Capturing the Young Doctor's Heart: Mr. Big Shot Won't Let Me Go-Chapter 104: You Can Kiss Anywhere

When parting.

Claire Prescott’s cheeks reddened as she met those intense, fiery eyes, feeling flustered. "You..."

For a moment, she couldn’t find the words.

Even if unspoken, there’s a mutual understanding.

Keane Lowell’s voice was deep and magnetic: "In the future, don’t kiss me like that in public. I can’t hold back."

What kind of kiss?

Naturally, it’s her kissing his eyes and moving downwards to his lips, like a butterfly fluttering over, collecting nectar from his face.

As her touch glided by, it tickled an itch across his entire world.

That feeling.

It made him want to resist yet also accept, unsure whether to keep his eyes open or closed.

Yet the young lady innocently asked, "Where can’t I kiss?"

"..."

Keane Lowell was helpless, utterly powerless against her, and replied, "You can kiss anywhere."

Claire Prescott grew even more puzzled.

The next moment, she was calmly held in his embrace.

He said, "Let’s hug for a while."

Given the situation, Claire Prescott dared not move much, simply resting quietly against him.

Gradually.

The heat from his body slowly settled in the quiet night.

Time stretched long and distant.

It seemed the world was left with just the two of them.

However.

The ringing of a phone interrupted this peace.

It was a call from Old Dr. Sinclair.

Claire Prescott emerged from Keane Lowell’s embrace, sitting back in her chair, and answered the call without hesitation.

"Grandpa, what’s the matter?"

The slow, deliberate voice of the old doctor came through: "Tiger said you went to the ER; why aren’t you back yet? Is the condition tough?"

"The diagnosis is finished. Keane Lowell and I are having dinner outside; we’ll be back soon."

Hearing the name "Keane Lowell," there was silence on the other end, followed by a voice after a pause: "Come back after dinner; it’s almost ten."

"Okay."

Claire Prescott put down her phone and looked at Keane Lowell.

"I promised Grandpa and Grandma to sleep at home this afternoon. Could President Lowell kindly take me home?" She half pleaded, holding his hand, afraid he’d be as domineering as yesterday.

"Whatever you say."

Claire Prescott beamed: "I knew you’d treat me the best."

No more words.

Keane Lowell picked up his phone from the table, rose, and led her to pay the bill and leave.

At the alley, by the side door of Sinclair Apothecary, the street lamp cast a quiet glow.

Claire Prescott unlatched her seatbelt, leaned across to give him one last kiss, "I’ll head in first, goodnight."

"Goodnight."

After saying farewell.

Keane Lowell’s gaze followed her as she opened the gate, her light, slender figure gradually disappearing from view.

It was at that moment his eyes turned dark, his face merging into boundless darkness, growing somber and cold.

"Inform me immediately whenever she goes to see a patient."

The chilly voice emerged.

The bodyguard sitting in the driver’s seat felt a sting of coldness from behind, answering cautiously: "Understood."

...

At this time, Old Dr. Sinclair was waving a plant fan, seated in the courtyard.

The early summer night wind was cool, brushing past the crepe myrtle tree above, its shadow gently swaying, dropping a wall of elegance.

However.

Grandfather’s gaze toward her wasn’t calm.

Seemingly wanting to say something.

"Why aren’t you asleep yet, Grandpa?" Claire Prescott spoke, casually picking a green grape from the table, appearing especially relaxed before him.

Old Dr. Sinclair took a breath and couldn’t resist a gentle nag: "What time is it? Coming back now."

Saying that, the elderly man rose from the rocking chair, urged, "Go wash up, sleep early."

Then, feeling assured, he rocked back to his room.

Claire Prescott silently watched his back, feeling something was off.

Popped a grape into her mouth, tidied the table, and carried the fruit basket inside, turning upstairs.

Late night was too quiet, not a trace of noise, only sparse insect chirps.

Wearing pajamas, she lay on the bed, savoring the comfort of the quilt, mind drifting to Keane Lowell’s words "I’m always here."

The tension of exhaustion gradually eased away.

In less than a minute, she fell asleep.

...

The following morning.

She felt a faint stomach ache.

Thinking it was an illusion, she paid no heed, grabbed her phone, and headed downstairs.

Preparing to leave, Old Dr. Sinclair stopped her: "Where are you going?"

"To draft a prescription for the patient from yesterday."

With that, she hurried out, catching a cab to the hospital.

Arriving at the floor, she coincidentally ran into the visiting Yvonne Lancaster.

They exchanged a silent look.

Clearly, Yvonne’s gaze toward her had changed, no longer carrying past animosity, now gentle and harmless.

Claire Prescott glanced away calmly, knocking on the door before entering ahead of her.

Ethan Lancaster was inside at that moment accompanying.

Seeing him, Claire Prescott couldn’t help feeling a little awkward.

"Claire is here." Mr. Lancaster kindly looked at her.

"Uncle Lancaster." Claire Prescott approached, asking softly, "How are you today? Still uncomfortable in your stomach?"

"No, much better than yesterday."

"Hand me your wrist, I’ll check your pulse."

Mr. Lancaster complied.

Claire Prescott sat on the chair beside him for the pulse check, as Yvonne had already entered silently, standing by the wall watching her.

She had always supported Ethan and Faye as a couple, hence held prejudice against the Prescott Family’s heiress before her.

Now, letting go of biases, she suddenly realized how beautiful Claire was, skin clear and white, features delicate and exquisite as jade, pure and untainted, seemingly very approachable.

Must have been foolish to target someone so unnecessarily in the past.

At this point, the attending physician knocked and entered, waited for Claire Prescott to finish checking the pulse, then proactively handed the patient’s medical records to her, "I’ve reorganized the patient’s case file; today’s treatment plan can be written on the first page."

The overly attentive tone made Claire Prescott somewhat uncomfortable.

She accepted the clipboard and pen, wrote down today’s diagnosis and prescription, saying to them, "Prescribed two doses; take one today and another tomorrow. If Uncle Lancaster feels the hospital is stifling, he can be discharged today."

After writing.

Claire Prescott returned the case file to the attending physician, stepped aside to make space for him to check the pulse.

"Didn’t Claire just check the pulse?" Yvonne questioned.

Her words carried a hint of suggesting he was redundant.

She wavered, switching sides quickly, so fast even the breeze couldn’t catch her.

Claire Prescott’s eyebrows knitted slightly, but she said nothing.

Yet the attending physician felt a bit ashamed, "I’m the patient’s responsible doctor; I need to know all situations, hope the family can understand."

Yvonne was left speechless.

The attending physician finally compared the prescription Claire Prescott wrote, and couldn’t help but admire: Brilliant.

So young, yet able to draft such a clear treatment approach, truly a rare talent, unlike the interns under him, who have theoretical knowledge but can’t express anything upon pulse checking.