Blue Dahlia Bistro Photos Mga Nobela at Kwento

“Hungry?” I was, but I felt a bit guilty showing it, so I played it off casually. “No, I’m okay.” He rolled his eyes at the manufactured modesty. “Let’s go.” Felix took me to a bistro café, a vision of quaint charm and inviting warmth. The exterior was a soft pastel blue with a trim accentuating the building’s vintage architectural features. Flower boxes brimmed with vibrant petunias that bordered the windowsills, their blossoms spilling over and adding a burst of color against the serene backdrop.

Beside it sat a small BBQ pavilion shaded by wooden beams, with a long stone counter and comfortable seating. It looked like a place meant for gatherings. For laughter. For life. Yet what caught Dahlia's attention most was the garden. Dahlias bloomed everywhere. Rows upon rows of them in soft harmony— crimson, coral pink, ivory-peach. Her favorite. Her chest tightened. She remembered mentioning them once— only once— during a quiet evening years ago. He hadn't been listening. At least…she had always believed he wasn't. She could still remember the bored look on his face that evening. The cold, "Mm" he murmured at intervals.

"Doesn’t matter to me, Gahn. A few weeks ago, I was scraping together spare change just to eat, so... "The clothes I’m wearing. Jason picked them out. Pull over here, I’m getting out. Where are we meeting?" she asked. "That brick building on the corner—steakhouse. We’ll eat there." "Perfect. See you in an hour," she said, snatching her purse and jacket. Dahlia headed back to the store she’d been eyeing earlier. A young guy greeted her as she walked in. "You restore photos and put them in albums, right?" she asked.

He looked like a fool when he was asked what he thought about it, and the Dylan who always had something to say could not form a proper statement this time. Dylan heard a vibration which pulled him out of his train of thoughts. He checked and saw that he had received a message from Alexa about the restaurant reservation. Dylan clicked the pictures open and began to go scroll through. There was one that caught his attention. The interior was kind of glamorous,but very breathtakingly beautiful. The chair were curved in, and it had no colour, instead it had mirror-like stuff for the back cover, then cream coloured insides.

Whitmore was no longer saved in her phone, and she didn't have time to check from hospital to hospital. “ We are here,” the driver said, stopping in front of a small art studio tucked between two brick buildings.”Should I wait for you? You look tense.” The driver asked, but Dahlia couldn't put him in danger if this turned out to be another trap. So, she gave him a kind smile but shook her head, “No, sir. I'll be fine.” She then gave him the cash, and he drove off. Dahlia walked towards the small building with a faded sign above the door that read:

Today, however, she was amazed to see this small restaurant tucked away in Richburgh’s alley. The restaurant was small in size, but it was simply exquisite. The two enamel vases at the entrance were especially eye-catching. Diana had only seen such fine patterns at exclusive auctions, yet the restaurant was using them as decorations.

Arabella tilted her head slightly, studying the images. “So this is the famous farm,” she said softly. The word sounded faintly unpleasant in her mouth. She scrolled again. Another post. More comments. Beautiful venue! Can’t wait for the wedding! So charming! Of course it was charming. People loved pretending simple things were romantic. Then her thumb stopped. She moved the phone closer to her face without meaning to. She zoomed in. Dahlia stood in the foreground talking to one of the workers, her hands moving as she explained something.

"The customers are watching." "I don’t really care." I said. I could see certain parts of the wall behind the pictures and letters. The pictures were a lot older here, from years ago… I scanned them, looking for that picture of mine, when a certain image caught my eye. It was of a woman hugging a young girl with a mop of gorgeous black curls. Oh, I’d recognize her anywhere. Dahlia… and along with her was none other than my aunt… I smirked slightly. Dahlia would like this. I looked at it noticing it was taken here at the restaurant.

“Claire. She’s an old friend from college. We’re catching up at The Blue Fern.” Mr. Houston nodded approvingly. “Good, good. A man should always maintain his connections.” Lily’s fork scraped against her plate. “Right. Connections.” Taylor glanced between us like she was watching a tennis match. After breakfast, I stood to leave, thanking Mr. Houston for the meal. “Always a pleasure, sir.” He smiled warmly. “You’re welcome anytime, son.” Lily’s glare could’ve burned a hole through my back. The Blue Fern was a small but classy restaurant near the river. I was sitting across from Claire short brunette hair, easy smile, same sharp wit she’d always had.