"Then just send a set of clothes or a tie, sothing 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: "Slls so good!"
"Are you talking about or the eggs?"
Isabella Weaver didn’t know what ca to mind, and laughed mischievously: "The eggs."
Harry Hunter knew what she was laughing about, he pulled her in front of him, tapped her head, indulgent and gentle: "Naughty."
Isabella Weaver stood on tiptoe to kiss him, then turned to look at the pan, and exclaid: "Mr. Hunter, you’ve beco so skilled in cooking now? The eggs didn’t burn! You have the potential to be a top chef!"
Harry Hunter laughed and cried at her low expectations, just because the eggs didn’t burn, she praised him to the skies.
He opened the lid of another pan: "Not just the eggs, today’s stir-fried greens aren’t burnt either."
Isabella Weaver imdiately applauded excitedly: "Honey, you’re amazing, how did you cook it so well? Quickly, let taste it!"
Harry Hunter picked up so with chopsticks for her to eat and asked expectantly: "How is it?"
"Delicious! Crispy and tender, I think it’s better than the ones the aunts make!"
Isabella Weaver’s eyes sparkled, continuously praising his skills, making Harry Hunter feel over the moon.
He plated the greens, and Isabella Weaver happily carried them to the dining table.
Aside from the greens, scrambled eggs, and milk, he also made cold shredded at, tomato pasta, and French foie gras.
This combination on the dining table actually seed mismatched, but Isabella Weaver didn’t feel there was any issue; she only felt happiness.
She and Harry Hunter finished the breakfast, seeing all plates empty, she was happier than ever: "Not a single bit of food wasted today, fantastic!"
If the servants made breakfast, they always made too much, the two of them couldn’t finish it, and the waste always pained her.
Harry Hunter was full of satisfaction seeing her eat with joy.
Recently, she seed to have gained a bit more weight, feeling even more comfortable to hold.
"I’ll wash the dishes!"
Isabella Weaver enthusiastically cleaned the dining table, carrying the plates into the kitchen.
Harry Hunter imdiately followed her: "I’ll do it."
Isabella Weaver pushed him away, putting on dishwashing gloves: "No way, you cooked breakfast, that was already hard work, washing the dishes should be my job."
Harry Hunter watched her with amusent, what a hardworking and appreciative good girl.
He leaned by the sink, watching her busy, his gaze deep.
He cooked, she washed dishes, the holy warmth felt strong.
If there were a child running around the living room, it would seem even more perfect.
Thinking this, he reached out to touch her belly, he had been rather diligent lately, should it not be the right ti?
He wrapped her waist, kissing her ear, whispering: "Where do you want to go play today? I’ll have soone arrange it."
Isabella Weaver hesitated for a mont: "Cora invited to visit her house yesterday, but strangely, I haven’t received any exact ssages from her yet."
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