By 10am, the lull hit. The morning rush had tapered off, leaving only two tables still occupied. Mianmian wiped down the counter and was just reaching for her cup of soy milk when the door swung open, hard at that.
A crisp click of heels echoed in the small shop, followed by the measured step of polished leather shoes.
Three people entered: a well-dressed elderly madam in a dark violet cheongsam with her hair done up in a pristine bun; a tall, grey-uniformed butler ushering her inside and a younger woman with curled hair, wide sunglasses perched on her head despite being indoors, and an expression like she'd stepped into a barn.
Mianmian looked up from her counter Instinctively, she could tell they weren't here for breakfast alone.
The madam spoke first, her voice cultured but direct. "We're looking for the chef."
"That would be me.." Mianmian replied calmly.
