Chapter 341: Because I Love You
The wind began to blow.
Adrian Lancaster held Wren Sutton’s hand, while Wren supported Granny Foster. The three of them slowly walked into the small courtyard.
The small courtyard, paved with bluestone slabs, was immaculate. A few pots of wildflowers sat in a corner, and when the wind blew, a faint floral scent filled the air, washing away their earlier anxiety and unease.
The moment they stepped inside, the rich, mellow aroma of chicken soup washed over them.
The kitchen was simply furnished but tidied to perfection. The wooden table and chairs were polished to a shine, and on the stove, a freshly made soup was kept warm, BUBBLING softly as it steamed.
"Nina, Adrian, come, have a seat. Don’t just stand there."
Granny Foster pulled them over to the table.
"I made some chicken soup. I was planning to wait for Isla to come home so we could have it together, but I never expected you two to show up. It’s perfect. We can all have lunch together. A bowl of hot soup will warm you right up."
With that, Granny Foster turned and walked to the stove. She picked up two large, rustic ceramic bowls and ladled them full of the clear, golden chicken broth.
The chicken was stewed until it was fall-off-the-bone tender, with wild mushrooms and red dates from the mountains added in, making the aroma even richer.
She brought the soup to Wren and Adrian, then deftly set out bowls, chopsticks, and a few small dishes of homemade pickles and stir-fried seasonal greens.
It was a simple meal, but one prepared with immense care.
"Granny, please, don’t trouble yourself. We can help ourselves." Wren quickly stood up to help, but Granny Foster pressed her back down by the shoulder.
"It’s no trouble at all. My old bones are still sturdy. This little bit of work is nothing."
Granny Foster waved her hand with a smile, then ladled a bowl of soup for herself and sat down.
"Go on, try it. The chicken is one I raised myself, a free-range one. The broth is incredibly savory and delicious."
Wren eagerly picked up her spoon, brought a spoonful of soup to her lips, and took a sip.
The warm broth slid down her throat, its savory flavor spreading across her tongue. A comforting warmth traveled through her stomach and out to her limbs.
The panic and worry in her heart were soothed considerably by this warmth.
"Granny, your chicken soup is absolutely delicious," Wren said with genuine sincerity.
Granny Foster’s heart bloomed with joy. "If you like it, then have some more."
Wren picked up her chopsticks, placed a piece of chicken in Granny Foster’s bowl, her eyes soft. "Granny, you should eat more, too."
Granny Foster: "Alright, let’s all eat together. Adrian, don’t be a stranger. Treat this place like your own home."
Adrian: "Thank you, Granny. We appreciate all your hard work."
In the small farmhouse courtyard, the meal cooked over a wood-fired stove lacked exquisite plating, but it possessed the most comforting, down-to-earth warmth that could soothe any heart.
Adrian would occasionally place more food on Wren’s plate and chatted calmly with Granny Foster, filling the room with a simple, tender affection.
After they finished eating and cleared the table, Granny Foster dried her hands and came out of the kitchen with a set of keys.
She walked up to Wren and handed the keys to her.
"These are the keys to your grandmother’s house. Since you’re back, you should go take a look."
That was exactly what Wren had been planning to do. Before she could even say anything, Granny Foster had already offered her the keys.
"Granny, you know me best."
Just then, Adrian walked over and took Wren’s hand.
"I’ll go with you."
"Okay."
The two of them left Granny Foster’s small courtyard and walked the few steps to her grandmother’s house next door.
She unlocked the lock and pushed open the gate. A clean, earthy scent of grass and trees washed over them.
There wasn’t a single fallen leaf in the courtyard. The bluestone ground had been swept clean.
Inside, the tables, chairs, and cabinets were all polished to a shine. The floor was spotless. Even the wicker chair her grandmother used to use was set neatly in its place, covered with a clean cloth cushion.
Wren’s fingertips grazed the tabletop. It was immaculate, without a speck of dust.
The windows were bright and clean. Sunlight streamed through the glass panes, landing in warm patches on the floor.
’Granny Foster is just too kind, keeping Grandma’s house so clean. It doesn’t look like a place that’s been empty for years at all.’ Wren’s heart was filled with gratitude.
She looked at the old photographs on the wall and touched the old belongings her grandparents had left behind, her eyes filled with gentle nostalgia.
Every corner of this place held traces of her childhood, and thanks to Granny Foster’s meticulous care, it didn’t feel cold or lonely in the slightest.
Adrian didn’t disturb Wren. He stood quietly half a step behind her, his gaze resting tenderly on her profile.
Sunlight passed through the window lattice, casting a pale golden sheen on the ends of Wren’s hair. Her fingertips gently traced the edge of a photo frame, where time had worn the wood into a smooth, warm curve.
In the photo, her grandmother was holding a little version of her, her eyes crinkled with a smile. The background was this very courtyard, with wildflowers similar to the ones now blooming in the corner.
After looking at the photos for a long time, Wren walked to the wardrobe in the inner room and pulled open the bottom drawer.
Inside were all the cloth dolls she had played with as a child.
Wren picked one up, rubbing it gently with her thumb. Childhood memories came rushing back—of laughter, warmth, and a long-forgotten sense of peace.
A moment later, Wren opened the wardrobe.
Neatly folded inside were the little clothes from her childhood. The fabric was faded from countless washes, but the stitches were fine and even—all hand-sewn by her grandmother back then.
"This little jacket... Grandma stayed up all night to make it for me when I was five. Back then, I always thought it was ugly and refused to wear it. Now I want to, but I can’t fit into it anymore."
Wren picked up a pink jacket, her voice choked with emotion, but her eyes were filled with a gentle smile.
Adrian took the small jacket from her. As his fingers brushed over the neat stitching, he could clearly feel the love the grandmother had poured into it for her granddaughter.
"Wearing clothes hand-sewn by your grandmother, you must have been the prettiest and cutest little girl in Avenia back then. The photos are proof."
Speaking of photos, an idea occurred to Adrian.
"Honey, I want to take pictures of all your childhood photos. We can get them developed and make an album."
Wren didn’t refuse. She also wanted to preserve a copy of the old photos.
"Don’t just take pictures of me. Take plenty of my grandparents, too."
"Of course," Adrian said, his tone doting.
Wren walked to the window and pushed open one half of the wooden casement.
The fresh scent of mountain wildflowers and plants drifted in, lingering around her. It was the exact same smell she remembered.
She gazed quietly at the osmanthus tree in the courtyard, its branches and leaves swaying gently in the breeze, her thoughts drifting back to her childhood.
Every summer, her grandmother would move a small wooden table and place it under the osmanthus tree.
On the table, there would be her favorite chilled watermelon, the cut flesh a juicy, vibrant red, along with orange soda fizzing with tiny bubbles.
"Grandma’s homemade osmanthus cakes were soft, chewy, and sweet. I can still remember that delicate, sweet fragrance of osmanthus so clearly."
Wren murmured softly, her voice filled with a faint longing, her eyes shimmering with a gentle light.
"I was always stuck to Grandma’s side, pestering her to make osmanthus cakes every day. No matter how much of a fuss I made, she never found me annoying. She would just smile and agree."
Adrian followed Wren’s gaze to the osmanthus tree, which held so many of her childhood memories.
Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the leaves, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow that fell gently on their shoulders. Time seemed to stand still in that moment, leaving only the warmth and tranquility that filled the courtyard.
"Honey, if you like osmanthus cakes, I can learn how to make them."
Adrian’s gaze was so tender it could melt one’s heart. He raised his hand, and with the warm pad of his thumb, he gently wiped away the unshed tear lingering at the corner of Wren’s eye.
Without any preamble or unnecessary words, he kissed her.
"Because I love you."