Bite Me

I started *Bite Me* expecting another Napa-set romance with sun-drenched vineyards and a soulmate trope so predictable it practically smells like roses. Wyatt Baker’s narration pulled me in with Miles Costa’s restless energy, a chef whose knives could probably out-argue a Parisian food critic. Baker’s voice for Miles is all jagged edges and restless pacing, like he’s physically vibrating with the need to break free. That energy sells the story: Miles isn’t just a pretty face with a piping bag; he’s a man who’s been told he’s “so talented” one too many times and is done being a decorative genius with no outlet for his fire. The romance with the bartender next door, Noah, isn’t a gentle slide into love—it’s a collision. Noah’s smirk is audible in Baker’s tone, and the chemistry is electric in a way that makes you lean into your headphones. Baker nails the side characters too: the exhausted sous chef, the meddling landlord, the ex who shows up uninvited. The production is crisp, with no distracting echoes even in the wine cellar scenes, but the pacing stumbles once or twice when the plot veers into a subplot about Miles’s past that feels tacked on. Still, the heart of the story—the push and pull between Miles and Noah—is compelling enough to carry the runtime. If you want a romance that reads like a rom-com but *feels* like a drama, *Bite Me* delivers. Just don’t expect a fairy-tale ending. It’s messier than that—and all the better for it.