?Chapter 376:


    Briggs stood ck-jawed in bewilderment. In decades of operating Loftus’s Comfort Eats, he’d never encountered customers who brought their own cleaning crew. He pulled Hailee aside and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “Last time, that wealthy fellow was hunting for his runaway wife after some domestic dispute. Could this gentleman be in the same predicament?”


    Hailee couldn’t suppress augh at her father’s wild theorizing. “Dad, look around—I’m the only woman here. Where exactly is his missing wife? Your imagination is running away with you.”


    Briggs chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. “I suppose you’re right. Got carried away there.”


    Within minutes, Lucas and the bodyguards had restored perfect order to the dining room. Merlin selected the central table and settled into his chair with elegantposure.


    Hailee approached with the menu, her voice barely above a murmur, “What style of spaghetti appeals to you, Mr. kely?”


    Merlin’s eyes skimmed the offerings before finding her face again. “What would you suggest?”


    Her finger traced a line on theminated menu. “The marinara represents our family’s signature—it’s crafted from a recipe passed down through generations. Most customers consider it our crown jewel.”


    “Then marinara it shall be.” Merlin decided without hesitation. After a pregnant pause, he added with careful casualness, “Would it be possible for you to prepare it personally?”


    Hailee retrieved the menu from his hands. “Of course. I’ll start immediately—it won’t take long.”


    She then disappeared into the kitchen’s organized chaos.


    Briggs found himself disced, relegated to hovering behind the counter like furniture. Frustration gnawed at his chest with sharp teeth. Hadn’t the neighbors proimed his cooking skills legendary among the city’s power brokers? Then why did every wealthy patron who graced his establishment specifically request someone else handle their meal? Cole had insisted Elliana work the stove, and now Merlin demanded Hailee’s touch. What did that make him—decoration?


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    No one noticed the quiet storm brewing in Briggs’ chest.


    While Hailee disappeared into the kitchen to prepare the spaghetti, Merlin found himself trapped in an impossible situation. He desperately wanted to connect with Briggs—after all, winning over the father was crucial if he hoped to pursue the daughter. But the problem was that Merlin possessed all the social grace of a brick wall.


    Years of avoiding meaningless chatter had left Merlin’s conversational muscles severely atrophied. He searched frantically formon ground with Briggs, but their worlds couldn’t have been more different. What could a wealthy man possibly discuss with a humble restaurant owner? Minutes crawled by as Merlin’s mind remained frustratingly nk.


    Unable to summon even the most basic small talk, yet determined to show goodwill, Merlin resorted to the most primitive form ofmunication known to mankind. He smiled.


    Briggs, ever polite, responded with a respectful bow and returned the gesture.


    The cycle repeated itself with mechanical precision, transforming what should have been a simple interaction into an excruciating disy of social ipetence.


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