“Uh, please excuse us,” Quila told the well-built, good-looking Caucasian with a slightly cleft chin and square jaw. He was tall and smelled like cedarwood and amber. His scent was kind of powdery, warm and sweet. She actually liked it. His appearance was somehow different from the others. He wore a gray polo shirt, paired with jeans and sneakers. Usually, the male foreigners she saw around the city would only wear shorts, shirts and slippers, as though they were right in their house.
The Brit’s reddish lips pursed slightly as he nodded to her.
Her heart was thumping against her chest. She thought he would make a scene after acting rude to him. She knew she had to be polite, but she somehow felt uncomfortable at the way he was looking at her. It was not the bad uncomfortable way. In fact
