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!”

moved behind him. She had to tiptoe to put the apron over his head. She pretended to be

waistband neatly. She patted the man’s back and said jokingly, “Hmm, not bad. You look like a good

wide shoulders, a narrow waist, and firm muscles. His body was

forest. Her vision was seriously too narrow

of men she met after her divorce were comparable to

marinating the steaks, Mr. Q set the timer

casually grabbed a kiwi to make a

with a spoon. He then scooped a spoonful and offered it to

see

“Umm…”

used to being so intimate with a man. She awkwardly took the

a divorced woman who has experienced

boundaries – a sense of boundaries between men

raised her eyebrows and put on

not help praising, “Oh my god, this is so

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