<b>Chapter </b><b>165 </b>
James leaned casually against the door of his sleek ck car. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal his wrists. His eyes, with a yful glint, rested on Mirabe. His lips curved into a half–smile as he spoke teasingly, “Because your incense works wonders.”
Mirabe arched an eyebrow. Her face lit up with a blend of brilliance and brazen pride. “Of course it does.”
Just then, Wyatt, who had been fiddling with the GPS, chimed in without missing a beat. “Ms. Mirabe, you’re acquainted with that boutique owner, aren’t you? I ced an order the other day, and the chap threw in a buy–one–get–one–free deal for me.”
Caught off–guard, Mirabe turned to Wyatt, her voiceced with curiosity, “Which boutique
owner?”
James facepalmed.
As Wyatt started the engine, he borated, “The one from that perfume shop you rmended to James<b>.</b>”
After a brief moment of puzzlement, Mirabe’s face lit up with realization. “We don’t know
each other.”
“Huh, really? I thought there was some connection, hence the discount, Wyatt mused absent–mindedly.
Narrowing her eyes slightly, Mirabe recalled James‘ message on Messenger. With an airy tone, she asked, “So, how much did you buy?”
Scratching his head, Wyatt confessed, “About two hundred boxes or so. He practically emptied his stock for me.”
Hearing this, Mirabe turned her gaze towards James, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
James, who usually exuded <b>an </b>air ofposure, now seemed slightly flustered. Clearing his throat, he deftly changed the subject. “Mirabe, what are you in the mood for tonight? Something fancy?”
With a rxed smile, Mirabe leaned back in her seat, resting her hands behind her head. “Anythingvish will do.”
Observing herid–back demeanor, James joked, “You’re not afraid I might trade you for a fancy dinner?”
With her eyes already half–closed, Mirabe’s response came with a touch of arrogance, “Only if you think you can.”
James chuckled, shook his head, and directed Wyatt to a specific location<b>. </b>As Mirabe seemed to doze off, James let the silence settle in the car, and even Wyatt instinctively turned off the music.
About thirty minutester, they pulled up in front of a quaint restaurant nestled in a serene spot. James turned to wake Mirabe but found her eyes open, devoid of any trace of sleepiness. He raised an eyebrow, “We’re here.”
With a nonchnt “Mhm,” Mirabe pushed the car door open and stepped out.
The rustic entrance, nked by a country–style brook and bridge décor, exuded a rxed and refined charm. Mirabe followed James into the restaurant. The exterior had seemed modest, but inside, it opened up into an unexpectedly charming space, rich with an air of elegance.
“This ce isn’t half bad,” Mirabe observed, ncing around the empty establishment. “Just a shame there’s no customers around<b>.” </b>
James looked back at her, exining, “The owner has closed it to the public today.”
She raised an eyebrow, “Is the owner friend of yours?”
“Something like that,” James replied nonchntly.
At that moment, a middle–aged man emerged from the back. Upon seeing James, his demeanor instantly shifted to one of considerable respect. “Hello, Sir.”
The honorific didn’t go unnoticed by Mirabe, whose eyes lingered on the man, catching the subtle deference in his gaze.
The moment the man had received the call, he knew James would be bringing a friend. But seeing that the guest was a youngdy, he had visibly paused, taken aback.