Capturing the Young Doctor's Heart: Mr. Big Shot Won't Let Me Go-Chapter 47: The Date

The emotions between the two rose, gradually spreading and heating up in the air as Keane Lowell returned to the driver’s seat.

In the rich atmosphere, Claire Prescott’s lips curved into a light and graceful arc. She lowered her head to look at the flowers, a hint of sweetness seeping into her heart, washing away the day’s fatigue.

The car restarted and set off.

Keane took her to the reserved restaurant.

Along the way, she held the flowers, only freeing one hand to hold his when she got out.

"Where did you go today?" Keane asked.

"I spent the day with my grandmother, visiting museums and parks. My legs feel like they’re going to break." As she said her legs were breaking, she instinctively leaned closer to him.

Keane looked down at her, his eyes full of tender indulgence, "Do you want a massage later?"

Upon hearing this, Claire seemed a little doubtful of what she had heard, and asked him, "You’ll massage me?"

"Who else if not me?"

She chuckled and walked into the elevator alongside him, "No need, I’ve already rested and feel much better now."

The closed space contained only the two of them.

There were mirrors all around, spotlessly clean, clearly reflecting their figures and faces.

Claire looked at Keane in the mirror, only to realize her height had reached his nose, vaguely recalling that over six years ago, she could barely reach his mouth.

He didn’t look much different from six years ago, just his body seemed more mature, and his presence was steadier than before.

Claire looked up at the man beside her and asked, "How old are you this year?"

Keane met her bright eyes, smiled slightly, "Take a guess."

"You shouldn’t be over thirty... right?" She ventured cautiously.

Keane turned the question around, "What’s the acceptable age difference for you?"

The sudden question caught her off guard.

She truly hadn’t thought about this.

Yet, before she could answer, the elevator opened.

The waiter led them into a private room, warmly and respectfully opening the door for them.

In view was a short corridor, adorned with floral decorations, exuding a fresh artistic ambiance under the light of pale white lamps.

Upon entering, Claire was instantly captivated by the scene.

She initially thought tonight would just be a simple dinner with him, but didn’t expect to dine in such a romantic setting.

It was a couple-themed room.

White and green flowers adorned delicate white gauze, cascading from the dining table edges to the floor, like a bride’s veil, elegantly yet romantically gentle.

The entire space was enveloped in floral decorations, with a lingering fragrance.

Keane led her to sit down.

After placing the order, he suddenly called her over, pulling her onto his lap, speaking softly, "You haven’t answered my previous question yet."

Claire had not yet recovered from the surprise, her mind confused, not remembering what the question was, asking blankly, "What question?"

Keane prompted, "Age difference."

Claire quickly recalled, seriously responding to him, "I think... if you like someone, age isn’t a problem."

Keane smiled lightly, "If I’m more than ten years older than you, you wouldn’t mind?"

Claire teasingly refused to fall for it, "Stop tricking me, you’re at most thirty years old."

She nearly forgot, being a Chinese medicine doctor, gauging someone’s age stage shouldn’t be a problem for her, especially since she had taken his pulse twice.

"I’m twenty-nine this year," he said.

Claire silently calculated the age difference, "And your birthday?"

"February 12th."

"Then we’re not far apart, I was born on New Year’s Day." Her eyes were bright, her complexion rosy, radiating vitality from within.

Keane wrapped his arm around her waist, unable to resist planting a kiss at the corner of her eye.

Claire slowly opened her eyes, her heart seemed to flutter slightly upon meeting his tender gaze.

His gaze lowered to her legs, suddenly grasping her calf with a slight force, asking, "Does it ache here?"

Clearly separated by fabric, his rubbing carried no other implication, just to alleviate her fatigue.

But he was too gentle.

So gentle that it made the act feel ambiguous, even more intimate than a deep kiss.

She hurriedly pressed his hand, "It doesn’t ache anymore."

Keane noticed her shyness.

He withdrew his hand and rewrapped it around her waist.

Simultaneously, Claire hugged his neck, quietly embracing him, feeling his warmth and breath.

Just holding each other, saying nothing, savoring the passage of time, seemingly quite delightful.

After a while, the waiter appeared before them, silently serving the dishes.

Claire descended from his lap, returning to her seat.

Dining naturally proceeded orderly.

The man opposite her dined leisurely, occasionally serving her food, encouraging her to replenish nutrients.

Claire noticed Keane’s preference for bland dishes, no smoking, hardly drinking, making him a breath of fresh air among men.

No wonder so many women covet him.

Of course...

The most important is that he treats her well.

Hence, she puzzled over why her family said Keane wasn’t suitable for her.

Perhaps, she should find an opportunity to ask properly.

...

Outside, prosperity waned, the river quietly flowing in the night, as the two walked hand in hand from the private room.

The wide, long hallway was empty, unexpectedly encountering Ethan Lancaster.

Alone, his gaze naturally met theirs, Claire’s grip on Keane’s hand instinctively tightened.

Ethan’s gaze swept over the flowers she held, fixating on their entwined hands.

His brows seemed to furrow slightly before nonchalantly averting his gaze, silently brushing past them.

Not a word was spoken, as if he were a stranger.

Claire breathed a sigh of relief, grateful he didn’t pursue, not wanting excessive interaction in front of Keane, causing unnecessary misunderstanding.

Yet at the corner, Ethan suddenly halted, glancing back at the empty hallway behind, a sharp dark light flashed through his steady eyes.

It seemed he was deeply displeased, a complex emotion hidden in his dark eyes.

While waiting for the elevator, Claire subconsciously glanced at the man beside her, Keane’s gaze followed, his voice calmly asking, "What’s wrong?"

Claire shook her head, spoke softly, "Nothing, just wanted to look at you."

From his expression, Claire saw no sign of anomaly.

Just now an unfounded thought briefly flashed by, pondering whether they might know each other.

But if they did know each other, how could they pass without greeting after encountering earlier?