“Good morning again, Anastasia. I made some hangover soup for you. Quit drinking. :D P.S. Sorry, can’t join you for breakfast today.”
It was another note from Fritz. Joe said he left at 5:30 a.m. It’s only 7 a.m. When and how did he make this soup? I’m sure he thought of this before leaving that message earlier.
“Uhm, when and how did he make this soup?” I asked Martin curiously.
He shrugged. “That boy is very mysterious. He has a key to the café, you know. And, this is like his second home already. He cooks for us here all the time. I’m sure he made it here. Because he also left me this note.” Martin handed me another note.
“Sorry, Marts, I crashed again. I need a huge favor. I cooked chicken soup for Anastasia. She had a good time last night, and for sure, she’ll wake up with a han
