Bistro 313 Novels & Stories

Lana just messaged me that she's already inside. I put my phone back into my pocket and stepped in. The classic bistro interior immediately greeted my eyes. On one side, there was a long bar table and tall chairs in front of it, while the elegant white table set filled the other side of the room. I waved at Lana, who was already sitting at one of the tables. As it was still lunchtime, the bistro looked slightly crowded. Lana looked beautiful in a casual light blue dress that matched her gray eyes. In front of her was a glass of white wine she had already drunk.

“Very well, ma'am. Where should I meet you?” Reyona looked around at the softening evening light as she tried to remember if there were any good restaurants around. The station where Rouarke worked was not far from her present location anyway, so she might as well kill two birds with one stone. She remembered a place with Italian dishes just some distance from where she was. “Can you meet me at Ariel’s Bistro?” “I will be there in minutes,” Rouarke said eagerly. Reyon disconnected the call and drove the few distances to the small, intimate bistro with its bubbly owner.

She continues as she rings on the table bell and a man in a chef’s uniform approaches her. “ Evening to you all. I am Andre Louis, the head chef and owner of Bistro Le Cep. I will be at your service this evening, to ensure your evening goes smoothly.” The man says with a thick french accent. Of course they were going to be taken care of by the owner. The richest people in the country were in his building. What owner wouldn’t prioritize them for the evening. “ Now, what are we starting with.” He continues with a friendly smile. “ Okay, so for starters we’ll be having the Boeuf Bourguignon, some lyonnaise salad and of course Bouillabaisse, just incase our lovely fiancée loves sea food.” Lucia

"Great. Let's meet at our rendezvous point." * * * * Their rendezvous point was a family bistro downtown owned by two old couple who made the best Bouillabaisse. Money seemed not to be a problem with the couple, probably why they didn't care much about the underpopulation of their bistro. Well, that lack of population was the reason they'd preferred there as their meeting place—that is, apart from the mouthwatering dishes.

He laughed, “Well then, if really want to thank me, maybe you’ll buy me dinner instead. As thanks for keeping your hands clean of royal bloodshed.” I blinked. I was a bit surprised by his request. “You want a thank-you meal?” I asked. He shrugged. “Just one. No ulterior motives. I’m starving and you seem like you know the good places.” I bit back a grin. “Fine. But I’m picking the restaurant.” “Wouldn’t have it any other way.” * The little bistro near the eastern wall was my favorite. It had a quiet terrace that had fairy lights on top. By the time we sat down, the sun had set.

She tried the main reception desk. "I'm sorry, I don't have that information," the receptionist said politely. Andrea hung up and pressed her hands flat against her desk, taking a slow breath. “Ugh…he could've at least given me a hint, her voice sounded drained “...and why isn't Lindsay picking up already.” She spent the next thirty minutes calling nearby restaurants, asking if they had a regular order for Henry Moore or Crestview Holdings but all of the restaurants replied with the negative. Finally, a high-end bistro called Marcello's confirmed they had a standing order for him.

"And starving. I've been on a scaffold since six thirty. Come on." "Diego, I need to get downtown." "Killian has ninety floors of people terrified of him," he said, taking my elbow and steering me gently down the block. "He'll survive forty five minutes without you. There's a place up here, tucked behind an old carriage house." "What kind of place?" "An old Parisian bistro," he said. "Zinc bar, red leather, real butter. Nobody in there will ask you for a projection." Before I could argue, he was already opening the door.

“See? Perfect. You look fresh and polite, exactly what my cousin wants to see.” Despite the nerves churning in my stomach, her confidence made me smile. “Thank you… for everything.” She waved me off. “No need to thank me until you get hired. Then you can buy me milk tea.” We laughed together, a small sound that felt like the first genuine piece of joy. The resto bar was tucked on a busy street corner, its sign painted in bold red letters that read La Luna Bistro. Even from outside, I could smell garlic and herbs, the faint buzz of chatter and clinking dishes seeping through the doors.