Is There A Problem?
The man nodded and handed over a ten-dollar note.
The tips of his fingernails were stained black, his forearm dirty with the same dried mud that discolored his jeans.
“Is there a problem?” he asked gruffly, pulling Kiara from her scrutiny. “No, sir,” she quickly said, forcing a smile as she dialed the man’s order into her tablet. Something didn’t feel right.
