Book7Chapter8
I used to be so pampered that I wouldn’t even touch takeout.
During four years of college, Jordan would deliver food after class.
His dinner was often the boxed meal provided by the delivery company.
Once, I went to find him.
In a small room, he sat cramped with a group of delivery riders, eating rice.
I said, “Jordan, how can you eat this? It’s not clean.”
He looked uncomfortable. “Does it matter if it’s clean?”
“Come on, let’s go eat steak,” I said.
I dragged him to a newly opened Western restaurant, where the average bill was over 500 dollars.
He stood at the restaurant entrance for a long time, silently taking off his delivery
uniform.
After my family’s downfall, I finally understood his feelings that day.
Just like today.
It started snowing.
The ground was slippery. I fell, spilling the food and wine.
I called the customer to explain but got scolded.
Book“Chapter!
The customer said, “Don’t make excuses. Late is late.”
My scraped hand hurt to the bone in the cold winter, but I couldn’t care. I kept
apologizing.
Jordan suddenly appeared and helped me with my bike.
I didn’t know when he arrived or how long he’d been watching.
I instinctively hid my hand behind my back
“Don’t hide it,” he said. His voice was hoarse, his eyes red. “Go wash it off quickly.”
“I need to deliver the food first,” I said.
“Get in the car. I’ll take you,” he said.
The customer lived on the first floor. When I delivered the food, he muttered, “Damn, even people driving Porsches deliver food?”
I still had to take another order.
Jordan said, “Don’t deliver it.”
“No, I’ve earned too little tonight,” I replied.
“Then I’ll buy,” he said.
“What?”
With a ding, the system automatically accepted the order he placed.
“I’ll buy your time tonight.”
