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Crunch, crunch.
“Ah, it’s sweet.”
The fork that had held the fruit remained suspended in the air, now empty.
Ha Yun-sang, who had somehow ended up feeding someone, asked with his eyes what she was trying to pull. But the person in question merely wiped away the moisture, split the apple in half, and casually handed one piece to the side.
To break the awkward atmosphere, Woojung let out a bleat-like laugh.
“Ahahaha.”
Besides, she couldn’t eat Korean melon anyway because of her allergy.
“Ju-shin, you must really like Korean melon.”
It wasn’t as if the guy could have done...
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