For Lack of a better title:LemonPudding2

The first thing I noticed about the stranger: his scent.
A mixture of high quality leather, tobacco and cologne....I inhaled it was a crisp and clear scent, earthy yet refined; this was...HUGO BOSS’s HUGO XY. It was a fantastic piece for a male to adorn himself with.
Wanting to steal a glance of the owner of the cologne I strained my facial muscles to pull my bloated eyelids open, only to realize he was gone; what a waste of effort.
Then I felt the same hand slip onto my waist whilst his other hand landed on my elbow. It hit me that the stranger was behind me and trying to get me to stand up.
Slowly, I was pulled up and ushered into one of the nearby buildings. Once we had entered, an aroma of mouth –watering smells hit me like strong air-conditioning after a really cold bath. As if on cue my stomach roared in protest, demanding I give it what it rightfully deserved: food.
Before I knew it the waitress had us seated in a quiet space away from the other noisy diners.
“What would you like to order?” the waitress asked a little too chirpily for my current mood. “A coffee, water, seafood paella, sautéed mushrooms and the salad.” Slim fingers handed the menu back to the waitress and she glanced around nervously flushing when her eyes met his. I raised a brow to her suspicious behaviour, wondering what had caused the change in attitude.
“Let me repeat your order-“the waitress squeaked out when her hands accidentally brushed against my companions. Blocking out the waitresses high-pitched voice I laid my head on the table. “Have you calmed down?” The question was thrown out when the waitress finally left.
I shifted from my position finally getting a good look at the one sitting across me.
First impression: he was an incredibly wealthy person. His clothes were branded and his shoes and tie would most possibly be able to put me through college for a year. Hell! Even his cufflinks reeked of the stench called “rich”, instantly shooting my poor aura to shame.
Second impression: he, despite being so much older, was rather good-looking. You could definitely see why the waitress was so close to hyperventilating. Smouldering liquid amber eyes, like bubbles in a glass of champagne, jet black hair parted at the side and slickly swept back. A nicely chiselled face and subtle muscles were hugged by his suit.
“Probably in his late 20s,” I guessed. The stereotypical Japanese male was usually short, wore glasses and has a slender build. Hence I concluded that the man before me was an exotic creature, a rare being that I had accidentally come into contact with.
He looked like one of those Calvin Klein models that women drooled over.
“That woman drooled over...” It was as if I was speaking from a guy’s standpoint. This realisation led me to once again dwell on my lack of femininity, which in turn led me to remember that I was dumped for that very reason.
With a very audible “Smack” my forehead was once again resting on the table. I so did not want to talk to anybody, gorgeous or not. Although my plans to ignore the other were put down by what he said next.
“Go ahead and ignore me, after all its not as if I’m treating you to a meal. “He spoke straight-faced.
I could feel the pinch of guilt tugging and pulling at my conscience. I could just see my conscience materializing into a mini angel and chastising me for my bad manners.
“Jus t because you want to vent your anger you shouldn’t throw a tantrum! Especially to someone who is being nice to you.” The angel nagged away at me. Giving in I positioned my head upright, chin still touching the table, “Thank you for the meal.” I said monotonously and put my forehead back down in a bow.
“Heh.” He chuckled at the quirky gesture.
Just then the waitress had come back, “Here is you’re order!” she smiled brightly, exposing her teeth and I could see that her lipstick was smudged at the corner. No doubt she had applied it in a hurry.
The food was set down along with the paella which came in a frying pan.
“Eat up. Someone who is depressed will feel better on a full stomach.” So saying he passed me a spoon and a fork.
Taking a deep breath I waited expectantly....waited and waited....
“They won’t give you a plate no matter how long you wait.” He paused and used the napkin to clean his mouth. “Paella is eaten straight from the pan, no plates are given. Economical isn’t it? Less dishes to wash.”
Rolling my eyes at the last bit, I scooped a spoonful of the gloriously golden rice. An intense buttery and slightly salted taste ran down my tongue, teasing my taste buds. It was like eating rice in the form of a good old’ salted popcorn. Not to mention the mushrooms were not at all soggy and had the right amount of seasoning. Bliss....
“Yum!” I exclaimed and dove back in for more.
45 minutes later I had stuffed myself silly, the platter was wiped clean and I was thoroughly satisfied. The black mood I had been experiencing earlier on had cleared up as well.