Kane
I imagined her growing up with a chef. No wonder she couldn't cook. My Luna mom would definitely have a heart attack if she found out about that little detail, if she didn't already know.
"Which restaurant?" I asked. I only ate at a few restaurants because they used healthy, fatty oils, and I was very careful about my diet.
"Kettle Island," she replied, trying to keep a straight face. It was one of the best restaurants in the City, my second choice after Bread and Butler.
"I'll have a drink."
"You can freshen up in the guest room; there are clean towels in the closets. I'll heat the food." She pointed to the guest room and left.
I sighed in my apartment, and I am a guest. Standing up, I leisurely walked into the room. It had a girly feel: blue and purple hues, bright colors. From the bedspreads to the walls.
Reaching the bathroom, I washed my face and ran a wet hand through my hair, pushing it back.
