— ROAN —
Momo's is already packed, because duh—it always is. For good reason, too!
The place sits wedged between two stone ridges as if it grew there instead of being built—low ceiling, wide hearth, smoke curling out of a crooked chimney that never quite behaves. It looks just as cozy as it feels.
The smell hits before we even get inside.
Meat.
Garlic.
Broth so rich it could probably revive the dead.
I sigh like a man who has found religion. "Gods, I missed this place. Please tell me we're going to eat here?"
When I turn to plead with Zoryn, she's already marching in through the front door. I don't even think she heard me—makes sense, as soon as she smells food, she might as well be blind and deaf.
I can't help the small smile that tugs at my lips—that's my girl.
