老王的话音刚落，那颗西红柿就骨碌碌滚到墙角，摊了个泥。莫清灵直起身子，心里有点发毛。她这记弯腰，明显比老王慢了半拍，脸上火辣辣的，像是被老王那眼神燎着了。“瞧你那毛手毛脚的，”老王摇摇头，转身去厨房拿了个苹果，“吃个水果都这么没形象。”

莫清灵搓了搓发烫的脸颊，心里嘀咕：我怎么就毛手毛脚了？明明是你喊那么急的。她低头看了看地上那颗泥泞的西红柿，又看了看老王兴冲冲拿出来的红苹果，心里有点不是滋味。老王好像总是这样，对她有点小脾气，但又不知道怎么解释。

“吃个苹果吧，”老王把苹果递给她，语气缓和了不少，“刚才看你弯腰那样子，我还以为你摔了一跤。”

莫清灵接过苹果，咬了一口，甜丝丝的汁水在嘴里散开。“还好，没事。”她说，心里那点小不快也消散了。

老王没再多说，给了她一个鼓励的眼神，转身又去做饭了。莫清灵看着他的背影，心里突然有种异样的感觉。他们在一起这么久了，每天也会拌嘴，也会有小情绪，但不知道从什么时候开始，她觉得自己越来越了解他，也越来越习惯了有他在身边。

dinner was ready soon after, and the two sat down at the dining table. The atmosphere was much better than before, with only the gentle clinking of cutlery and the occasional murmur between them.

As they were eating, a message popped up on Mo Qingling's phone. It was from a friend, saying they had a small get-together at their place later that night. Mo Qingling looked at Wang Tao hesitantly.

“老王，我朋友叫我过去一下，就一会儿。” she said, holding her breath to see his reaction.