"Hmm! Red hair." I leaned back in my seat, closed my eyes, and pictured Jima's fiery, loud-mouthed demeanor, unable to suppress a chuckle.
"And... your black eyes—did you inherit those from your father?"
"Yep!"
"Is the 'Yi' in Emory your father's surname?"
Kids and their endless questions! "That's my grandfather's surname. But Mom named me this way to remind me that my father is Chinese!"
Afraid he'd keep chattering, I wrapped an arm around his shoulder. "Let's take a break, okay? Once we land, there's a lot to plan—at the very least, we need to find you a suitable tutor and map out our schedule..."
I glanced at the guy reclining in his seat with his eyes closed. At this moment, he was as still as a meditating monk, his golden mask casting a cold, bone-like glow over his face, making him look like a carved skeleton—lifeless, silent. Chilling.
The thought that I'd once shared a bed with him sent another shiver down my spine.
