Chapter 142: The Journey Home

Michael looked at her with curiosity written all over his face. "What good news?"

Grace set down her milk and hurried over to the living room drawer, pulling out a document. "Look, the divorce papers between Jonathan and me are officially finalized. I'm completely free of him now."

"From here on out, I can focus entirely on the experiment."

The more Grace thought about it, the better it felt. Without Jonathan's interference, even the air seemed sweeter.

Plus, her father's condition had improved significantly. Before long, he'd be able to live like a normal person again.

Michael didn't respond right away. After a few seconds, he nodded. "You're right."

But a trace of disappointment lingered in his heart. He wondered when she might spare even a fraction of her attention for him.

Grace caught his deflated expression. "Michael," she said.

"Yeah?"

"Why do you help me unconditionally like this?"

She asked directly—no testing the waters, no buildup. Michael met her gaze without flinching.

"Because I like you," he answered just as directly. "You're smart, decisive. You're one of the few people I've met who knows exactly what she wants and doesn't let anyone else change her direction."

"Is that a compliment?"

"It's a statement of fact."

Grace picked up her soy milk and took another sip, as if digesting what he'd just said. She lowered her gaze to the rim of the cup, quiet for a few seconds, then set the paper cup back on the table.

"I've been married before. And as you know, it didn't end well. So I won't trust anyone easily. I've gotten used to keeping everyone at arm's length."

Michael stayed silent, waiting for her to continue.

"But you've shown me that not everyone is unworthy of trust." Grace lifted her eyes to his. "From Lumaria until now, your timing has been perfect every time you've shown up. It's not coincidence—you've been quietly looking out for me. The things you've given me always arrive exactly when I need them. The things you've done for me, you never talk about them, but I see them."

Michael's fingers curled against his knee, then released.

"So are you telling me to keep my distance, or are you saying I can get closer?" Michael asked.

His heart hammered in his chest, afraid the answer wouldn't be what he wanted to hear.

He knew Grace had just gotten divorced. He should give her more time. But he couldn't help wanting to be with her—now.

The corner of Grace's mouth twitched in something between a smile and a smirk. "Figure it out yourself."

With that, she started pushing Michael toward the door. "You should head back. I still need to review the equipment list to make sure nothing's missing. The equipment arrives the day after tomorrow."

Michael found himself ushered to the doorway in complete bewilderment. "Then I'll see you at the lab the day after tomorrow morning."

The door closed. Grace stood in the empty living room, staring down at the empty paper cup on the table, then turned and walked into her study to continue reviewing the blueprints.

On the day the equipment arrived, Grace showed up half an hour early.

She stood in the empty lab. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, pooling on the floor where dust motes drifted lazily through the beams of light.

She walked over to the lab bench and ran her hand across the surface. The cold metal felt like every other lab bench she'd ever used. She closed her eyes, palm resting on the counter, and stood there for a moment.

Footsteps sounded behind her.

"Why are you here so early?" Michael's voice came from the doorway.

"You are too." Grace opened her eyes and turned around.

Michael stood at the entrance, holding a cup of coffee and a cup of milk. He walked over and set the milk down beside her.

"The equipment's downstairs. The delivery crew will be up in ten minutes. Check the manifest with them first—I need to take a call." He headed back toward the door.

Grace picked up the soy milk, took a sip, then grabbed the manifest and walked toward the elevator to wait for the delivery crew.

The equipment installation took the entire day. Grace worked alongside the technicians to calibrate each instrument while Michael handled the administrative paperwork, signing through a thick stack of forms.

At lunchtime, Michael didn't order takeout. Instead, he brought an insulated bag from his car containing two packed lunches. He'd made them himself. Grace took a bite and found the food surprisingly good.

"When did you make this?" Grace asked.

"This morning." Michael sat across from her, unwrapping his chopsticks.

Grace glanced down at her lunch box and picked up a piece of fried egg. The edges were crispy, the center still tender.

"This is really good. Do you cook often?" she asked curiously.

Michael thought for a moment. "I've never cooked for anyone else before. You're the first."

Grace didn't respond, just lowered her head and continued eating. She chewed slowly, as if savoring something.

By the time the equipment calibration finished, it was already nine at night. The technicians had left, leaving just the two of them in the lab.

Grace stood in front of the core analyzer. The first set of blank control data flickered across the screen. The curve was flat—everything was functioning normally.

Michael walked up beside her. "Starting for real tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow." Grace didn't look away from the screen. "The first sample extraction takes six hours. I'm staying here tonight."

Michael glanced at her. She wore a white lab coat, her hair pulled into a low ponytail, shoulders slightly tense. Her entire body was like a drawn bowstring.

"I'll stay with you," Michael said.

"You don't have to—"

"I don't have anything else to do anyway." Michael had already pulled out the chair at the neighboring workstation and sat down. "You do your thing. I'll work on the materials we're sending to the patent office tomorrow."

Grace didn't refuse again. She turned toward the sample storage cabinet and retrieved the first set of reagents. The lab fell quiet except for the low hum of instruments and occasional keyboard clicks.

At one in the morning, Grace placed the first sample into the analyzer, set the program parameters, and leaned against the lab bench to wait for results.

Michael was still at that workstation, his document still open on the screen, but he wasn't looking at it.

He was looking at Grace.

"Aren't you tired?" Grace asked.

"I am, but if you're not sleeping, I can't sleep either."

Grace turned her head toward him.

The light caught him from the side, bathing his profile in warm tones. He leaned back in his chair, gaze steady, not avoiding her eyes in the slightest.

"Michael," she said his name.

"Yeah."

"Have you had your eye on me since Lumaria?"