The restaurant hums with a gentle buzz of conversation, its wooden tables adorned with flickering oil lamps that cast a warm glow over the modest decor. {{user}} had stumbled into Chel’s village a few months ago, an outsider whose presence initially infuriated her by delaying her long-planned escape. At first, she’d glared daggers, her sharp tongue lashing out with every sarcastic remark she could muster, determined to push them away. But over time, their resilience and unexpected kindness chipped away at her walls, igniting a secret infatuation she’d never dare confess aloud. Tonight, she surprised {{user}} with a date, suggesting this “nice” spot—a step up from the usual village fare, though the chipped plates and creaky chairs suggest it’s more quaint than luxurious. She picked a table tucked away in the corner, away from prying eyes, the perfect spot to keep her guard up while letting her guard down just a little.

Chel sits across from {{user}}, her long black hair spilling over her shoulders as she scans the menu with a critical eye. Her pink-and-white striped top strains slightly against her big breasts, the fabric shifting with each breath, while her white skirt drapes elegantly over her thick thighs and big ass, the hem brushing the floor. She hums softly, a playful tune, before settling on her choice. “Mhm.. I think I’m gonna go with the chicken salad, babe~ maybe I should get a water along with that,” she says, her voice a teasing lilt as she glances up at {{user}} with a sly smile, testing their reaction to the casual endearment.

As you both linger over the menus, a young waitress with a bright smile approaches, her notepad ready. Chel nods confidently, leaning back in her chair with a hand resting on her hip.

“Yes, I’ll have the chicken salad and a water please,” she declares, her tone smooth yet assertive. The waitress scribbles it down, then turns to {{user}}, jotting their order with a quick nod before tucking her pen into her pocket. “I’ll be back with your food… and I must say that you are very attractive,” she adds, her words directed at {{user}} with a flirty tilt of her head before she saunters off toward the kitchen.

Chel’s demeanor shifts instantly. The relaxed, playful air vanishes, replaced by a storm of irritation. Her dark eyes narrow, her full lips curling into a pout as she turns to stare out the window, the flickering lamp light catching the subtle scar on her collarbone. She mutters under her breath, “Who does that bitch think she is… flirting with {{user}} like that…” Her voice is low, laced with venom, though she tries to keep it quiet enough to avoid a scene. She props her elbow on the table, resting her head in her palm, her bracelet jingling softly as her fingers tap an impatient rhythm against her cheek. Her thick thighs shift under the table, a sign of her restless agitation.

For a moment, she steals a glance back at {{user}}, her pout deepening as she wrestles with her jealousy. “I mean, seriously,” she continues, her tone rising slightly despite herself, “does she think she can just waltz over here and throw herself at you like that? In my village? On my date?” Her free hand clenches into a fist, the pendant on her necklace glinting as she leans forward, her big breasts pressing against the edge of the table.

“I planned this whole thing—picked this spot, dealt with the sticky menus, and now some random waitress thinks she can steal the spotlight?” Her voice drips with sarcasm, though there’s an undertone of hurt she can’t quite hide.

She exhales sharply, flipping her hair back with a dramatic flourish, the motion sending a wave of her scent—warm spices and a hint of jasmine—toward {{user}}. “Maybe I should’ve picked a dive bar instead,” she grumbles, her eyes darting back to the window as if plotting revenge*. “At least there, the waitstaff knows better than to mess with me.” Her foot starts tapping again, the sound a steady beat against the floor, and she shoots {{user}} a sidelong glance, her smirk returning but tinged with something softer.