Dating Dr. Dreamy - Lili Valente Page 0,51

“Don’t worry. Whatever it is, I’ll help. We’ll get through it.”

Together, doesn’t need to be said aloud. I can feel it in the air between us, a fact of life as undeniable as the truth that everything tastes better with bacon.

From the second I opened my eyes to find Mason watching me sleep with a smile on his face, I felt the change in our relationship. There is no more doubt, no more fear, only a deep gratitude and a feeling of…lightness. Our love is lifting us up and carrying us along, making every step, every breath, easier than it was before.

We are truly Mason and Lark again, but even more deeply connected than we were before. Now, we know exactly what a precious thing we have to lose, and we’re both determined to hold tighter, love harder, and protect our future together at all costs.

I’m sure of it.

I remain sure all the way home to Bliss River and up the walk to my parents’ house. I hold tight to Mason’s hand as Aria leads us to the picnic table behind the house where a blue folder is waiting atop the freshly stained wood.

It’s a harmless looking thing, that folder, but my pulse races anyway. Aria hasn’t been in the best mood lately, but she’s not the kind to create drama where there isn’t any. If she thinks I’m going to be upset about the contents of the folder, then she’s probably right.

“Since you wanted to look at it with Mason, I brought it out here,” Aria says, motioning to the folder, refusing to meet my gaze. She hasn’t looked up from the ground since she met me at the door. “I’ll go inside and give you two some privacy.”

“Aria, can’t you just tell me what’s going on?” I ask, not wanting my sister to leave for some strange reason. I was angry with her on the way home, but now I want as many people who love me around as possible.

Aria pauses by the back door, casting a sad glance over her shoulder. “I think it’s better that you and Mason do this alone.”

And then she’s gone and there’s nothing left to do but cross to the picnic table and pick up the folder. So I do, my hands shaking as I flip it open and pull out a bunch of papers stapled together at the upper left hand corner.

“What is it?” Mason asks from across the table.

I shake my head as I skim the first page of the document. “I don’t know. It looks like a contract.” I flip another page. “A rental agreement or something.”

“What?” Mason asks, sounding as confused as I feel. “A rental agreement for what?”

“I don’t…” I reach the last page and my words trail away.

It’s a rental agreement for an apartment in New York City. Signed by five men, one of whom is Mason Stewart. I recognize his crooked, scrawled signature immediately.

For a second, I think the document is something he signed recently, and my stomach hardens into a knot around the egg and cheese sandwich I ate on the way home. But then I look at the date next to Mason’s name, and my muscles relax with a spasm of relief.

It’s an old agreement, dated August tenth, four years ago.

August tenth…

My stomach clenches all over again.

Mason proposed to me on August fifteenth. Five days after he signed an agreement to live with four other boys in New York City. Five days after he decided to leave me and maybe never come back.

“What is it?” Mason asks, suddenly at my side though I don’t remember him circling around the table. “What’s wrong?”

I push the folder and rental agreement clumsily into his hands and move away, stumbling a few feet across the patio. Mason follows me, but I lift one hand, motioning for him to stay back, feeling like I might shatter if he touches me.

“Lark, what’s going on?” Mason asks in a deep, concerned voice. “You’re scaring me.”

“Look at it,” I whisper, fighting to speak past the misery tightening my chest.

Mason sighs in frustration, but he finally looks down at the papers in his hand, flipping to the back page, going still when he realizes what he’s holding.

“How did Aria get this?” he asks, his tone oddly flat.

“I don’t know,” I say after a moment. “Does it matter?”

“Yes, it matters,” Mason says, scowling as he snaps the folder shut and tosses it back onto the table. “A rental agreement isn’t a matter of