CINNAMON
A woman stood there in a black uniform, white blouse, black vest, hair pulled back in a sleek bun. But it wasn't her I was staring at.
It was the trolley.
Green roses. Hundreds of them. Arranged in a massive display that must have taken hours to put together. Not the typical red or pink or white. These were deep forest green with darker green edges, unusual and striking and somehow perfect.
"Delivery for Ms. Wealth." The woman smiled. "From Mr. DM."
Mr. DM. Dante Moretti.
My heart did something complicated in my chest.
"Thank you." I stepped aside to let her wheel the trolley in.
But there was more. Beside the roses sat a platter of chicken tenders arranged like a bouquet itself. Golden and perfect, arranged in a rose pattern with small cups of honey mustard tucked betwee
