Dangerous Love: You Are My One and Only Bride novel Chapter 469

The man fumbled out an excuse, “Makes takeouts more convenient.”

Tanya mused between reciting each of Arianne’s numbers, “Don’t you guys always ring up the shop directly? Ari may be one of the two bosses, but she’s always busy in the kitchen, so she rarely manages orders. I think directly calling the shop is a better idea.”

The man stored the girl’s number gingerly while replying, “I see, I see. Thank you very much for your help.”

Tanya thought of telling Arianne about the little exchange regarding her phone number once she returned to the shop, but the bustle of the day kept coming, and soon, she forgot about it altogether.

Night fell. The café was near its closing hour when Arianne’s phone beeped: ‘A cup of warm milk. Less sugar.’

It baffled her to see someone ordering through her number, but she replied patiently, ‘Please tell me the address for delivery.’

The other side was quick to respond. ‘The office building opposite your shop. I’ll send you the details when it’s ready.’

The process of preparing milk was simple — all it took was heating a packaged one and serving it in a glass. Despite the drink’s availability in the café, it was not at all a common choice among customers.

Arianne asked for the mysterious sender’s details once she was done, only to receive this: ‘No, it’s not for me. It’s for you. Please give me your Paypal; I’ll pay.’

A jolt coursed through her brain suddenly and conjured an image of Mark Tremont in her mind’s eye. Just as quickly, Arianne shot the thought down for being unlikely; after all, this did not align with his character. So who could this be?

She called the number. She was sure that the sender had the phone right beside them, but it still took quite a while before it was finally picked up.

“Excuse me,” she asked politely. “May I know to whom I am speaking to?”

At first, there was only silence. She could hear the faint sounds of someone’s breathing. Then, a man’s voice came through, “You might not remember me, but… I’ve visited your café quite a few times. Ordered quite a lot of takeouts, too. P-pardon my boldness, but I would like to befriend you. Is that… Is that alright?”

The confirmation that it was not Mark made Arianne release the breath she was holding, though little drops of glumness crept into her too. She could almost ascertain the man’s identity as one of the guys who had visited their shop in person a few days ago. “Yes, we could be friends. I appreciate your kindness, but you don’t need to pay for this one. Our café is about to close, so… Next time.”

Arianne did not think she should put herself above making friends with the opposite sex. Any enterprise, no matter how big or small, would need a fair amount of social-networking and customer base. Their interaction would be a normal exchange at most, Arianne was sure, which could not possibly be a bad thing.

The road back home was not a long one, and a silly banter later, the girls reached it. They had rented an apartment unit in a small, satisfactory neighborhood. The unit boasted a large commons room and a smaller bedroom, and the girls were not at all miffed at the idea of sharing a single room.

The girls saw it simultaneously—hanging on their door knob was a bag containing a takeout box. Tiffany took it down and sniffed it, remarking, “It’s still steaming. I wonder if it was delivered to us by mistake.”

Arianne examined its exterior. “No, there isn’t an invoice attached to it or anything — it’s for us. Plus, don’t you think this smells familiar?”

Tiffany paid more mind to its smell and exclaimed, “It smells… It smells like Jackson’s cooking or something. Hmm, I’ll give him a call.”

The girls entered their room. Tiffany began displaying her skill at opening the bag and unpacking the food with one hand while the other was hooked to her phone; evidently, no trials could keep a foodie away from delicious food.

Soon, the call was connected, and Jackson’s sober voice came through, implying that he was not roused from his sleep. With a juicy piece of fish in her mouth, Tiffany mumbled, “Hey, did you come from the capital to see us or what? Did you hang your cooking at our door?”

“What? I didn’t cook that,” came his confused reply. “That wasn’t me.”