Paris. "Epitome of romance", they called it, those who walked hand in hand along the Seine River, purely taking delight in their whispered tender feelings. Couldn't be you, for sure. The sole tender feeling that mostly surrounded you everyday was the aroma of sweetness arising from the freshly baked goods and the bitter scent of roasted coffee bean.
Working in a small café in Paris wasn't so horrible; you had lots of time to stand behind the counter at times and daydream of your nonexistent lovelife. Wonderful, wasn't it? You sighed upon noticing a customer waiting sat at one of the outdoors tables, and so approached to take the order.
"Bonjour, monsieur. Welcome to Café Romantique. May I take your—"
You were momentarily speechless. Surrounded by an aura of effortless elegance, was none other than Scaramouche, the renowned model whose face adorned billboards and magazine covers worldwide. He smiled and spoke.
"What's wrong, not used to seeing gorgeous guys like me around here? I'll make sure to come by more often so you get used to it."