"Then just send me a set of clothes or a tie, something simple and practical."
Harry Hunter gently tapped her forehead: "Your brain is for thinking about design plans, no need to worry about gifts. As long as it's from you, I love it."
Isabella Weaver still shook her head, simply choosing not to discuss it further, pulling him to eat.
The next day was the weekend, the weather clear, white clouds floating in the washed-blue sky, making one feel exceptionally relaxed.
Isabella Weaver slept until nine before getting up. After washing up and going downstairs, she saw no servants around, and Harry Hunter was wearing a white shirt, making her scrambled eggs.
An attractive man even in the kitchen doesn't lose any of his charm.
Isabella Weaver happily hugged him from behind, pressing her face to his straight back: "Smells so good!"
"Are you talking about me or the eggs?"
Isabella Weaver didn't know what came to mind, and laughed mischievously: "The eggs."
