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Novel Catalog
Chapter 41
Bonnie glanced at the clock, then casually remarked, “We still have some time, and it’s been a while since I brewed any tea from Mariage Frères. I guess I’ll just think of this as practice.”
With that, she set to work.
She carefully picked up the tea leaves, gently rinsing them to remove any dust. This was a delicate process; even a small mistake could ruin the flavor. She moved with precision, pouring the water in, then pouring it out again, each motion fluid and purposeful, ensuring the leaves were never compromised.
Next, she began the brewing process itself. Her movements were graceful, almost hypnotic, as if she were painting with the tea leaves. She was stunning to begin with, but in that moment, she seemed more like an elegant deity, the fragrant steam filling the room and amplifying her beauty.
Ivor watched, completely captivated. His gaze remained fixed on Bonnie, not once drifting away.
“There. Enjoy.” She handed him a cup of tea.
Ivor snapped out of his trance, blinking as he took the cup. He sipped, and his eyes widened in surprise as the liquid slid down his throat.
“How does it taste?” she asked, her voice smooth and light.
“Wonderful…” He looked at her, astonished. He had never known that tea could taste this way. Even Quenton’s tea seemed bland by comparison.
“It’s mellow, full-bodied, with a hint of sweetness. As you said, you brew better tea than Master Quenton,” Ivor complimented, his voice full of admiration. “How did you learn to brew tea like this?”
“Is it really that impressive?” Bonnie replied with a casual shrug. “I just need to boil some hot water and read the color of the tea. It’s a lot easier than learning kickboxing with my master up on the hills.”
Ivor was taken aback. She wasn’t just a tea master—she was something else entirely. He had been so focused on trying to put her in her place, only to find out she was far more skilled than he had imagined.
Ivor fell silent, a bit embarrassed. Bonnie wasn’t just an expert at tea; she was also an accomplished chess player and a kickboxing prodigy under Cary’s tutelage. Each of these talents would command respect on their own. Together, they painted a picture of someone exceptional—someone he didn’t deserve.
A flicker of self-awareness crossed his mind. Perhaps she was right all along. He had underestimated her, and in doing so, had underestimated himself.
“Let’s begin,” Bonnie said, turning her attention to the chessboard.
Ivor collected his thoughts, pushing aside his lingering embarrassment, and sat down. He focused all his attention on the game. They played several matches, some of which he won, others he lost, and a few that ended in stalemate.
By one o’clock in the morning, Bonnie had made no move after his turn. When he looked up, he realized she had fallen asleep. Her face was peaceful, her skin pale and tender beneath the soft light.
Ivor froze, staring at her for a long moment, unaware of the tenderness creeping into his expression.
The night air was chilly. She would catch a cold if she stayed like that.
Reluctantly, Ivor rose and moved toward her. He bent down to wake her, but the moment he got close, he noticed a subtle, pleasant scent wafting from her—something earthy and fresh, like herbs, not perfume.
Perplexed, he leaned in closer. As he did, his eyes caught her long, delicate eyelashes, curling gently at the ends.
His gaze dropped to her lips, and for a brief moment, he was entirely still, his thoughts suddenly scattered.