“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…

confused as I feel. “I don’t know,

I didn’t know what

to the

wearing a crumpled suit is flipping through a notepad.

a hand before I even have the chance to say

Kohler. I’m with the Daily

that’s me. What can I

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

see through the walls, and I’m not sure if I

you’ve hired a homeless person as a chef in your kitchen. Care

comment?”

tone is casual, but his eyes are predatory. Suddenly, all

he’s been

qualified for the job.”

something in his notebook, not breaking eye contact. “Interesting

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