Nia Mitchell bristled. You, dull? You're the smartest person in the world!
"Hm?"
Maxwell Peary deftly caught Nia Mitchell's chopsticks with a reverse grip, preventing her from pulling away.
Nia Mitchell chuckled awkwardly. With a soft CLACK, she let go, and Maxwell Peary simply sat there, still holding her chopsticks.
Nia Mitchell bit her lip. "Those are my noodles…"
How could he do this?
A smirk played on Maxwell Peary's lips. His long, slender, pale left hand, with its clearly defined knuckles, tapped rhythmically on the tabletop.
"These are my noodles."
Nia Mitchell choked back her indignation. Alright, alright, alright. When you're under someone else's roof, you have to bow your head. He paid for the noodles. He cooked them. So, they're his. But… he's such a bully!
Turning her head away with a cold snort, Nia Mitchell ground her teeth.
Seeing her petulant expression, Maxwell Peary's eyes crinkled with amusement. Why does she get angry so easily?
