Chapter 255 Cheeky As Ever

Serena Sinclair's POV:

I felt heat rush to my cheeks at the baker's assumption. Before I could correct him, Phillip's arm slid around my waist, pulling me closer to his side.

"Thank you," he replied smoothly, a hint of satisfaction in his voice.

I glanced up at him, surprised by how comfortable he seemed with the misunderstanding. His expression was relaxed, almost pleased, and I found myself not wanting to correct the baker either.

"How long have you been married?" the baker asked, his French accent thickening with his enthusiasm.

Phillip's eyes met mine, a silent question in them. I bit my lip, oddly reluctant to dispel the illusion.

"We're still in the honeymoon phase," Phillip answered vaguely, his thumb tracing small circles against my hip.

The baker beamed at us, clearly pleased by the response. "For such a lovely couple, I'll add something special." He disappeared briefly into the back room, returning with two additional pastries in an elegant gold box. "On the house. These are filled with Tahitian vanilla cream—perfect for sharing."

Phillip pulled out his black card, handing it to the baker without even glancing at the total. I peeked at the register and nearly choked—$680 for a few pastries. The baker didn't bat an eye, processing the transaction as if the exorbitant amount was perfectly ordinary.

"You're too generous," I whispered to Phillip, nudging him gently.

He shrugged, seemingly unbothered by the extravagance. "Good pastries aren't cheap."

"Thank you for your generosity, sir," the baker said, handing back the card with a slight bow.

As we stepped outside, I couldn't help but shake my head in disbelief. "You know you overpaid by about six hundred dollars, right?"

Phillip merely shrugged, his free hand finding mine as we walked toward the car. "The pastries make you happy. That's worth every penny."

I glanced around the familiar neighborhood, taking in the snow-covered storefronts and bustling sidewalks. "This area hasn't changed much in the past couple years."

Once inside the car, I buckled my seatbelt and turned to Phillip. "How's James doing? Any updates since we last visited?"

"The doctors say he needs complete rest," Phillip replied, his eyes on the road as he navigated through Manhattan's busy streets. "But his condition is stable."

A wave of guilt washed over me. "Wait," I said suddenly. "Let's buy another box of pastries for James. His accident happened because of us. After we visit Professor Steven, we should stop by to see him too."

Phillip nodded. "Of course."

"I'll go get them," I said, reaching for the door handle. "You wait here."

Inside the bakery again, I selected another assortment of pastries, hoping they might brighten James's hospital room. The baker recognized me immediately, offering recommendations for someone recovering their strength. Minutes later, I slid back into the car with another elegantly wrapped box.

"Now we can go," I said, settling the second box carefully on my lap.

The hospital corridors were quieter than during our nighttime visit. Nurses moved efficiently between rooms, and the morning sun streamed through the large windows, casting warm patterns across the polished floors.

When we entered Professor Steven's room, I was relieved to see him awake, propped up on pillows with a book in his hands. His face brightened immediately upon seeing us together.

"You've finally come to visit me as a couple," he said, his eyes twinkling with delight.

I placed the pastries on his bedside table. "Professor," I greeted him warmly, leaning down to kiss his papery cheek.

"Seeing you two together brings me such joy," he said, his weathered hands clasping mine. With a gesture, he invited me to sit on the edge of his bed.

Professor Steven looked between us with a knowing smile. "No more quarreling, you hear me? You're not children anymore. Whatever problems arise, discuss them openly. Or do you still think you're my students, fighting over trivial matters?"

I laughed, the sound light and genuine. "Isn't that what relationships are? Breaking up and making up?"

Then, growing serious, I studied his face more carefully. "How are you feeling, Professor?"

His smile dimmed slightly, though he tried to maintain his cheerful demeanor. "Much better, though I'm afraid I'll never walk again. My legs are useless now."

The flash of pain in his eyes was unmistakable, there and gone in an instant. Phillip and I exchanged glances, both catching that momentary glimpse of his suffering. My eyes welled with tears at the thought of this vibrant, brilliant man confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life.

"What's this?" Professor Steven noticed my reaction immediately, reaching for a tissue to offer me. "Did I say something to upset you?"

I sniffled and reached for Phillip's hand, our fingers intertwining naturally. "Professor, don't worry. We'll be fine from now on."

He patted my hand. "That's good. I worry less about you than about Sarah, to be honest."

"Professor, Sarah knows exactly what she wants," I assured him. "She has a clear head on her shoulders."

"Does she really?" Professor Steven's expression grew troubled. "I saw the way she looked at Simon during the ceremony. Something seemed... off."

"What do you mean?" I asked, curious despite myself.

Professor Steven waved his hand dismissively. "Just an old man's intuition. Perhaps I'm imagining things."

"She seemed happy enough at the reception," Phillip offered.

"Yes, yes," Professor Steven agreed, though his eyes remained concerned. "She's always been good at putting on a brave face."

He sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Seeing all of you doing well means I can die in peace."

"Professor!" I admonished, squeezing his hand. "Don't say such unlucky things. Sarah will give you grandchildren someday. Don't you want to see what they look like?"

A wry smile crossed his face. "Human desires are endless, aren't they? Grandchildren, great-grandchildren... will I live long enough to see all that? I'd be ancient as a tortoise."

"You're already ancient," Phillip quipped unexpectedly, bringing a surprised bark of laughter from Professor Steven.

"Cheeky as ever, Phillip," the professor retorted, his eyes twinkling with renewed humor. "I still remember you arguing with me in first-year contract law. You were insufferable then, too."

We all laughed, the sound chasing away some of the melancholy that had settled over the room. Phillip's hand remained steady in mine, his thumb tracing small circles against my palm.

We talked for nearly an hour, reminiscing about law school days and sharing stories that had Professor Steven alternately laughing and groaning at our youthful follies. The warmth in the room was palpable, a comfortable familiarity that belied the sterile hospital setting.

Around noon, I noticed Professor Steven trying to suppress a yawn, though he was clearly enjoying our company.

"Your medication is making you drowsy," I observed, recognizing the telltale signs from when my father had been hospitalized years ago.

"Nonsense," he protested, even as his eyelids drooped slightly. "I could listen to you two all day."

"You should rest," I said, standing up. "I'll go get some lunch for us all. Something light that won't interfere with your medication."

"The cafeteria food here is abysmal," Professor Steven warned. "There's a decent deli two blocks north."

"I know just the place," I assured him, smoothing the blanket over his legs in an automatic gesture of care. "Any requests?"

"Something with flavor," he replied with a grimace. "Everything here tastes like cardboard dipped in salt water."

Phillip stood as well. "I should come with you."

"No, stay," I said, touching his arm lightly. "Keep Professor Steven company. I won't be long."