Gong Motin's heartbeat suddenly quickened. What did Lin Miao'er mean by that, could it be that she had developed feelings for him too?
Lin Miao'er pulled over the seat belt to fasten it for him, "Why is your face so red?" As she spoke, her hand touched his forehead, "You don't have a fever."
The cool and soft touch of her hand on his forehead allowed the flustered Gong Motin to regain some of his rationale in an instant.
"Cough, cough, cough, it's nothing." Gong Motin felt he must have overthought. Clearing his throat, he looked out the window.
So, that was what Lin Miao'er meant by coming closer—he was being ridiculous, and he instantly felt a sense of defeat.
"I'm fine," he said as he turned his body to press his face against Lin Miao'er's forehead.
"Daddy, I'm still here,"
Yaoyao watched their actions, her little hand covering her eyes with a small gap. Her voice was soft and glutinous as she spoke.