We'll always be together, right?
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of the hotel suite, the morning mist over Manhattan had not yet dissipated, and the spire of the Empire State Building was only a blurry outline in the milky fog. Ning Zhichu, wrapped in Wei Ting's silk robe, sat on a wicker chair on the balcony, her fingers holding a half-cold Americano, her gaze drifting to the joggers below. She heard the soft sound of the bathroom door opening and closing behind her, carrying warm, damp steam. Turning around, she bumped into Wei Ting as he came out, drying his hair.
He wasn't wearing a shirt; his off-white silk robe was loosely tied around his waist, revealing his smooth collarbone and well-defined chest. Water droplets slid down his jawline and into the collar, disappearing deep into the fabric. Hearing the noise, he looked up, his dark eyes still carrying the languor of someone just waking up. Seeing her red nose from the cold, he frowned slightly as he walked over: "Why aren't you wearing a coat? The morning fog in New York is more biting than the cold snap on Wall Street."
Ning Zhichu tried to stand up, but he pressed her shoulder down and pulled her back into the chair. He bent down to tighten the collar of her bathrobe, and when his fingertips brushed against her earlobe, the heat made her tremble slightly. The scent of cedarwood from the bathrobe, mixed with the steam, wafted over. She couldn't help but look up and saw his Adam's apple bob. His gaze slid from her coffee-frozen lips to her hand clutching the cup, and he suddenly smiled: "Sneaking a sip of my cold brew?"
“Who stole it?” She deliberately raised her chin, feigning ignorance, but her voice trailed off. “Mr. Wei drank all my hot cocoa last night, this is compensation.” As he looked down, his nose almost touched her forehead, his warm breath brushing against her eyelids. “Then I’ll compensate you in another way?” he said, taking the coffee cup from her hand and placing it on the stone table. He placed his palm on her cold hands. “The smoked salmon bagel downstairs is ready. Go change your clothes, I’ll take you there.”
As Ning Zhichu turned to go to the dressing room, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror—the collar of her robe had slipped down to her shoulders, revealing the pearl necklace Wei Ting had given her, the beads gleaming softly in the morning mist. She secretly pulled the collar down a little further in front of the mirror, her fingertips gripping the necklace pendant as she took a deep breath, trying to project the composure of a mature woman. But when she turned and bumped into Wei Ting leaning against the doorframe, her ears instantly burned.
He changed into a light gray custom-made shirt, leaving the top two buttons undone, revealing a faint old scar on his collarbone—a mark left from accidentally bumping into the corner of his desk after working three days and three nights straight while managing the market last year. He held a tie between his fingers, his gaze sliding from her reddened earlobe to her tightly pursed lips, and suddenly beckoned to her: "Come here, help me tie my tie."
As Ning Zhichu walked over, her heart pounded like the opening bell on Wall Street. She tried to wrap the tie around his neck, just as her mother had taught her, but her fingers kept getting caught on the mother-of-pearl buttons on his shirt. Wei Ting looked down at her, his breath falling on the top of her head. Suddenly, he reached out and pressed her wrist, slowly tightening the tie around her hand: "The left side needs to be two centimeters longer than the right, otherwise it'll be asymmetrical." His voice was low, almost a murmur, his fingertips sliding up her wrist, gently squeezing her forearm. "What are you so nervous about? I'm not going to eat you."
She looked up abruptly, meeting his unfathomable black eyes. His gaze lingered on her lips, his Adam's apple bobbing again, but he didn't move closer. He simply released her hand and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear: "Alright, the bagel will get cold if we don't go soon."
The restaurant was tucked away in an alley on Madison Avenue, its wooden sign bearing the faded inscription "1927." As Wei Ting pulled out the wicker chair for her, sunlight streamed through the blinds, casting dappled shadows on his shirt. When the waiter brought the bagels, he naturally placed a slice of avocado from his plate on hers. The moment his fingertips touched her chopsticks, she instinctively flinched, but he gently pressed her hand down: "Eat more. I'll take you to Soho this afternoon; it's quite a walk."
Ning Zhichu, munching on her bagel, secretly watched him cut salmon with a knife and fork. His grip on the knife was precise and powerful, his knuckles distinct, and the Patek Philippe watch on his wrist swayed gently with each movement, the New York time zone on the dial pointing exactly to nine in the morning. This was the first time she had seen him without a suit; he had lost some of his Wall Street sharpness and gained a more domestic gentleness, which made her heart race even faster.
After breakfast, they walked towards SoHo. A street performer was playing "New York, New York" on a saxophone, the melody mingling with the sweet aroma of caramel popcorn. Wei Ting walked on the outside, his arm loosely protecting her. As they passed a vintage record store, she suddenly stopped. "I'll go in and take a look, I'll be right back." He smiled and nodded, leaning against the streetlight by the door to wait for her, an unlit cigar between his fingers, his gaze following her as she moved among the record shelves, as if looking at a lost treasure that had been found again.
Ning Zhichu flipped to a Frank Sinatra vinyl record and was about to turn around and call him when she saw him looking down at the phone. Sunlight fell on his sharply defined profile; his brows were slightly furrowed, and his voice was as deep as the Hudson River in late autumn: "I don't care whose side he works for. The audit report must be in my office by 3 PM, or you can submit your resignation." He hung up, and the coldness on his face vanished instantly. Seeing the record in her hand, a smile appeared in his eyes: "You like this?"
“Don’t you like his ‘My Way’?” She handed him the record, her fingertips deliberately brushing against his palm. “I saw an empty record slot in your study last time, so I thought I’d get you a copy.” The moment Wei Ting took the record, he suddenly reached out and pulled her into his arms. The wind in the alley carried the saxophone melody, and his chin rested on the top of her head, his voice carrying the scent of cedar: “How come you’re so thoughtful?”
His embrace was warm; she could clearly feel the vibrations of his chest. Ning Zhichu mustered her courage, reached out and wrapped her arms around his waist, her fingertips lightly touching the skin beneath the hem of his shirt, the heat making her quickly pull away. Wei Ting chuckled softly, pinching her chin to make her look up, his lips only half a finger's distance from hers: "Trying to flirt with me?" His thumb brushed against her lower lip, the movement as light as if touching a fragile object, "But Reporter Ning, the tips of your ears are redder than an album cover."
Before she could retort, he pulled her out of the alley: "Let's pay first, I'll take you somewhere this afternoon." The record store owner, an old man with white hair, smiled and said in Chinese, "Young man, you have good taste, this is a limited edition." When Wei Ting paid, Ning Zhichu saw him secretly tell the owner, "Please wrap it as a gift for me, with a blue ribbon."
The SoHo district was packed with tourists in the afternoon. Wei Ting led her hand through the crowd, his fingertips gripping hers tightly the entire time. As they passed a handmade jewelry shop, he suddenly stopped and pointed to a silver bracelet in the window: "This goes very well with your pearl necklace." As soon as the shop assistant took the bracelet out, he grabbed her wrist and put it on, his fingertips gently caressing her wrist bone: "It fits perfectly."
"Mr. Wei, are you treating me like a doll?" She deliberately raised an eyebrow to tease him, but her voice trailed off when he looked down at her. Wei Ting stared into her bright eyes, his fingertips pinching her chin: "You want to adorn Reporter Ning from head to toe with my mark." His lips drew closer to hers, his breath brushing against hers, but just before they touched, he suddenly turned away: "Let's go, or we'll miss the ferry."
The ferry slowly pulled away from the dock, the wind from the Hudson River carrying moisture. Wei Ting draped his suit jacket over her shoulders, still warm from his body and smelling of cedar. She leaned on his shoulder, looking at the scenery, and when she saw the Statue of Liberty's torch gleaming in the sunlight, she suddenly said, "I first saw it in a textbook, and I've always wondered when I could come here with someone I like."
Wei Ting lowered his head and kissed the top of her head, his fingertips sliding down her hair and stopping at the pearl necklace around her neck: "I'll come with you as many times as you want to come see me in the future." His fingers gently pinched the largest pearl, "When we get back, I'll turn it into a brooch, which will be perfect for you when you wear a cheongsam."
As the ferry docked, the setting sun painted the sky orange-red. Wei Ting took her to a whiskey bar tucked away in a Brooklyn alley. Behind the wooden bar were rows of bottles, and old black-and-white photographs of New York hung on the walls. The bartender saw Wei Ting and greeted him with a smile, "Mr. Wei, the usual?" He nodded and pulled out a high stool for Ning Zhichu. "What would you like to drink? How about a mojito, low alcohol content?"
Ning Zhichu had just nodded when she saw him take a small box from his suit pocket and place it in front of her: "I saw you staring at the macarons on the next table at the restaurant this morning, so I bought these on my way." The macarons in the box were her favorite strawberry flavor, with tiny Eiffel Tower patterns printed on the frosting. She picked one up and took a bite; the sweet aroma spread on her tongue. When she looked up, she met Wei Ting's gaze. He was staring at her lips, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly.
"What's wrong, Mr. Wei? Are you captivated?" Ning Zhichu smiled, her eyes crinkling and bright, making her look radiant and gentle. Wei Ting opened his mouth and took a bite, his teeth accidentally brushing against her fingertip. He didn't immediately let go, but instead gently licked it with the tip of his tongue. The warm, moist touch made her freeze instantly, almost dropping the macaron on the bar.
He chuckled softly and reached out to wipe the sugar frosting from the corner of her mouth. "Yes, I'm completely smitten." His fingertip lingered on her lips and gently pressed them. "When we get back to the hotel tonight, I'll make you some hangover soup."
By the time they left the bar, night had fallen. Neon lights cast colorful shadows on the wet pavement, and jazz music drifted from the roadside restaurants. Wei Ting held her hand as they walked slowly through the alleyways. Passing a 24-hour convenience store, she suddenly pulled him inside: "I want ice cream."
The freezer was filled with ice cream of all flavors. After hesitating for a while, she chose a chocolate one. Wei Ting tore open the wrapper for her and handed it to her. Just then, he saw her stand on tiptoe and bring the ice cream to his lips: "You take the first bite." He opened his mouth and took a bite. The sweet aroma of chocolate mixed with the warmth of her fingertips made his Adam's apple bob again.
It was almost midnight when they returned to the hotel. Wei Ting went to the kitchen to make hangover soup, while Ning Zhichu sat on the living room carpet untying the records she had bought that afternoon. The blue ribbon on the wrapping paper was tied beautifully, and she struggled to untie it for a while. Just as she was about to look for scissors, she saw Wei Ting walking over with a bowl. He squatted down in front of her, and with a gentle flick of his finger, the ribbon came undone, his movements as elegant as unraveling a complex contract on Wall Street.
"You're so clumsy." He chuckled and gently pinched her nose, handing her the hangover soup. "Drink it while it's hot, or you'll have a headache tomorrow." The hangover soup contained ginger slices and brown sugar, its warmth spreading through her stomach.
“Wei Ting,” she suddenly spoke, her voice soft, “Will we always be together?” He paused for a moment, then chuckled and pulled her into his arms. “Of course we will. Don’t worry about things that won’t happen.” His lips touched her forehead, slid down her brow bone, and stopped at her eyelids. “After we’re done with this, we’ll go to Italy. I’ll take you to see the sunrise in Florence.”
Ning Zhichu nestled in his arms, listening to his steady heartbeat, and suddenly felt that no matter how beautiful the New York night view was, it couldn't compare to the warmth of his palm. She reached out and wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in his neck, her breath filled with the scent of his cedar: "Wei Ting, I think I'm liking you more and more." Ning Zhichu felt that the time he spent with Wei Ting was the happiest time of his life, a happiness that felt almost unreal, and he was truly afraid that one day this beautiful dream would be shattered.
His body stiffened for a moment, then he tightened his arms, holding her even closer. His lips brushed against her ear, his voice trembling slightly: "Me too, Ning Zhichu. From the first time I saw you in the interview room, when my palms were sweaty, I liked you." His fingers traced down her back, gently stopping at her waist. "My little girl, you don't need to pretend to be mature. In front of me, you can always be that nervous little reporter who drops her recorder."
Neon lights from outside shone through the gaps in the curtains, casting dappled shadows on the floor. When Wei Ting lowered his head to kiss her, the warm scent of hangover soup and the slight buzz of whiskey mingled with his touch. His movements were gentle, like handling a rare treasure; his fingertips lightly caressed her chin, helping her relax. Ning Zhichu closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of his lips and the strength of his palm. Suddenly, she understood that adult love is never about grand declarations of love, but rather like a bagel in the morning mist, a coat on a ferry, a hangover soup in the dead of night—he hid all his tenderness in the quiet flow of everyday life.
In the middle of the night, Ning Zhichu woke up groggily and found herself leaning against Wei Ting, his hand still on her waist, his palm warm and steady. She moved slightly, but he tightened his arms around her. Moonlight streamed in from the window, falling on his sharply defined profile. She couldn't help but reach out and gently touch the stubble on his jawline, the prickling her fingertips.
Wei Ting opened his eyes, his dark pupils still sleepy, yet they curved into a smile: "Awake? Do you want some water?" She shook her head, but snuggled closer to him, pressing her face against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. Outside the window, New York gradually quieted down, with only the distant sirens and the ticking of the nearby clock forming the gentlest background sounds.
“Wei Ting,” she said softly, “how about we go to Central Park tomorrow? I want to feed the pigeons with you.” He lowered his head and kissed the top of her head, his fingertips gently stroking her hair. “Okay, I’ll have the restaurant bring breakfast to our room in the morning, and we can go slowly after we eat.” He paused, his voice tinged with amusement, “And I’ll buy you strawberry macarons too.”
Ning Zhichu smiled and nodded, finding a comfortable position in his arms and closing her eyes. She knew that tomorrow, Central Park would be filled with sunshine, pigeons, her favorite macarons, and, most importantly, the person she loved. And this love, hidden amidst the New York morning mist and evening stars, would flow like the Hudson River, gentle yet steadfast.
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