Hazel Lane rolled up her sleeves, exposing lean, pale forearms—deceptively slender yet visibly strong. Her fingers, long and graceful, picked up the empty bowl in front of Elara Venn.
"I almost forgot. You must be hungry," she said, her voice calm.
Elara's eyes lingered on those fingers. Her throat bobbed slightly. How could a pair of hands be so perfect?
She rarely had direct contact with Hazel, being Nathan's therapist. Hazel's schedule and presence were both elusive. Sharing a table like this—it was rare. Too rare.
And Elara wasn't one to waste rare moments.
"This mung bean soup was slow-boiled and then chilled. Good for the heat. Try some," Hazel offered.
Elara's heart skipped. "System," she murmured internally, "was I that obvious just now?"
"Burning with lust," the system deadpanned.
"…Why wasn't that censored?"
Embarrassed, Elara stood up quickly, accepting the bowl with both hands. "Thank you, Miss Lane."
Hazel frowned lightly. "You call my brother Xiao Ming, but still address me as 'Miss Lane'? That's oddly formal."
If only she were family… Elara smiled, eyes slightly narrowed. "Then don't call me Miss Bai either. Just call me Elara."
"Elara… how's that written?"
"As in 'key.'"
Hazel's lips curved. "Whose key?"
Elara blinked. Hazel's smile deepened. "Just a joke. Then it's settled. I'll call you—Xiao Yao."
The name, paired with the key pun, felt vaguely suggestive, but Elara nodded with a practiced smile. "Then… Sister Lane."
Hazel arched an eyebrow.
Elara gave her a quick smile, then took a sip of the soup. Her eyes lit up. "It's sweet and cooling. Really nice."
Hazel watched her satisfied expression and added some side dishes to her plate. "Don't drink too much. You'll be too full for dinner."
"No way." Elara tried the chicken salad and sighed, "Mrs. Lee really knows what she's doing. I could finish the whole table."
Hazel replied with a neutral tone, "I cook quite well myself."
Elara blinked. "Really? Didn't expect you to be so multi-talented."
She corrected herself before Hazel could frown again. "I mean—Sister Lane."
Hazel's expression softened. "Living abroad for years, you pick up certain skills. If you like, I can cook for you sometime."
Elara, knowing "sometime" usually meant "never," replied with cheerful exaggeration: "Then I'll look forward to it. Thank you in advance."
Faced with a table full of delicious food and a beautiful woman who couldn't be touched, Elara turned into an emotionless eating machine. Hazel wasn't talkative, so by mid-meal Elara had nearly forgotten someone was sitting opposite her.
A soft chuckle reminded her.
"Are you not eating, Sister Lane?" she asked, trying to be more composed as she placed a piece of fish in her mouth. "This steamed fish is really good… Nathan likes it too."
She hoped the mention of Nathan would earn her some leniency. But Hazel's expression seemed to darken—subtle but real.
Maybe she imagined it?
"System," Elara murmured, "does Hazel dislike hearing about Nathan? She never asks about his condition either."
"Blood-related strangers," it answered.
"…You could've told me sooner."
What if she'd just racked up negative favor points?
"I like it too," Hazel suddenly said, then stared at Elara intently.
Elara hesitated, then picked up a piece of fish and placed it in Hazel's bowl.
Hazel smiled and ate it delicately. "It is good," she said, licking her lips before glancing at Elara's mouth.
Elara, flustered, wiped at the corner of her lips. Hazel handed her a napkin.
She accepted it, discovering with horror that she'd gotten chili oil on her face. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
Hazel ladled her another half bowl of mung bean soup. "Have some more."
Elara downed it in one gulp, the cold sweetness calming her restlessness. She sighed in relief—until she noticed Hazel's eyes on her neck.
She touched it—nothing unusual.
Then her temples started to throb. She pressed them lightly.
"Xiao Yao," Hazel's voice came, soft. "You've been with my brother all day. You must be tired."
Elara shook her head. "Not at all."
"Why are you so good to him?" Hazel asked, seemingly casual, but her tone carried weight. "You're his eighth therapist. The longest anyone stayed was a month. You've already gone far beyond your pay grade."
Elara looked up. Hazel raised a brow. "Do you… like him?"
Elara finally understood why Hazel always reacted so stiffly at the mention of Nathan.
You've got to be kidding.
She wasn't even into minors!
"System!" she cried silently. "She thinks I'm into a fifteen-year-old!"
"You look like someone who is."
"…How?!"
"Everything you do."
Elara wiped her mouth again, now panicking. "Miss Lane, you've misunderstood. I do care for Nathan—but only as a little brother, I—"
"Little brother?" Hazel echoed, voice unreadable.
On any other day, Elara might've wriggled her way out, but today, her head spun. The world tilted. Hazel's outline blurred.
Something was wrong. She'd eaten something she shouldn't have. How ironic—she was the one who teased Hazel about dietary control.
"System," she whispered, "I'm doomed. I ate something weird. Am I going to turn into a pig?"
"Don't insult pigs."
…Well. This was it.
She tried to speak, but her lips trembled, refusing sound. All she could do was look helplessly at Hazel.
Hazel stood up and walked over, kneeling beside her.
Her fingers—those same hands Elara had just admired—brushed her cheek and slipped into her hair with a lover's intimacy.
Hazel leaned closer and whispered:"So, that means… you must like me too."