Ella's POV:
Today at the diner was just as chaotic as usual. The place was packed, with my boss yelling my name every few minutes, reminding me I couldn't slack for even a second. I was racing between tables, balancing plates of food and refilling drinks, trying to keep up with the nonstop orders.
In the middle of it all, Dylan appeared—again—with his typical smirk, holding out a bouquet of roses and a box of chocolates. "For you, sweetheart," he said, grinning like he expected me to swoon right then and there.
I barely glanced at the flowers. "I'm allergic," I said bluntly, turning back to the table I was clearing. I wasn't actually allergic, but I was allergic to the drama that followed these kinds of gestures. Especially in a place like this, where everyone had eyes on everything.
