@scrletscarab
It was technically bad business to save the good stuff for friends when you owned a restaurant. Jean-Paul actually ended up enjoying running this business, even though it stared as a simple cover for the rest of his life. Italian food would always be a lovely thing to be surrounded by. Plus, he would never get over the looks on customer’s faces when they asked to compliment the owner, and were thanked by a man with a heavy French accent. It would never get old.
Another perk of being the owner: he could close it whenever the hell he wanted to. It was successful enough to stay stable while keeping with his personal schedule.
Today it was closed. The blinds were pulled down over the front windows and door, but the lights inside were warm. Two people occupied the entire building: Jean-Paul and Layla.
Yes, she had married the man he loved. That simple fact left room for resentment and jealousy but he had none. There was never going to be anything between him and Marc— he had come to terms with that early on. And the more he got to know Layla, the more he adored her. She was a true friend. And Marc wasn’t the only one affected by the mess Frenchie had broken them out of.
The only sounds came from him as he moved effortlessly around the kitchen. While the bread spent some time warming up in the oven, he picked out a bottle of wine. A few minutes later he entered the main room carrying a basket of warm sliced bread, the wine, and two glasses.
Once he got to Layla he sat everything down and poured her glass first. He looked to her, smiling softly, and slid the glass over to her. “I’m glad you stopped by.” He sat down after pouring his own glass. “We haven’t spoken since we left Pleasant Hill. I wanted to see how you are doing.”
