Chester Yale's towering figure firmly locked her petite body in his arms, staring at her pale face with absolute certainty in his words.
She couldn't swim. He taught her for a month in college, but she never learned.
In the end, she asked dejectedly, "Chester Yale, is there a creature called a landlubber, like me?"
"Don't compare yourself to a landlubber." Chester Yale rubbed her little head, watching her raise her head with hopeful eyes, then casually added, "You're much worse than a landlubber."
Her face turned red with anger, and she refused to speak to him for an hour.
Later, every time he wanted to teach her to swim, she would start acting coy and playful, refusing to learn anymore.
"Having you is enough. If I fall into the water, you'll definitely save me; I'm not afraid." Evelyn Sherman leaned against his chest, clutching his shirt buttons, taking it for granted.
