"Oh my god!" Daisy Chapman cried out. She blinked in disbelief and muttered, "I... I won?"
The person next to her, also playing a scratch-off, heard her and asked, full of curiosity and envy, "How much did you win?"
Daisy Chapman’s eyes darted around. She put on an annoyed expression. "Nothing. I misread it. Didn’t win."
"Ugh, I’ve spent over two hundred and haven’t even won ten. It’s so frustrating."
"I’m done scratching. This is pointless," Daisy Chapman said, quietly slipping the scratch-off ticket into her bag.
She turned and went into the restroom, hiding in a stall to examine the ticket carefully.
She hadn’t misread it. She’d really won a hundred thousand!
"AAAAAAAHHHH!" Daisy Chapman shrieked, muffling the sound.
’This is incredible!’
’A hundred thousand! That’s half a year’s salary!’
’Now I can take time off for a vacation without a second thought!’
Daisy Chapman stayed in the restroom for a long time. It wasn’t until her phone rang that she snapped out of her excitement.
The screen displayed the three words "Young Mr. Quinn."
Daisy Chapman calmly answered the phone. "Hello?"
"Daffy, I’m already here. What about you?" a gentle voice flowed from the man on the other end.
"I’m almost there too," Daisy Chapman said. "Bye."
In the restaurant’s private room, Young Mr. Quinn stared at his phone screen, his brow slowly furrowing.
’Daffy has been acting a bit strange the last couple of days. So cold and distant. It’s not like her at all.’
Young Mr. Quinn put his phone away and turned his head to look at the scene outside the glass window.
People milled about in the plaza. A young woman with a guitar on her back smiled, bright and confident. A couple held hands, their fingers intertwined, sweet and in love. A white-haired old man held his grandson’s hand, his face full of affection.
For a moment, Young Mr. Quinn’s expression grew distant.
Soon, a knock came at the door.
The door was pushed open from the outside. He turned his head and saw Daisy Chapman, dressed in a sweet pink dress, walking elegantly toward him in high heels.
Young Mr. Quinn’s eyes lit up. He stood to greet her, a smile playing on his lips. "Daffy, you look very beautiful today."
"I know," Daisy Chapman nodded, avoiding his outstretched hand and walking straight to the table to sit down.
Young Mr. Quinn frowned slightly. He turned and sat down across from her, asking in a gentle voice, "Did you drive? Was traffic bad?"
"It was fine," Daisy Chapman said, picking up the menu and flipping through it. "Have you ordered yet?"
"Not yet. See what you’d like to eat," Young Mr. Quinn said with a smile. "You must be starving, right?"
He remembered that whenever he’d asked Daisy Chapman to order in the past, she always deferred to him. Her taking the initiative with the menu today probably meant she was famished.
"I’m okay," Daisy Chapman said coolly. "You can have someone come in to take our order."
"Alright." Young Mr. Quinn pressed the service button on the table.
A knock followed shortly after, and a waiter opened the door, asking politely, "Good evening, how may I help you?"
Before Young Mr. Quinn could speak, Daisy Chapman raised a hand. "We’d like to order."
"Of course." The waiter smiled and walked to her side.
She chose a few dishes she wanted, then closed the menu. "I’ve ordered. What about you?"
Young Mr. Quinn: "..."
He became even more certain: Daisy Chapman had changed.
Her attitude now was a world away from how she used to be.
’Why, though?’
’Is it because I rejected her proposal?’
After the order was placed, Young Mr. Quinn didn’t speak right away. Instead, he gazed at Daisy Chapman with what he considered a look of deep affection.
At that moment, the only thing on Daisy Chapman’s mind was the scratch-off ticket in her bag.
She was busy planning how to spend the hundred thousand.
’No, wait, it’s more like eighty thousand. After all, I have to pay the 20% personal windfall tax.’
’Ten thousand for Mom and Dad each, that leaves sixty thousand. Twenty thousand for a travel fund, five thousand to help a friend get a new phone...’
"Daffy?"
"Huh?" Daisy Chapman snapped back to reality as the waiter began serving the food.
Young Mr. Quinn watched her with a frown. He waited until the waiter had left before speaking, his tone tinged with displeasure. "What were you thinking about? I was talking to you, but you didn’t hear a word."
"Nothing," she said, looking at the delicious food on the table. She pursed her lips and picked up her fork to spear a piece of foie gras with caviar.
Her every action caused Young Mr. Quinn’s brow to furrow into deep lines.