"Delicious." She couldn't wait to scrape a bit of cream from the edge with her index finger and tasted it—it was great. She stuck her finger in her mouth, nodded at Ji Chicheng, and while licking her finger, she looked up at him, "The peach flavor is amazing, Uncle Ji, what flavor do you like?"
Ji Chicheng watched Ji Anning's enthusiastic performance, a gentle indulgence spreading across his lips as he stepped back and lazily leaned against the windowsill.
Then, he spoke softly, "I like you."
It was just a light remark, without deliberate depth of feeling.
Ji Anning, however, was startled and looked up, her eyes sparkling. The man was backlit, his handsome face even more chiseled and profound, full of deep affection.
She kept her index finger in her mouth, dazed and infatuated.
"I wish your finger were me."
Ji Chicheng suddenly spoke again, breaking the beautiful stillness. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and slowly walked toward Ji Anning.
