Eluna’s P.O.V.
The scent of rosemary focaccia and sizzling garlic butter wafted through the restaurant that evening, making my stomach growl even though I had already stolen a bread roll in the kitchen like a culinary raccoon.
Koda’s restaurant wasn’t just a place to eat—it was the place. Couples came here to propose. Celebrate anniversaries. Drop hints with strategically ordered desserts. It was cozy and elegant, and my brother's culinary magic turned even the simplest ingredients into art. Fairview might’ve been small, but when it came to food, we didn’t mess around.
And I also worked here—waitressing in the nicest restaurant in town, which meant I spent a lot of time pretending I didn’t drool every time Koda sent out a steak cooked in bone marrow butter.
“Don’t look now,” Jules murm
