<h4>Chapter 589: Getting Takeaway</h4>


    <strong>Evaline:</strong>


    "Mr. Wood, could you stop here for a moment?" I asked, leaning slightly forward in my seat as I looked out the window.


    The car slowed almost immediately,ing to a gentle halt outside a small, warmly lit diner tucked between two older buildings. Its signboard was simple, the paint a little faded, but the soft yellow glow spilling out through the ss windows made the ce look inviting... like it held stories,ughter, and theforting tter of tes within its walls.


    "Of course, Miss Evaline," Mr. Wood replied, pulling the car neatly to the curb. "Shall I wait?"


    "Yes, please," I said with a small smile as I reached for the door handle. "But it might take a while."


    "It’s alright. You can take your time."


    As soon as I stepped out, the rich, warm, and unmistakablyforting scent of food hit me. My stomach rumbled traitorously, and I chuckled under my breath. I hadn’t realized just how hungry I was.


    This was the same diner where Charles worked during weekends.


    Last Sunday, my friends dropped by here for dinner to support the young guy. But since I wanted to spend more time with my mates and son, I didn’t join my friends.


    Ever since then, they hadn’t stopped raving about the food... about how they ordered nearly everything on the menu, how Charles had looked both grateful and mortified, and how they nned toe back again.


    So here I was now.


    I pushed open the door, the small bell above it chiming softly.


    The diner was cozy... smaller than I had imagined, but full of life. The air buzzed with quiet conversation, the clinking of cutlery, and the sizzle of something delicious cooking in the back. Wooden tables filled most of the space, each one upied, while a counter lined one side of the room with a row of stools ced neatly in front of it.


    And then I saw him.


    Charles was rushing toward a table at the far back, a tray bnced expertly in one hand, tes stacked carefully atop it. He moved quickly but confidently, his posture rxed despite the obvious busyness of the ce.


    Before I could take another step, an older man approached me with a weing smile. He looked to be in histe fifties, with kind eyes and silver threading through his dark hair.


    "Good evening," he greeted warmly. "Would you like a table? And for how many?"


    "Oh-no, thank you," I replied, returning his smile. "I’m here to get takeaway."


    "Takeaway?" His face lit up. "Of course. Please, take your time." He handed me a menu card and gestured toward the counter. "You can sit there while you decide."


    "Thank you," I said, heading toward the stools.


    I slid onto one of the seats, cing the menu on the counter in front of me. As I opened it, I blinked in surprise.


    For such a small diner, the menu was... extensive.


    There were starters, mains, sides, drinks, and an entire section dedicated to desserts. I skimmed through it slowly, my mind reying Mallory and Noah’s enthusiastic suggestions.


    <i>Get the stuffed mushrooms.</i>


    <i>No, the grilled chicken was amazing.</i>


    <i>You HAVE to try the pasta.</i>


    <i>Oh... and don’t skip dessert. Any of them.</i>


    Smiling to myself, I began ticking off dishes mentally, making sure I ordered enough for all the people I was nning to treat tonight. I added a little extra too... just in case.


    I had just reached the dessert section when a familiar presence appeared on the other side of the counter.


    Charles.


    He was busy, moving quickly as he grabbed stic cups, filling them with ice before pouring in c from a dispenser. His sleeves were rolled up, his movements efficient and practiced. He didn’t notice me at all, even though I was sitting right in front of him, separated only by the counter.


    I leaned my chin lightly into my hand, watching him.


    He filled five cups in quick session, snapping lids on before lifting the tray and hurrying away toward a table near the window. Secondster, he was back, already reaching for more cups, repeating the same process for another table.


    A soft smile bloomed on my lips.


    There was something quietly admirable about watching someone work like this - focused, dedicated, doing their best withoutint.


    He hurried away again, delivering another round of drinks.


    When he returned to the counter this time, the older man reappeared beside me.


    "Have you decided what you would like?" he asked cheerfully.


    "Yes," I replied, snapping out of my observation. I showed him the menu and pointed out the dishes I wanted - one after another. "These, and these... oh, and these as well. And drinks too. Plus these desserts."


    As I continued, his smile grew wider.


    When I finally finished, he blinked once, then twice, clearly pleased. "That’s... quite an order."


    "I’m ordering for a group," I exined lightly.


    "Well, we are happy to have it," he said, already turning toward the kitchen. "I’ll let the chefs know right away."


    As soon as he disappeared through the swinging doors, I looked back up.


    Charles was staring at me.


    Completely frozen.


    His eyes were wide, his mouth slightly open, and for a split second, he looked like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.


    I raised my hand and gave him a small wave.


    That seemed to snap him out of it.


    "Senior?" he eximed. "What-what are you doing here?"


    "I could ask you the same thing," I teased gently. "But I already know the answer."


    He let out a smallugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Right. Uh-so, takeaway?"


    "Yes," I nodded. "My friends wouldn’t stop praising the food here. They said they ordered almost everythingst Sunday. Since I missed out, I thought I’d stop by today."


    His ears turned a faint shade of red.


    "You didn’t have to do that," he said quickly. "You have already helped me a lot. All of you have."


    I frowned slightly. "I’m not doing you a favor, Charles."


    He hesitated.


    "I’m serious," I continued. "They genuinely loved the food. I’m just here because I want to try it too."


    He studied my face for a moment, as if trying to decide whether to believe me. Finally, he exhaled and gave a small nod.


    "Thank you," he said softly.


    "You are wee," I replied.