Bistro 313 Novels & Stories

"Name any restaurant within a ten-block radius. Don't worry about the lines or the wait times." The twins exchanged a wide-eyed, slightly bewildered look. Freya cleared her throat. "Um, there’s that artisanal bistro, *La Grenier*, down on 21st? Their truffle chicken paninis and chopped salads are incredible, but they don't even do standard takeout during the rush..." I looked up at Mei. "A truffle chicken panini, a chopped salad, and whatever their best pasta dish is today. Have the driver take the SUV, bypass the standard line, and tell the manager it’s an order for the Vesper penthouse. He’ll clear it."

After thinking for a bit, he added, "Make sure it's from the best restaurant." Joe was very efficient. 20 minutes later, he brought back an elegantly packed to-go container and gave it to Hansel. However, Hansel frowned as soon as he opened the container. "Is this lobster bisque? Why did you buy me that?" Joe was confused. "Blossom Bistro is famous for their creamy lobster bisque, Mr. Johnson. You—" "Never mind. You may leave." The lobster bisque smelled wonderful and tasted delicious. The taste of lobster wasn't too overpowering, and it wasn't too salty either, so every mouthful of the bisque was like heaven to the tastebuds.

After thinking about it, Sherman said, "Don't you like the soup on South Lane very much? Why don't we go and have some soup together?" Kingsley seemed to be delighted to hear that Sherman knew a lot about his taste. The bistro named The Flavor on South Lane was full of customers. Kingsley ordered an elegant private room with antique decoration. The soup bowls in this bistro were wooden. Sherman knew his taste. He liked the minestrone soup, and she also ordered some toast and fried chicken wings.

Although, as I stepped outside, I could have sworn I heard him mutter the words: “Deserved it…” The restaurant Claire picked out was in the same region as The Splendor, although thankfully, we didn’t pass by the lounge; I wasn’t sure if I could handle looking at the place just yet after what happened. Instead, we went to a nice bistro overlooking a lake, with an appetizer menu the length of my forearm and a lot of seafood options.

The foot traffic is dense enough that we should be ghosts. The bistro is all polished brass and white marble, smelling of expensive roast and cold ambition. Callum Hart is already there, his massive, military-trained frame looking like it’s about to burst out of a slim-fit Italian suit. He’s nursing an espresso, his eyes scanning the door with the predatory stillness of a man who hasn't slept in forty-eight hours.

Right away. Even the air got quiet. Carl's eyes were dark. "Yeah, I did see it." So this meant you weren't planning to hide it anymore? The Lucky Potent boy nearby was listening. "Chicago Tribune" like this, Moon Joy Bistro had one too. Carl said casually, "You probably didn't notice it last time you went, most people wouldn't." Moon Joy Bistro? Amelia remembered that unusual restaurant. According to what people knew, it started a hundred years ago.

I've learned to be wary of people who see through my carefully constructed walls, especially when they seem pleased by what they find there. The bistro sits just off the New Haven Green, warm amber light spilling from tall windows onto the street. The space buzzes with the comfortable chaos of students and professors, silverware chiming against ceramic plates, soft jazz drifting from speakers tucked into exposed brick. Intimate without being claustrophobic. The kind of place where conversations matter. Weston reserved a corner table in an alcove. Of course he did. It offers a full view of the dining room while remaining private. Planned ahead in exactly the way Weston plans everything, which

Chance mumbled out loud. The message clearly instructed room 12C, that is the C apartment on the 12th floor. As much Chance was dreading the idea of sex, he was sort of excited for the view from up there. He went inside, staring at the lavish interior of the place as he proceeded. On the twelfth floor, he finally made it to the dorr 12C and considered thrice before eventually knocking on the door. After a while, a man showed up at the door, brushing his hair off with the towel. “I see you finally made it,” Terrence invited Chance in.

he agreed. Sophia had arranged for a car to pick up Michael from his office. She had chosen The Sartorial Bistro, a fabulous new restaurant in the heart of the city that had caught her eye. It was a place she had been meaning to visit for the past month, known for its fusion cuisine combining American flavors with global influences. The restaurant boasted a breathtaking view of the entire city, and its walls were adorned with lush hedges, creating an ambiance that felt like an escape from the urban hustle.

The buildings were close together, their colors faded by the sun. The car finally stopped in a narrow alley behind a row of buildings. The sign on the back door said "Bistro Lilas," the paint peeling. "Remember what I told you," Dante said, his voice low. He didn't look at me. "You are a shadow. You see nothing. You hear nothing. You say nothing." I just nodded, my throat too dry to speak. He got out. I followed. Rico and the driver stayed by the car. The inside of the bistro was dim and smelled of old wine and garlic. It was empty except for one man sitting at a corner table. He was older, with sharp eyes and gray hair, a napkin tucked into his collar as he ate a plate of pasta.