Zeriel stood frozen, the food tray trembling in his hand. The cacophony of impatient voices around him pressed in, the restaurant's atmosphere suffocating and far removed from anything he had ever experienced. Sweat trickled down his temple as he glanced around, unsure of his next move. This wasn't part of his plan. He had come here with confidence, determined to win Alisha's mother over. But now, with plates balancing precariously in his hands and customers glaring at him, he felt completely out of his depth.
His gaze flicked toward the elderly woman who had tasked him with serving. Mrs. Beatrice. He instinctively knew it had to be her—Alisha's mother. If earning her favor meant enduring this chaos, he wouldn't back down. Taking a steadying breath, Zeriel steeled himself.
