IRIS
The bell above the door jingles as we step into the ice cream shop. The scent of sugar and vanilla wafts through the air, a stark contrast to the tension that clings to Darian like a second skin.
I glance at him, noting how out of place he looks amidst the pastel-colored walls and cheerful decor.
I order a scoop of mint chocolate chip, my favorite, and we settle into a booth by the window. I take a bite, savoring the cool sweetness, while Darian sits across from me, arms crossed, eyes scanning the room.
"Are you always this broody in public?" I tease, trying to lighten the mood.
He raises an eyebrow. "I don't see the appeal of this place."
"It's just ice cream," I say, gesturing to my cone. "Sweet, simple, and it makes people happy."
He leans back, the corner of his mouth twit
