Isabella Weaver glanced around, noticing quite a few workers in the manor: "This is not good, everyone is watching!"
Harry Hunter was resolute: "Get on."
Isabella Weaver had no choice but to pick up the fruit basket and climb onto his back.
He had just finished work, wearing a crisp white shirt, with short hair cleanly styled, and a broad, solid back that reminded Isabella of when they first met, and he carried her from the little gallery, leisurely walking on the midnight streets.
Though back then Connor was following behind them, now it was David, keeping a steady distance.
Unchanged, was Harry Hunter's warmth, his steady steps.
Isabella Weaver hugged his neck, indifferent to the watching eyes, as long as she had this man cherishing her, she didn't care about anyone else's gaze.
As she was feeding cherries to Harry Hunter, she eagerly asked, "How do I look today?"
"Average."
