Phil sat in his office, the warm hues of late afternoon sunlight streaming through the small window, casting a golden glow on the polished oak desk.
The rich scent of simmering sauces and freshly baked bread wafted in from the kitchen, mingling with the faint aroma of leather and paper in his office.
His fingers traced the edge of an old menu, but his mind was far from the culinary delights that had made his restaurant the talk of the town of Florittle.
He leaned back in his chair, his thoughts drifting to Elena. He could picture her face clearly in his mind's eye. Her mischievous smile, the way her eyes sparkled when she laughed, and the sound of her voice, a melody that lingered long after she had spoken.
Remembering all that, Phil found himself grinning, especially as the memory of their last encounter came to mind. Her playful banter and the way she had teased him, her presence a bright spot in his otherwise routine days.
