her hair.

Miss Pan De lifted her head slightly.

…In the end it started at four o’clock.

There are two kitchens in her house, both of which are open-plan. The small one can only be counted as a bar counter, with all kinds of spices in glass bottles, a pan hanging above the electric stove, and the refrigerator just embedded in the corner. The larger one is in a deeper position. The kitchen utensils are all available and cleaned up, but at first glance, she knows that she often cooks.

"The kitchen in front is where I usually eat." She turned her back and asked me to wear an apron, "But today we will eat something good, you can look forward to it."

"Do I need to do anything?"

Miss Pan De turned around, folded her arms, blinked: "Tell me first, what cooking experience do you have?"

"Uh." I was stumped by her, "I can handle most of the vegetables, and I can shred."

"That's not knowing how to cook."

I pursed my lips, but there was no way to refute it.

She took out tomatoes, cucumbers and several kinds of peppers from the fresh-keeping layer of the refrigerator, as well as half of the onions wrapped in plastic wrap, and took a cutting board and a ceramic knife from the cabinet above the countertop. Pass it to me: "Can you cut them into strips about five millimeters thin? Cucumber slices can be flattened a bit...about two millimeters?"

The typical foreigner cooks dishes, pay attention to the precise portion, and can't wait to compare the measuring cup with the kitchen scale.

Then Miss Pan De really took a kitchen scale, weighed a bowl of about two-fold two glass jars of olives and handed it to me, saying, "It's fine to cut this in half."

I glanced at the words on the jar, it was Kalamata olives. I asked: "The first dish is a Greek salad?"

Miss Pan De raised her eyebrows: "You know very well. Can you eat goat cheese?"

"Can."

"Okay." As she said, she poured another half bowl of milk, fished out a small piece of feta cheese and soaked in it, "Finally cut this, can you cut it into about five millimeters?"

"Of course." I was in a very good mood today, and the movements on my hands were exceptionally quick.

Miss Pan De was preparing her soup, which seemed to be some kind of vegetable soup, but she was reluctant to fake it from the beginning of choosing dishes. Her progress was much faster than me. When the soup was put on the stove and the kitchen alarm was set, I had just finished cutting the vegetables.

While mixing olive oil for seasoning, she checked my results: "It's not bad. Do you want to eat here or let's go to the bar? There is no restaurant in my house."

"Eat here." I didn't forget to praise her, "You are so organized."

She didn't even pause in the whole process of making the soup. It was me who changed to me. I would definitely forget where the pot was, and then take out all the spices for later use. Ms. Pan De uses the same method and is familiar with the recipes and tools without any delay.

"I like cooking and tidy." She shrugged, "I hope you are satisfied with the taste... let's start?"

"Okay." I washed my hands and took off my apron for her.

I couldn't hold back and kissed, and I couldn't tell who took the initiative.

We sat side by side, facing the counter, like two people who just finished working in the back kitchen. Of course, she is more like a chef, and I might be a trainee Dunzi who is about to be fired.

"Your watch is very beautiful. Is it an antique watch?" Miss Pande asked.

I nodded: "My grandma left it to me."

"Oh." She looked a little sorry, "When did it happen?"

"It has been several years. She was ninety-two years old when she passed away. It is said that she was walking peacefully." I lowered my eyes. "It took me two or three days to get the news."

"I'm sorry." Her hand stretched out.

I shook her back and smiled carelessly: "Thank you."

Miss Pan De's tone was hesitant: "You seem to rarely mention family."

"Remember when I said that I come from a very independent family?" I looked at her and said, "So there are not too many stories to share. My grandmother is a very lovely lady, and she has kept it since she retired. With plenty of energy, she likes to make snacks. I am her youngest granddaughter, almost fed with sugar."

She smiled: "Is that why you are so sweet?"

I thought about it seriously: "It's very possible. I'm more like a grandmother."

"Then I want to get to know your grandmother." Miss Pan De looked at me, "Can you? I ask some questions that can be answered with numbers. You can also ask me accordingly."

"Of course." I ate a spoonful of salad.

"How many girlfriends have you had?"

I almost didn't choke.

Coughing, I asked, "Don't you want to know my grandma?"

"But you said you are very similar to her." She blinked.

I looked at her helplessly, smiling without answering.

"Okay..." She tapped her finger twice on her face, "How many boyfriends have you had?"

"Zero."

Miss Pan De raised her eyebrows, seeming to want to return to the original question again. But she might not be sure to let me answer, and finally asked: "Since you said it was for scientific research... I want to know how many girls' phone numbers you successfully got at that time? I mean the day we met for the first time. "

I said, "So you also have a time when you are active."

She is reluctant: "You can only answer the numbers."

"Almost half, one hundred?" I can't remember clearly, "but I remember asking a total of 217 strange ladies in those two days, you didn't include them."

"Why don't you count me?"

I looked at her deliberately, with a faint smile: "You only let me answer the numbers."

Miss Pan De squinted her eyes, which made me feel a little dangerous. She immediately said, "Did the paper draw any conclusions?"

There are too many factors to consider in this experiment, so there is no really meaningful conclusion. But if I don't answer, she may be annoyed. I said, "Well—about half of Pioneer Valley college students like girls?"

She frowned slightly: "Where are those who refused?"

"They usually say that they are straight girls, or they have boyfriends." I touched my neck, time is really too long, I can't recall the details.

"Is that your understanding?" She looked at me with a slight smile, "Half people like girls?"

"Is that so?" I nodded without knowing.

"Now you have answered several answers whose content is not a number." Miss Pan De leaned over, "Punishment question: Why am I not included?"

The soup is a bit mushy, but it still tastes good.

Miss Pan De said that this is a secret recipe from her mother's house, but I have eaten Central European cuisine once or twice, and I don't feel much different from the fried pumpkin soup in the store. The portion of the salad was too big, we were 100% full after the soup, and the M6 ​​filet she thaw in the refrigerator failed to show off.

The ice on the steak has all melted away, and Miss Pande is not too happy. I swear again and again, I promise to finish eating them before twelve o'clock tonight, and her face finally eased a little.

We talked a lot, from the first girl who moved my heart to the most challenging deliverable I encountered while working in A, her curiosity seemed to have no end to satisfaction. I was also more relaxed than ever. I felt that I could ask and answer her a thousand questions at the same time, and I still didn't know enough, like opening some treasure.

I neither wear armour nor saber, embrace her in my arms, whispering to each other, as if temporarily possessing the world. Miss Pan De interacted and got close to me like a glass of red wine, and we were like two confidants who walked at night in brocade clothes.

"There are stars dancing in your eyes." I said.

Her forehead was pressed against me, her eyes were crooked when she listened, and the galaxy was flowing right now.

That night, I did not go home.