Page 233 of The Wishing Game

Luckily, though, we reach the shop rather fast. The building is made out of red brick, with a white sign over the door saying: Jojo's sweet ice. As we enter the shop, a few waitresses run around the place, scribbling down orders with a pleasant smile on their faces. The place is almost full. Lively chatter fills the room, with customers engaged in animated discussions while they're enjoying their desserts.

The door closes behind us and everyone stops what they're doing to stare at us.

Silence envelops the room. One of the waitresses blinks, her smile falling. All the color leaves the customers' faces, the previously relaxed atmosphere becoming heavy and intense.

I clear my throat as I look at Ze.

"What about that table?" I point to a faraway corner.

He grunts, taking my hand and leading me there. And for the first time, I'm surprised to see a gentlemanly side to him as he pulls a chair for me to sit. He takes a seat across from me, though the chair is too small for him. Still, he doesn't complain, merely letting his calculated gaze roam around the room. Although he's not saying anything, his stiff manner alone is threatening enough, and people feel the shift in the air. The shop turns eerily calm, and although people are not openly staring at us, they're still furtively stealing glances, their voices now barely above a whisper.

The waitresses are gathered in a corner, talking amongst themselves and gesturing toward our table. Eventually, one of them hunches her shoulders and comes our way, bringing two menus with her.

She lays them on the table for us and scurries out of the way before we can even thank her.

Odd.

Grabbing one of the menus, I quietly study it, thankful it comes with pictures.

"This looks so good." I smile. The ice is served in a round cup the size of my fist, and it appears there are a multitude of flavors, all served with a syrup on top.

"What will you have?" I ask Ze.

His brows are knit together as he peruses the options, but he seems conflicted about his choice.

"What will you have?" he fires back.

"Chocolate, of course." I chuckle, pointing to the chocolate chip one.

A hint of a smile tugs at his lips.

"Of course, your favorite." He nods. "What is your second favorite?"

"Hmm." I bite my lip as I glance down at the menu. They have an assortment of fruits that I'm not familiar with, but there are also a few flavors that I know well. "This." I point to the mint caramel one.

"Then that is what I shall have," he declares, pushing his menu aside.

"Are you sure?" I raise my brows. "You don't have to get it just because I like it."

"If you like it, I will like it," he states, ending the conversation as he raises his hand and beckons the waitress to our table, barking out the order succinctly.

The waitress keeps her distance, swallowing hard as she scribbles down our order. She doesn't linger as she turns her back to us, disappearing toward the kitchen.

"Why are people so rude around here?" I ask him in a low voice.

His features tighten.

"I suppose it is my presence that makes them that way."

"What do you mean?"

He purses his lips.

"Do not concern yourself with that. You are here to enjoy yourself and you will enjoy yourself," he comments, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest.

I blink repeatedly, taken aback by the vehemence in his voice.

"All right," I murmur, settling more comfortably in my chair. "Are you worried about Elora's threat? She's the king's daughter, isn't she?"

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