Better Late, But Never His Again novel Chapter 94

Zachary supported Hazel as they exited the dilapidated apartment building. Her legs were still weak and shaky.

He slowed his pace, deliberately waiting for her to catch her breath.

As they emerged from the alley, Hazel realized they were surprisingly close to Zachary's restoration shop—just a couple of turns away.

Zachary pushed open the door to Ward's Antiquities and guided Hazel to the sofa. He disappeared into the back room for a moment before returning with a glass of water, handing it to her.

Hazel took the glass. The heat radiated from the surface, seeping through her fingertips and warming her shivering chest. She looked up at him, her voice still fragile.

"Thank you."

Zachary gave a curt nod, turned, and walked over to his workbench. He picked up a brush, lowered his head, and resumed restoring a painting.

The overhead lamp cast a soft glow on the sharp, defined contours of his profile.

Hazel sat on the sofa, clutching the glass. The steam blurred her vision slightly as she looked at him, unable to suppress her curiosity.

"How did you manage to show up there right on time?"

Zachary's hand stilled for a fraction of a second before continuing its steady motion. His tone remained as cool and detached as always. "I was looking for something."

Hazel gripped the glass and took a small sip, feeling the lingering chill inside her fade. "Looking for what?"

Zachary looked up, shooting her a frosty glare.

Under the dim amber light, his deep eyes looked intensely dark, as if harboring a profound secret. "Something important. Don't ask so many questions. You're overstepping."

Hazel blinked, realizing she had pried too far.

She lowered her gaze, took another sip of water, and kept quiet.

An awkward silence stretched between them for a long while before she finally spoke again.

"Thank you for today."

She suddenly noticed that his jawline was even sharper than Marcus's. The two men looked so similar, yet felt so fundamentally different.

Her gaze traveled down his profile. He had beautiful hands—long, strong fingers with defined knuckles.

Her stomach suddenly growled, the sound awkwardly loud in the quiet room. Hazel quickly averted her eyes, stood up, and retreated toward the kitchen area.

The kitchen was small. A thin layer of dust coated the stove, suggesting it hadn't been used in quite some time.

She opened the fridge to find it practically empty, holding nothing but a few eggs and some noodles. From the cabinets, she salvaged some salt and soy sauce. That was it.

Rolling up her sleeves, she decided to whip up a quick bowl of pasta to fill her stomach.

Half an hour later, Hazel carried two plates of pasta out of the kitchen just as Zachary set his brush aside. He looked up, his gaze landing on her.

Hazel took a seat at the dining table and offered a faint smile. "I saw you didn't have much, so I made some pasta. Eat up before you get back to work."

Zachary stared at the plate, a subtle shift in his expression. He put his brush away, stood up, and walked over to sit opposite her.