Sweet as Honey and Sugar - chapter 28:
Dusk was falling. The exhibition hall was growing quiet, people thinning out until only scattered
groups lingered outside some chatting, some still taking photos.
Cars lined the long driveway in front of the entrance, forming an endless queue.
A crowd clustered before the doors, snapping pictures. She slipped past them, eyes searching the rows of vehicles but couldn’t find Lin Nai anywhere.
She walked a little farther, checking each license plate,
thinking Lin might be sitting in one of the cars. Then she saw it her car but it was empty.
Perplexed, she turned in a slow circle, pulling out her phone to call.
Behind her, a cool, clear voice said softly, “Turn around.”
She froze. Her fingers tightened around her phone before she turned.
Lin Nai was less than a meter away, dressed in a black tank top and deep green shorts,
a denim jacket slung loosely over her shoulders. The look was casual, effortless,
and just a little dangerous.
He Qingrou stared at her, struggling for words before managing,
“I didn’t see you at all…”
Lin opened the passenger door and leaned against it.
“I was behind you the whole time. From the moment you walked out the gate.”
She tilted her head, signaling for Qingrou to get in. Qingrou obeyed, lowering herself into the seat.
Lin closed the door gently, then went around to the driver’s side and started the car.
“You just didn’t notice,” Lin murmured.
Qingrou’s hand tightened, loosened, then tightened again around her phone
before finally setting it back into her bag. From the corner of her eye,
she studied Lin’s expression neither angry nor warm, but detached, almost lifeless.
Her half-lowered lids gave her an air of quiet exhaustion.
The road ahead was a snarl of traffic. Horns blared endlessly,
a cacophony that grated on the nerves. Beside them,
drivers were already arguing through open windows.
Qingrou spoke softly, eyes on the unmoving line of cars.
“Something came up suddenly. I couldn’t find anyone to cover me. I couldn’t leave.”
Lin’s fingers tapped lightly against the steering wheel, rhythmic and steady.
Her hands were beautiful long, clean lines, graceful bones.
The subtle movement drew Qingrou’s gaze again and again.
“How did it go?” Lin asked finally, her tapping stopping mid-motion.
“Fine. No real issues,” Qingrou replied, eyes flicking away, then back again.
“If I left, no one would lead the team. I also had to handle the handover with Hexin International.
It would’ve been chaos.”
She said it with quiet guilt. Missing the race still bothered her.
But work came first; she was an adult now, no longer a student
who could skip half a day of class just to have lunch outside.
Lin made a faint sound of acknowledgment and didn’t speak again.
Her gaze drifted out the window, unreadable.
The silence in the car thickened, air heavy enough to press on the chest.
Qingrou turned toward the side window. The streetlights had come on,
spilling harsh light across her hands, so bright it made her eyes sting.
“How was the race?” she asked after a pause.
“Good,” Lin said simply. “First place.”
“That’s amazing,” Qingrou said, sincere but awkward, unsure what to do with her hands.
“And the team? How did they do?”
“The same. First place.”
Her lips parted, but no sound came. She hadn’t even checked her phone all day, hadn’t known any
of this. She should have congratulated her but the words stuck.
Something heavy and tangled swirled in her chest. Lin sat beside her,
lips pressed into silence, her stillness only deepening the ache.
Qingrou unlocked her phone. Messages from Chi Jiayi filled the screen photos from the race.
Crowds. The company’s team. The moment Dongning took first. Ye Xun on the podium.
Then a picture of Jiang Xingzhou grinning with the trophy.
Next came a photo of a figure in a striking red racing suit slim waist, long legs,
helmet dangling casually from one hand, dark hair spilling free.
She stood before a black car, red against black vivid and magnetic.
Lin Nai.
Qingrou’s breath caught. Her finger slipped, and the screen flashed before
returning to brightness just enough for Lin to glance over.
But Qingrou didn’t notice. She reopened the picture and saved it.
Scrolling again, she found another one this time Lin was turned slightly,
facing the direction of Dongning’s team. It almost looked like she was looking at the camera
but no, she was looking at them.
Another photo: Lin already seated in the car, her gaze still turned that same way.
Qingrou paused, a realization dawning. Lin had been looking toward Chi Jiayi
the one holding the camera. Which meant she’d been looking for her.
She saved every photo of Lin, then tucked the phone away.
Outside, the sky was splith half golden red near the western hills, half clean,
open blue above the venue.
She lifted her head and looked at Lin.
“I…” she began, but the words disintegrated in her throat. She closed her mouth again.
Lin turned off the engine. The road was still blocked, so stopping made more sense.
She turned slightly toward Qingrou, her eyes shadowed with something
between regret and longing.
Jiang Xingzhou and the others are celebrating tonight.
Do you want to come?
The tension in the air finally eased. Qingrou nodded.
“Where?”
“Meilin. Behind Yanta.”
“Alright. When does it start?”
“They went right after the race. Pei Chengming and Ye Xun are buying ingredients now.
By the time we get there, it should be starting.”
Meilin wasn’t far. A half-hour walk, or a few minutes by car if the traffic would move.
Qingrou lowered her eyes, thinking she should say something more honest.
“I’m sorry,” she said finally. “For not coming. You waited for nothing.”
The streetlight outside cast a soft yellow glow over her, painting her features in warmth.
Lin’s expression shifted. She reached for Qingrou’s hand, and this time,
Qingrou didn’t pull away.
Lin held her hand, fingers closing firmly. “I’m not angry,”
she said quietly, then bent down and pressed a light kiss to the back of her hand.
“I just wanted you to see.”
Winning or losing hadn’t mattered. She had only wanted Qingrou to be there.
Qingrou didn’t fully understand, but the gesture hit her all the same.
Every time Lin kissed her hand, it felt solemn, like a promise.
The ache in her chest melted away, replaced by something full and tender.
“You waited long?” she asked, leaning closer without realizing it.
“Not really. The race was quick,” Lin replied, thumb tracing circles against her skin.
Qingrou hummed softly and slipped her hand free.
Lin looked at her, then reached out again, fumbling until her fingers brushed
Qingrou’s little finger. She hesitated, then laced them together clumsy,
holding only three fingers, but holding nonetheless.
A pedestrian passed by and glanced into the car. His eyes widened briefly at the sight of two
beautiful women holding hands. Then he looked away and hurried off,
pretending he hadn’t seen a thing.
They both noticed. Lin stayed composed. Qingrou’s ears turned pink, but she didn’t pull away.
“My phone was on silent earlier,” Lin said after a while.
“That’s why I didn’t answer your calls.” She shifted her grip,
intertwining their fingers properly, firm and secure.
Qingrou didn’t answer. She leaned back, eyes closed, turning her body slightly toward Lin.
A faint smile tugged at Lin’s lips. She rubbed the tip of Qingrou’s finger, teasing,
until Qingrou’s lashes trembled and she whispered, half-laughing,
“You’re childish.”
“I just need to rest a bit,” she added, voice soft, “It’s been a long day.”
Lin fell quiet, letting her be.
When the sun finally sank, the long line of cars began to move.
Lin drove slowly, stretching a few minutes into ten, careful not to wake her.
Qingrou stirred only when a sharp honk sounded. She blinked awake to see
the quiet grove of Meilin outside the window.
Lin leaned slightly toward her. “Awake?”
At that same moment, a few meters away, Ye Xun and Pei Chengming climbed out of their car,
arms full of bags the ones who had honked.
Qingrou straightened, fingers tightening, but she didn’t let go.