Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband? novel Chapter 465

Mila understood immediately.

There are always those people in the world—people with plenty of money and plenty of time, who do things purely out of passion. This little private bistro was probably run by just such a person. And more often than not, people like that do things exceptionally well.

The thought made her all the more eager for the meal to come.

She was a true foodie, after all.

To her surprise, the owner and chef turned out to be a young man. He greeted Forrest with a nod, gave Mila a polite acknowledgment, and then disappeared into the kitchen without even asking for their order.

“The menu here depends entirely on the chef’s mood,” Forrest explained with a smile. “It changes every day—whatever the chef feels like making, that’s what you get.”

“What a playful approach,” Mila chuckled.

She understood this mindset well. In her own work as an artist and designer, she also followed her instincts and personal style. She admired people who lived the same way, never seeing it as odd—if anything, she found it refreshing and delightful.

They waited a good while before the chef finally emerged, carrying plates of beautifully arranged food. It wasn’t just for their table; Leonard, who had come in after them and was sitting a little farther away, received the same treatment.

The chef seemed unconcerned about any lingering drama between his customers.

Once you stepped through his door,

you were his guest.

Soon, the table was covered with a spread of familiar comfort food—some dishes artfully plated, others thrown together in a more rustic fashion. Clearly, even the presentation depended on the chef’s mood.

Mila picked up her fork and went straight for a glistening dish of caramelized sweet potatoes. As she lifted a piece, a shimmering thread of sugar stretched all the way to her plate.

She took a bite—the crisp exterior gave way to a soft, almost creamy center, sticky-sweet and fragrant. Her eyes lit up in delight, and in that moment, she finally understood why Forrest had brought her here.

This was exactly her kind of food.

She’d only ever tasted the real thing once, back when she and Forrest were in college in Kingsford, hunting for hidden culinary gems. That restaurant had closed down soon after, and she’d never found another place that made caramelized sweet potatoes quite so perfectly. She’d even tried to make them herself, but the flavor was never quite right. It had turned into one of those cravings that lingered for years, almost becoming a regret.

She never expected to find such an authentic, delicious version here—it was a revelation, pure and simple.

Her fork didn’t stop moving.

Seeing how much she enjoyed it, Forrest’s smile deepened. He slipped on a pair of gloves and slowly began peeling shrimp for her, murmuring, “You should try some of the other dishes too—they’re just as good.”

Mila managed a muffled “Mmm-hmm,” mouth still full of sweet potato.

After swallowing another bite, she finally protested, “I can peel my own shrimp, you know. You should eat too.”

“Alright,” Forrest replied, dropping a few perfectly peeled shrimp into her bowl before slipping off his gloves and starting on his own food. He knew Mila well—he understood exactly how close he could get without crossing her boundaries. Whenever he edged a little further, he always pulled back at just the right moment, giving her the space she needed to get used to his presence, his affection.

He was breaking down her defenses, bit by bit.

And whether in the past or now, she couldn’t help but feel guilty toward Forrest.

How could she disappoint him again?

But did she really have it in her to try?

Setting her fork down, Mila slowly looked up, locking eyes with the man across from her. They sat in silence for a while before she exhaled softly. “Forrest, I was pretty clear with you in the tearoom. You know how I feel.”

“I do,” he said, smiling as he picked up a piece of fish and placed it in her bowl. “I understand. I’m not trying to pressure you—I just want you to remember how I feel. Please, don’t ever forget that.”

At his words, Mila let out a long breath and smiled again. She picked up the shrimp and fish he’d placed in her bowl, echoing him softly.

“I know.”

…

Laughter and easy conversation returned to the table, the atmosphere lightening again. Just then, the bright red front door swung open, and another guest stepped inside.

Mila looked up in surprise.

The newcomer spotted her, paused for the briefest moment, then strode right over and sat down at their table—without the slightest hint of hesitation or courtesy.