Nagishiro Sho froze.
He glanced at the watch on his wrist, a little past seven thirty.
Not open?
But didn't Lin say he'd be here setting up the stall by seven?
Just as he was feeling puzzled, his nose twitched, sharply catching a familiar aroma.
Fish balls!
He quickly stepped forward, tilting his head to look past the employee.
Blake looked a bit tense, his body slightly hunched forward, holding the paper cup closer to his chest.
Nagishiro Sho shook his head amusedly: "Don't be nervous, I'm not taking yours. Is Chef Lin already setting up inside?"
"Chef Lin?"
Blake froze, then quickly reacted: "Oh, oh, oh, you mean the owner of the red food truck, the one wearing the black-and-gold chef's uniform?"
"Yes, that's him. I'm a chef too; he invited me over."
"Uh... alright, I don't know if you need a ticket, but our boss John is also over there. He probably won't give me a hard time, right?"
"John? Don't worry, we know each other; he knows I'm coming."
"Whew—"
