"Would you call it spying if I manage the restaurant?" Dominique asked, as she walked closer to the mysterious man playing the piano. He looked vaguely familiar from behind, but she was too entranced in the music to look more closely until he addressed her.
Dominique should've been home by now, by all means. But she was a workaholic. A workaholic back home and a workaholic here in this place where she was pulled without her say whatsoever. It wasn't as if she had ever desired to be here managing a restaurant, pregnant with twins, but somehow it all worked. If only she could stop worrying about her friends and her family, stop being so angry at Petersen, everything would work out perfectly.