How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue novel Chapter 739

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After confirming the flight data with Lily, Elodie turned just in time to see Jarrod arrive.

As she reached the doorway, Jarrod glanced up and noticed she was dressed lightly—too lightly for the crisp weather outside. His brow furrowed in quiet concern as he strode over, shrugged off his jacket, and draped it over her shoulders. "Aren't you cold? We're going to the base, not a runway show, you know."

Elodie was instantly cocooned in his jacket, the warmth from his body and the subtle, cool scent he always wore enveloping her. Lately, Jarrod seemed hyper-attuned to everything concerning her; the slightest shift, and he was there, ready to intervene before anything could go wrong.

"Weren't you the one who said there was something urgent?" she asked, cutting straight to the point.

Jarrod had already opened the car door for her. "Yeah. Get in."

He was being uncharacteristically mysterious. Elodie frowned but slid into the passenger seat anyway.

As soon as they were inside, Jarrod started the engine, his tone casual. "Let’s go get dinner."

"Dinner? That's the urgent matter?"

He kept his eyes on the road, unbothered. "We're going to a private bistro. It's a bit off the map, has your favorite cuisine. Maurice Nilsson owns the place—he asked us to stop by for the opening."

Elodie didn’t bother arguing. "You could’ve just said that from the start."

"If I had, would you have come?"

She pressed her lips together, giving him a look. This was so typical of him. For a man worth billions, Mr. Silverstein’s idea of an ‘urgent matter’ was... dinner?

He didn’t seem to think there was anything odd about it. "Besides, Maurice said he wanted us there to support him."

Elodie let out an exasperated sigh. "You really could have just told me."

"Would you have paid attention if I had?"

She didn’t answer.

Truthfully, with Elodie's health the way it was, Jarrod couldn't relax unless she was within his sight. If she disappeared for too long, a constant anxiety gnawed at him—one that couldn’t be easily soothed. Six specialists had already arrived in Eldermere, meeting to discuss her case. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to shake the exhaustion. He hadn’t really slept; he didn’t want her to sense his worry, so he kept his demeanor light, hoping it might help her relax, make her less afraid of the surgery on the horizon.