Chapter 48 Sugar

Harold's gaze brushed past the car window. "Do you want to eat?"
The traffic remained stagnant, and Maggie's eyes flickered. "Since we're stuck anyways."
He handed her his wallet. "Let the driver buy some."
She took it before him and opened the car door. "I'll buy it. Let me choose."
Harold lit a cigarette, his hand resting on the window edge. As the smoke dispersed between his fingers, his gaze followed Maggie. She bent down in front of the vendor, her hair fluffy like a little kitten, and a light yellow scarf draped around her slender wrist.
She stood out in the crowd, with her graceful figure and fair skin. When she was a student, the school paid great attention to her, never letting her miss a single acting, physical training, or vocal class.
She participated in the Miss New York beauty pageant without telling her family. Her dress was simple, borrowed from a fashion design student and cost less than a hundred dollars.
The waist of the dress was altered, and the stitches were messy, but it didn't hinder her from making it to the final round.
She received the most votes and caught the attention of a teacher from the New York Film Academy, who privately asked if she had any intentions of becoming an actress, thinking that she had a natural aura and potential.
Until Maggie returned with two bags, Harold put out his cigarette.
A haze of morning dew whispered from her lips. "I've tried them, the cherries are very sweet."
"Is that so?"
She picked the biggest one and wiped it with a tissue before feeding it to him. There was a smile and anticipation in her eyes as she asked, "Is it sweet?"
Harold couldn't taste the sweetness very well. He smoked strong cigarettes and drank espresso coffee, so his taste buds couldn't discern subtle flavors.
"Sweet," he cooperated, his gaze lowered. "What's in the other bag?"
"Apples," Maggie sat in the car. "Have you ever had Apple Pie? When I was a child, I didn't like pies so my mother learned how to make it."
"You're picky." The man wrapped his arm around her waist, his breath hot, like a steaming wave, hitting her face. "Can you make it?"
Maggie's nose was warmed and sweaty, and she shook head. "But the steps are simple, easy to learn."
"When you learn, make it for me."
She hesitated. "Would you eat it even if it's not delicious?"
Harold burst into laughter, lifting his hand to remove the cherry skin left on her lips and crushed it between his fingertips. "Yeah."
Goldink County was a three-hour drive from the city center, and Maggie felt dizzy and sleepy in the car, resting her head on his shoulder and dozing off.
Her long hair sprawled on the man's strong and broad chest, with the ends entwined around his fingers, releasing a lingering fragrance of rosewood.
...
The driver first dropped off Harold at the municipal committee office.
As the highest administrative center of the city, with wide and prosperous north-south asphalt roads, only this towering and solemn architectural complex stood, with the star-striped flag fluttering in the wind.
The north and south gates were guarded by armed police, with several shifts every day, performing 24-hour guard duty, monitoring in all directions, and requiring identification for entry and exit. Vehicles entering and leaving were strictly inspected.
When Harold was ready to get off the car, Maggie woke up, with messy scattered hair on her forehead, and her lips were tender and pink, with a few traces of clear water lines at the corners, which made him almost unable to move his feet.
Suppressing his excitement, he lifted her up from his arms and asked, "Are you going back to the TV station?"
Maggie said, "No."
She fell ill during the interview, and her colleagues requested a day off for her from the TV station.
Harold instructed the driver to take her back to Island Road and then went into the office to change clothes. In the car, Maggie's sleeping position was not ideal, and she drooled on his shirt.
Beatrice packed three meat dishes and one vegetarian dish from the cafeteria. When he came in the office, Harold was tying his tie. Seeing him come in, Harold pushed aside the documents on the table, letting him put the dishes down.
The entire office had the most files waiting for his attention. They were organized, and some of them couldn't fit on the two desks and were even piled up on the floor.
"Is there anything else?" Harold's face became more serious when he entered the building.
Beatrice stood at the door. "You don't look like you're sick."
Harold waved his hand, gesturing for Beatrice to leave. He had a meeting scheduled for two o'clock sharp.
There were numerous meetings in the municipal government: large meetings, small meetings, exchange meetings, departmental meetings, and regular meetings of standing committees that couldn't be finished in two days and two nights.
It was expected to end at four o'clock, with a twenty-minute break. He stood at the corner of the corridor and handed out cigarettes to a few colleagues.