Chapter: 1822

Alberto looked at her for a while and said, "Okay."

Rachel guided the wheelchair outside, heading straight to the small yard. They were greeted by a gentle breeze, but it wasn't so cold.

“This is a great spot for stargazing," Rachel exclaimed.

“You're welcome to come here anytime you wish," Alberto offered.

Rachel turned to face him, pondering for a moment, then responded with a smile, "Thank you, but it's quite a distance from where I live."

In the soft glow of the pathway lights, Alberto noticed the red roses blooming in the garden. Squinting thoughtfully, he asked, “What kind of flowers do you like?"

A gust of wind blew over, rustling through and lifting Rachel's hair at the temples; carrying away Alberto's words with it.

Rachel only vaguely heard him talking but was unable to hear him clearly. She turned to face him and asked, “What did you just say, Mr. Gibson?"

"Nothing."

"Okay..." Rachel frowned and felt slightly confused. But she decided not to think too much about it and continued Looking up and admiring the endless night sky above them.

Alberto continued to look at her side profile for a while when, without warning, she sneezed.

"Let's go back inside," said Alberto.

Rachel rubbed her nose twice. She had no idea if it was an allergic reaction to the rose powder nearby or if it was cold. Her nose began to turn red from all the rubbing. She nodded in agreement and answered, "Alright."

Rachel pushed him back to the room.

Compared to the cold air that swirled all around them in the yard, the room welcomed them with a warm embrace. The heating was turned on and the cozy warmth came in from all directions.

"You can tell me now," Alberto said as he turned to Rachel, who had just finished fixing his wheelchair.

Rachel took one look at him and began calculating the massage time according to Rosa's instructions. She estimated that Mason would return by the time she finished giving Alberto his massage.

She could tell him now.

She then turned around and walked to the sofa in the living room, where she withdrew the essential oil from her bag. As she approached him from behind, she unfastened the lock on his wheelchair and began pushing him towards a warmer spot in the room.

"What are you doing?" Alberto asked, his voice low and curious.

"Don't worry, Mr. Gibson. You'll know in a minute," Rachel informed him reassuringly. As she fixed his wheelchair in place, she slowly began to squat on the floor in front of him.

She locked eyes with him.

For a moment, the usual cool demeanor on his face froze.

Through the mask, he looked at her closely and began to observe every detail on her face.