Delivery Man From Murim Novels & Stories

At least not for food. The doorbell chimed and she jumped up. She swung the door open and reached for the food when she stopped short. In front of her, holding out a plastic-covered delivery tray, was Ahn Jihoon. “What are you doing here?” she blurted out, though it was fairly obvious as she saw his delivery scooter behind him. “I’m working,” he said, glancing at the tray he held between them. Miyoung grabbed it, and if it hadn’t been wrapped so tightly, soup would have sloshed out of the metal bowls. She set it on the ground and held out a few bills.

Without waiting for an answer, she flipped the latches on the box and opened it. Inside was a beautiful, multi-tiered lunch pack, the kind from that impossibly expensive French-Korean fusion place downtown. The rich, savory scent of galbi jjim and truffle immediately began to fill our corner of the office. Heads started popping up over cubicle walls like curious prairie dogs, sniffing the air. My gaze drifted back to the doorway where the deliveryman had vanished. And it hit me. I’d seen him before. Briefly, in the lobby of the Nightshade fortress. He was Damon’s personal assistant.

She was in the middle of folding a blouse when the sound of the doorbell echoed through the condo. Lara paused. Her brows furrowed gently in surprise. She wasn’t expecting anyone. She padded barefoot down the stairs, her steps light against the wooden floor. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and checked the intercom screen beside the door. A man stood outside, dressed in a navy-blue courier uniform, a clipboard in one hand and a long brown envelope in the other. She opened the door. “Good morning, ma’am. Delivery for Ms. Lara Nichole Guzman,” the man said politely, holding up the clipboard.

_____ Episode 24 – Morning Delivery The 8:15 AM delivery was the only thing that got me out of bed on Mondays. It was a pathetic little ritual, born from a subscription to a local artisan bakery that promised “life-changing sourdough.” The bread was fine. The view was better. His name was Kelvin, according to the blurry photo on the delivery app. In person, he was definitely more. Six-foot-something of lean muscle packed into a company polo shirt that strained across his shoulders. Dark, tousled hair that looked like he’d just run his hands through it, and eyes the color of strong coffee. He had a smile that was equal parts friendly and knowing, a dimple punctuating his left cheek.

I say smiling. The rest of the shift passes in a blur—refills, orders, wiping tables. By closing time my feet hurt but my mind is buzzing. As I’m wiping down the last booth when the bell jingles again a delivery guy in a brown uniform steps inside, holding three glossy shopping bags tied with black ribbon. He looks around, then walks up to Mira at the counter. “Delivery for Leah?” he asks. Mira points at me. “That’s her.” He turns, heads over, and sets the bags on the counter in front of me. “Signature here, please.”

Someone butt in. When Jeremy glanced at his back, he saw a man, already standing behind him. And next to his black car, a short distance from them is a big Q Express delivery truck. As Brian elbowed Hana, the girl instantly came back to her senses. With such haste, she politely greeted the delivery man and after that, they walked towards the delivery truck that is parked right in front of the building. Meanwhile, Jeremy feels sorry that he showed up at such a busy hour. "You must be doing a lot. I will just come back here later. I'm really sorry."

Sitting in silence, in the living room, where Mica and I are always together before delivering lunch to Mahira. This morning, Mahira went to school accompanied by Bram. Bi Mun was busy cooking, preparing lunch, the aroma of food from the kitchen did not arouse the appetite at all. Suddenly the pain in my head returned, holding my head with both hands, hoping to reduce the pain. Faintly heard a voice, trying to get up from sitting, slowly walking along the wall approaching the sound that was getting clearer coming from outside the house. When the door opened, a courier was standing in front of the door. "Package, Ma'am. With Mrs. Azmia?" asked the package sender.

“That was the agreement. Not seven fifteen. Not whenever-you-felt-like-crawling-out-of-bed o’clock. Seven. Sharp.” The delivery guy, a teenager with too many piercings and not enough caffeine, scratched the back of his neck. “Traffic was hell, okay? And Derek had to switch vans with me because the regular one got towed. I’m doing my best.” “Your best is currently giving me wilted strawberries and the wrong kind of chocolate. Again.” He held up his hands like I’d just threatened his bloodline. “Look, I just deliver the stuff. Talk to dispatch if it’s a problem.”

"No, No No, Not at all, Just that I don't leave any stone unturned, I savage every angle possible." He said and the door bell rung. "That was really fast." He exclaimed. "Stardom High is Just a street away." Mrs. Kim said. He opened the door and there stopped a man with a with a document on his hand. "Detective Gomez?" "Yes." "Oh Sign here." Detective Gomez signed and after paying the Delivery Man took the document in.

Two of them were in a stalemate for a while then the doorbell suddenly rang. Kisa was about to get up, but Gilbert was a step faster. He hobbled to open the door. It might have been Gilbert's terrible expression, but the delivery man's voice was trembling, " Your.. the food you ordered. The total is 662 bucks. Just... just 650 would be fine." "650?" "Ye... yes," the person stammered. Kisa rolled her eyes and thought, 'Gilbert, this man. He's scaring the deliveryman."