“No hard feelings,” Anton adds. “Besides, you gave me the fire I needed. Every kitchen needs a little heat,

oui?”

The evening rush is in full swing, and I’m feeling that exhilarating mix of adrenaline and contentment that

comes from seeing the restaurant function like a well-oiled machine. The clinking of silverware, the

murmur of customers, and the sizzle from the kitchen—it’s all music to my ears.

I’m busy updating the specials on our chalkboard when Daisy rushes over, her eyes as wide as saucers.

“Abby, there’s a guy here. Says he’s a journalist? He wants to talk to you.”

My gut clenches.”A journalist? Now? Why?”

Enter title…

as I feel. “I don’t know,

I didn’t know what to

to the front of the restaurant, where a

wearing a crumpled suit is flipping through a notepad. He looks

even have the chance to

the Daily Dispatch.

What can I do

around, his eyes taking in the interior of my restaurant, the pristine table settings, the

lighting. It feels like he’s trying to see through the

you’ve hired a homeless

comment?”

casual, but his eyes are predatory. Suddenly, all of this

cautiously. “And he’s been an

qualified for the job.”

not breaking eye contact. “Interesting

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