Outside the university town, my barbecue stall was the most popular spot on the snack street and young college students loved my business.
That day, a man in a sharp suit suddenly appeared at my stall.
"Ma'am, give me five lamb skewers, ten skewers with fat," he ordered.
I'm used to serving young, energetic college students, but this was my first time serving someone so incredibly wealthy and successful.
I couldn't help but stare at him a few more times.
He was tall—probably around 188 or 189 cm— with an upright posture and a calm, distinguished elegance. Not to mention, he was strikingly handsome: high nose bridge, deep-set eyes and facial features so sculpted they almost gave off a Eurasian mixed-race vibe.
Parked near the alley entrance was a silver-grey Cayenne, lights still on, with a driver inside—probably waiting for him.
Having read countless romance novels, my mind instantly conjured up a cliché plot: an overbearing CEO buying grilled skewers for his pampered college wife.
So I grinned extra brightly. "Sure thing! For here or to go?"
I was certain it'd be to-go. I even grabbed a takeout container right away.
But the CEO-type said, "Here."