Renee walked in with a curious expression and asked, “What can I help you with?”

Mr. Q was wearing disposable plastic gloves in both hands. He was marinating the steaks with a secret sauce.

“Help me wear the apron, please. My hands are occupied.”

He gestured to an apron hanging on the cabinet with his chin, giving out the command naturally.

“Help you… put on the apron?”

Renee felt a moment of awkwardness. She hesitated and did not move.

This kind of action was way too intimate. Wasn’t this usually something that only couples would do?

Mr. Q turned around and looked at her flatly. “Is something wrong? Are you… shy?”

“Of course not!”

to tiptoe to put the apron over his head. She pretended to be nonchalant and said, “I’m a divorced woman. I’ve experienced

and her thin fingers tied a bow around the waistband neatly. She patted

top-notch. He had wide shoulders, a narrow waist, and firm muscles. His body was on par with

trees in the forest. Her vision was seriously too narrow

divorce were comparable to Stefan,

the timer to wait

his plastic gloves and casually grabbed a

oat into the fruit yogurt while stirring it with a spoon. He then scooped a

this and see

“Umm…”

to being so intimate with a man. She awkwardly

man’s lips curled into a weird smile. “I thought you’re a divorced woman who has experienced everything before? Why are you

called a sense of boundaries – a sense of boundaries between

raised her eyebrows and put on a

a taste of Mr. Q’s salad, her eyes immediately brightened. She could not help praising, “Oh my god, this is so good. Who would have thought that a burly man like you would have such delicate skills? You truly are “Beach City’s

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