The Mercenary Next Door (Rogues and Rescuers #2) - Lucy Leroux Page 0,16
her fine eyebrows rose, and he shrugged. “The kind of work I do, it wears you down. I have to run through minefields, sometimes literally. I’ve been beaten to hell, shot, and stabbed. I also had this really bad splinter once.” He widened his arms, imitating her earlier pose. “It was huge—the white whale of splinters.”
He put his arms down when Laila giggled, her posture relaxed.
She reached into the case, grabbed something, and held it up. “Cookie?” she asked, pushing it toward him.
“Sure.” He took it, intending on taking a single bite, but it was so good he couldn’t stop himself from inhaling the rest. “Oh my God. That was so good. What flavor was that?”
“Salted caramel chocolate chunk,” she said, clearly more comfortable talking about food. “Anyway, now that midterms are over, I’ve been picking up extra shifts. I’m not ducking you or anything.”
“I know that,” he said. “I got your note. No thanks were necessary, by the way. It was my fault you couldn’t study at your place. I made the guys promise not to let things get that out of hand again, at least not during the week. But if you ever have an issue, let me know, and I can get you another room.”
“That’s above and beyond, you know,” she said with a twist of her lips. “Especially since I’m guessing you didn’t do the same for Mr. Tran.”
“What do you mean? Old Man Tran was in the room next to you. Didn’t you see him?”
She giggled. “No. I must have missed him.”
Charmed, Mason leaned a little closer. When it came to Laila, he could afford to be generous. Tran would have to settle for cheap bottles of booze.
“Did you get the massage?” he asked, immediately regretting it. Now I’m picturing her naked on a massage table.
Laila opened her mouth to answer when a timer interrupted them. “Oh, just a sec.”
She hustled to the ovens, opening a door and pulling out the rack. With quick, efficient movements, she grabbed handfuls of pastel-colored bits from a nearby tub, pressing them into the top of the pans. Then she pushed the tray back and closed the door, resetting the timer before returning to the counter.
“I’m interrupting your work. I should get going.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it. As long as we don’t burn anything, the owners like it when people talk to us. I have a few retirees who love to watch me work. And I’m just prepping this for later,” she added, waving at the baklava. “I’m going to freeze it and bake it tomorrow. My shift is over as soon as those brownies are done.”
Mason perked up. “You’re making brownies?” He loved Laila’s rocky-road brownies.
“I am,” she hedged. “But these may not be up your alley.” The timer went off, and she held up a finger. “Let me show you.”
Excusing herself, she went to the oven, returning with the tray. She held it up.
“Are those Lucky Charms marshmallows?”
“The commercial equivalent. You can buy these knockoffs in bulk. They are almost the same in terms of taste, but they don’t have that pesky nutritious cereal getting in the way.”
“I’m not sure the cereal part is all that nutritious,” he said skeptically. “But you’re right. I don’t think I’d like those very much. I do, however, see a lot of other things I would like—including some old favorites.”
He recognized her handiwork in the display case. There was the buttermilk pie—this time, adorned with powdered sugar in the shape of the store’s logo. It sat next to a cake adorned with raspberries that were drizzled with white chocolate. A million things caught his eye, including the mini strawberry cheesecakes. And then there were the cookies. Were those her sugar pecan?
There were other fancier desserts as well, but Mason had made his choices.
When he asked Laila to pack them up for him, her eyes darted from side to side as if to check if they were being watched.
She stood on her tiptoes. “Are you sure you want to buy them? I could just whip up a few things at home for you. The markup here is a little high.”
“I can afford it,” he assured her. “Plus, you should be paid for your labor. Never sell yourself short.”
“But the hotel room—”
“I owed you,” he interrupted before blurting out, “Hey, if you’re done, do you want a ride?”
Mason hadn’t intended to ask, but if she were on her way home, it would be weird if he didn’t offer.