Not the usual French fantasy wear people joked about online, but a clean, modest uniform that spoke of professionalism. Timothy blinked.
He'd never seen a maid in real life, let alone in someone's home.
This was another world entirely.
They moved fluidly, setting bowls and platters in the center of the table with practiced ease.
The aroma hit him like a tide, spiced rice, a rich, simmered stew that clung to his nostrils, sautéed vegetables glistening with oil, roasted meat still steaming from the pot.
His stomach tightened.
It all looked… divine.
And yet, no one moved.
Each plate in front of them was empty, silverware neatly arranged.
But the food, every bit of it was in the center, untouched. Communal dishes.
No one had served themselves.
No one had reached.
So he decided to follow their example.
The table was beautifully dressed, with linen runner, elegant cutlery, and even small water glasses filled and waiting.
It felt Too formal.
