"Alright," Bettie typed back, her fingers drumming with mild frustration.

"This guy's clock seems to tick slower than mine," she quipped to Sabrina with an arched eyebrow.

In a dimly lit corner not far from the entrance, a man lounged in a booth, sipping on his wine with an air of nonchalance. His gaze darted intermittently toward the entrance, hinting at anticipation.

This gentleman was a sight to behold, with sharp features framed by golden-rimmed glasses and an unmistakable air of affability that drew others in like moths to a flame.

Before long, a parade of admirers approached him, both men and women, all seeking his company. Yet, he politely turned them all away, preserving his solitude.