Almost instantly answered.
At that moment, she suddenly felt a wave of anxiety.
As if she had done something very abrupt.
Originally she wanted to ask him why he was looking for her, but the shock made her forget what to say.
She quickly calmed down and said to him calmly, "You left your clothes at my place."
His voice was as usual, deep and magnetic, and he replied casually, "Just leave them there for now, I'll pick them up when I have time."
"Okay."
After she spoke, there was a brief awkward silence, so quiet she could almost hear her own heartbeat.
She wanted to explain the events of last night but couldn't figure out how to start, he patiently waited without urging.
Finally, as if grasping at straws, she blurted out, "Actually, last night, I was just trying to ask you if you were asleep, I didn't mean that."
"Sent the wrong message, then?" His deep voice carried a hint of coolness.
"Yes." Claire Prescott nodded, then asked, "I sent the wrong message, so what did you mean with your reply?"
Silence fell again.
Claire Prescott fiddled with the hem of her skirt, watching the clock on the table tick away.
The man then spoke, "I didn't reply."
"..." Claire Prescott froze, her mind buzzing, "Then... who replied?"
Keane Lowell leaned against the car window, resting his forehead on one hand, his dark eyes showed a sense of indescribable helplessness. He replied slowly, "Not sure, I'll track him down."
These words extinguished all of Claire Prescott's various guesses.
But she felt there was an unexplainable meaning, as if it didn't sound quite real.
However, after clarifying things, she immediately felt much lighter inside.
Just as she was about to speak, a shadow fell in at the doorway.
"Good there's no misunderstanding, I won't talk further, a patient just arrived."
"Okay."
...
The busy week passed by, finally welcoming a day of rest.
After breakfast, Claire Prescott laid in the courtyard's rocking chair with her phone, planning to choose a nice restaurant, invite him out, and return his clothes.
At that moment, a blue parrot hopped onto her shoulder, nestled against her neck, wanting her to play with it.
"Little Seven, stop bothering me." She said softly.
The tea table was filled with fruits and pastries, shadows of crape myrtle trees dotted the surface. Elder Sinclair approached, silently picked a grape to eat, and asked, "A few days ago, did Finn Prescott come looking for you?"
Claire Prescott froze, her face immediately darkened.
Every time this person's name was mentioned, it was like touching a forbidden area, deep resistance ensued.
She put down her phone and admitted, "He asked me to go back to Valoria."
Elder Sinclair advised, "If you want to go back, just go back, it's been almost two years since you've returned."
Claire Prescott avoided his gaze, dismissively said, "I'll talk about it next time when I have time."
Next time, next time, always next time.
Seeing her unwillingness, Elder Sinclair realized he couldn't persuade her, nor could he move her.
Watching her lazily lying there, Elder Sinclair went back inside, leaving an invitation card on the table, his expression more stern, "If you don't want to return to Valoria, go to the conference, don't just stay at home all the time."
Claire Prescott glanced at the invitation card, seeing the title "Kystral Non-material Cultural Heritage Inheritors Conference" written on it.
She immediately shook her head, rejecting, "Not going, I'm more comfortable lying here."
Just as she picked up her phone again, she suddenly heard Little Seven squawk and leave her shoulder.
She turned her head, seeing Elder Sinclair coming back out with a ruler.
Claire Prescott quickly vacated the elder's personal rocking chair, obediently picked up the invitation from the table, instantly becoming well-behaved, "I'll go right away."
"If your name isn't signed at the end, don't come back today."
"Got it."
Her slender frame lightly crossed the courtyard, quickly disappearing through the side gate.
Elder Sinclair sighed, the words "not thoughtful" seemed to flash in his eyes.
Little Seven had already returned to its cage, expressionless, shouting, "Old geezer, old geezer..."
As Septima Sterling's beloved pet, Little Seven learned almost all its words from her, in this house, besides Septima Sterling, only it dared to call like that.
...
Claire Prescott stepped on the green stone slabs, holding her phone and invitation, leisurely headed towards the alley entrance.
Passing by people who knew her, they warmly and cheerfully called out "Dr. Prescott" and "Claire," to which she responded with a mild smile and gradually accepted the reality of attending the dull conference.
Returning to Valoria, or attending the conference, clearly attending the conference was more comfortable.
Claire Prescott stood by the roadside under the shade, silently raised her phone, hailed a cab, but before she could get one, a black car stopped in front of her.
Keane Lowell's refined and distinguished face appeared in the driver's window, his deep eyes reflecting a touch of softness in the sunlight, "Where to?"
His appearance at this time and place made Claire Prescott find it quite unbelievable.
She quickly came back to herself, secretly canceled the ride order while responding, "To the auditorium."
Without further words, Keane Lowell let her get in.
As Claire Prescott just opened the rear door, Keane Lowell made a quip, "Really treating me like a driver, huh?"
After hesitating a bit, Claire Prescott closed the door, walked around the car front, and sat directly in the passenger seat, her delicate face full of "reserve."
Perhaps it was still early, the road had few cars, passing a sprinkler, the car windows rolled up, in the sealed space, a warm, sweet woody scent wafted.
The atmosphere was particularly calm.
His aura was consistently steady, his hands operating the steering wheel, with fingers knuckled like jade, exuding a tension that inexplicably stirred the imagination.
Realizing her wandering thoughts, she blushed and averted her gaze, looking out the window.
At a traffic light intersection, Keane Lowell gazed at her slightly flushed profile and asked, "Is the car very hot?"
Claire Prescott didn't understand why he suddenly asked, shook her head blankly, "No."
"Why is your face so red then?"
Claire Prescott's eyes flashed with panic, raised her hand to cover her face, voice stumbling, "Do... do I?"
Noticing her shy reaction, Keane Lowell's lips subtly curled, diverting his gaze, he teased softly, "Sitting there daydreaming alone about what? Afraid I'll eat you?"
Claire Prescott lowered her eyes, her face turned even hotter, the blush spreading to her ears.
Originally not feeling hot, now the stuffiness was making her sweat.
Finally, after passing the intersection, unwilling to be laughed at, she retorted, "If I were afraid of you, I wouldn't have gotten in your car."
Her voice was fuzzy, but Keane Lowell clearly heard her words.
A faint smile passed through his eyes, "True, is there anything you dare not do, just a bit stubborn."
Claire Prescott slowly said, "You talk like you know me well."
The words instantly rendered Keane Lowell speechless.
He looked sideways helplessly, gazed at her delicate face, and said no more.
The little girl has grown up, her thoughts increasingly hard to guess.
But she's right.
In the past more than six years, what she'd experienced, how many relationships she'd had, he knew nothing about; his understanding of her was merely superficial.
...
Arriving at the auditorium entrance, Keane Lowell turned to her and asked, "How long will it take?"
Claire Prescott glanced at the times on the invitation, replying, "It starts at ten, should be about an hour and a half."
"Call me when it's over, I'll wait here."
Claire Prescott was stunned, confused, "You... why wait for me?"
"My mother's had no appetite lately, feels dizzy, hoping you can come check on her."
Upon hearing that, Claire Prescott agreed readily, "No problem, actually just give me the address, I can go there myself, you don't need to wait here, two hours, it's quite boring."
"It's okay."
The three words quickly blocked everything she had just said.
Claire Prescott said nothing more, then bid farewell, "I'll head down now."
The man nodded.
Bright yellow forsythia adorned the wall like a waterfall, giving the solemn auditorium a touch of vitality.
Many inheritors had already gathered in the hall, most of them older, all esteemed and accomplished figures in the field of folk intangible heritage.