He intended to tell her about the restaurant reviews at some point; he had to.
It just… never came up.
The late-night meal turned into an early-morning talk over coffees and pastries in a small all-night donut shop off Queen Street, where he found out she wasn"t just a cook at La Bistro Noir—she was also the owner.
"Part owner," she corrected him, dipping a piece of donut into her coffee. "Devon has the other half. Never go into business with your friend—or ex."
"Wise advice." Mike nodded. From the way Dom was talking, she was past tired and into that slapstick exhaustion phase—something he knew all too well. But she needed someone to vent to, and he was happy to oblige.
She ran a hand through her long, red hair and cursed. "Those f*****g food bloggers. It"s all their fault."
A greas
