In the morning, Fiona woke up with the same biological clock as Patrick, and when he went downstairs after washing, he saw that on the table in the living room, Cen Juan had already prepared breakfast and put it on.
The well-cooked scallop porridge, millet boiled thick and exuding a tempting aroma, also made pan-fried buns and fried dough sticks.
The man raised his eyes and looked over, his facial features were three-dimensional and profound, an indescribable evildoer.
His eyebrows were dyed three-point lazily, and his pupils seemed to be dyed with light, “Uncle Fu, good morning.”
“You did it?” Patrick didn’t give a good face, because he had planned to prepare breakfast for Fiona himself, but Cen Tien took away this opportunity.
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