Harry Hunter got up, took a quilt from the living room, and covered Isabella Weaver: "I'll go home to sleep, you have a good rest, no staying up late. Continue your painting tomorrow."
He wasn't worried about catching a cold himself. He was very healthy and almost never caught colds.
He was worried that if he took the quilt, Isabella Weaver would catch a cold.
The bed was small, and adding him in it would make her sleep poorly.
Harry Hunter turned off the light for her, closed the door, and walked out of the guesthouse.
In the darkness, Isabella Weaver heard the sound of his sports car leaving, she smiled softly, hugged the quilt, and unknowingly fell asleep.
Seven in the morning.
Isabella Weaver was awakened from her dreams by the aroma of food.
She sleepily opened the bedroom door, and then was stunned.
The man who left last night was now sitting at the dining table, with a variety of breakfast items laid out, steaming and aromatic.
