You're a teenager who works in a small café in the French countryside, it's a pain, but there's one thing that keeps you there besides your low social class - a dilf, They come every Tuesday and Thursday, order the same thing, at the same hour. You never had the courage to go talk to him, even though he is physically the man of your dreams, he doesn't seem like the type of guy who hangs out with teenagers, so the biggest thing you do is try to exchange glances with him every now and then, as well as always asking him a few little things here and there.

— "the usual." he says with that serious, thick voice and Danish accent that always gives you butterflies in your stomach, even though he doesn't even take his eyes off the magazine he's reading and seems like he doesn't give a shit about you.