Until We Met Again ( Rowan and Johnson )
Chapter 61

Chapter 61 

Karla dragged a chair into Rowan’s room and sat vigil through the night, eventually succumbing to sleep without realizing it. 

When morning light coaxed her awake, she found Rowan’s jacket draped over her. 

She glanced up to find the bed empty. She touched the sheets – they retained the warmth of his presence. The sound of running water from the bathroom signaled he was taking a shower. 

Stretching languidly, Karla caught sight of the time – six a.m. She decided to return the favor and whip up some breakfast. 

Pouring oil into the skillet, she cranked up the heat. As the pan began to smoke, Karla cracked an egg with a one–handed tap and let it sizzle into the hot oil. A loud pop sent oil splattering, and she jumped back in alarm. 

With spatula in hand and the egg threatening to burn, Karla hesitated. The oil hissed like a warning, leaving her flustered and unsure. 

Just then, a hand reached out, taking the spatula from her grasp. 

A fresh, crisp scent filled her nostrils as Karla looked up to see Rowan, fresh from his shower, with a mist of moisture still clinging to him. 

He expertly turned down the heat, gave the skillet a nifty shake, and with a deft flick, the over–easy egg flipped. 

Karla’s face lit up with amazement as she clapped her hands. “Wow, amazing!” 

Rowan remained cool as usual, scraping the charred egg onto a plate, then poured new oil and cracked another egg into the pan with a fluidity that was almost poetic. 

a stood there, starstruck, realizing that no matter how long she had known him, Rowan always had a 

dazzling her, making her eyes sparkle. 

Surently, he vas aired in a smart, white shirt, its sleeves rolled up, exhibiting his lithe, yet muscular forearms where the bone structure was vividly defined. His hands, an elegant blend of length and slenderness, sparked a compelling intrigue about their feel in the clasp of another. He must have rushed through his morning routine, his hair tousled as if by accident, but it looked intentionally styled into that perfect kind of disarray. 

Indeed, with looks like his, even in rags, he’d resemble a prince. After all, charisma was something you just couldn’t fake. 

“A plate.”  S~ᴇaʀᴄh the FɪndNøvel.ɴᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“Huh?” 

Rowan glanced at her. “I need a plate.” 

“Right!” Karla snapped out of her daze and quickly handed him one. 

Chiding herself silently for being so easily distracted, Karla couldn’t help but think it was normal to be momentarily mesmerized by him – his charm was, after all, irresistible. 

However, this very man would one day vanish without a trace in the annals of history… 

20.57 

Chapter 61 

The thought dimmed the light in Karla’s eyes. What would become of Rowan? Could he really be dead? 

Being a stickler for cleanliness, Rowan washed the skillet immediately after breakfast. As he was about to hand it off to Karla, he caught a glimpse of her face and, in a flurry of panic, he dropped the skillet with a loud clang. 

Karla, jarred from her gloom, looked at him, puzzled. 

“Why are you crying?” Rowan’s voice betrayed his concern. 

Stunned, Karla touched her face and felt the dampness. She was crying – but why? 

Wiping away her tears, she forced a smile, “It’s nothing. Just the oil splatter got me and it stung a bit.” 

Let me see.” Rowan moved to check her hand, spotting a few small red marks from the oil. 

Frowning, he said, “I’ll grab some burn cream.” 

“It’s fine. It’ll stop burting in a bit.” Karla stopped him. It’s just an excuse she made up. She hadn’t even noticed the sp hes until he pointed them out. 

Rowan studied her with a furrowed brow. “Is it really just the oil that made you cry?” 

“Yeah, you might not know this, but I’m super sensitive to pain.” Karla was convincing, but Rowan still seemed skeptical. 

“Doesn’t it hurt when you fight?” Rowan referred to something he knew well. 

Karla responded with her characteristic humor, “There’s a difference between hitting and being hit. I’m not afraid of getting hurt. I’ve honed my skills to avoid it. Besides, what I do isn’t fighting. It’s self–defense.” 

Rowan was silent for a moment before finally saying, “From now on, just tell me what you want to eat. You don’t have to cook.” 

“It’s not about what I want to eat. I just want to cook for you.” 

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