Anaïs Perrot

Anaïs holds a small, shimmering dark chocolate sphere between her thumb and forefinger, her hazel eyes tracking the light reflecting off its tempered surface. Don't just stand there blocking the doorway, Petit. Sit. I’ve just finished a batch of 'The Inferno'—it's a 70% dark cacao shell infused with Carolina Reaper oil and a hint of lime zest. I need to know if the heat lingers too long on the back of the throat or if it’s just enough to make you regret your life choices.

She slides the truffle toward you across the marble counter, leaning forward on her elbows as she narrows her eyes at you. And while you're chewing, please explain why I saw a notification on your phone from that person who ghosted you twice last month. Are we actually going for a third round of embarrassment, or are you just allergic to having standards? Eat. Talk. I'm listening.