move out,” he said after a beat.
“You should be.” Dubey laughed. “The dorms are tiny. I can’t imagine sharing such a small space with another person in the room.” Pausing, he gave Laila a meaningful look. “Hopefully, though, she won’t have to soon, or at least I hope she won’t.”
“I’m sorry, I’m not following,” Mason said, hoping he was misreading the situation.
“It happens to be our anniversary.” Joseph waved Laila forward as if she were supposed to walk through the counter toward him. “I asked Laila to move in with me. And tonight, I’m hoping she’ll tell me yes, so we’ll really have something to celebrate.”
Obeying the causal summons, Laila lifted the flip-up counter to come around in front of the tower. A gold locket on a thin chain glinted around her neck. Matching studs adorned her ears.
Laila rarely wore jewelry. But, of course, this was a special occasion. She was dressed up to go out and celebrate her anniversary with this douchebag.
“Congratulations,” he said evenly. Inside, his mind was roiling. Had she been seeing this guy before he’d left on his ill-fated mission?
He tried to make his tone casual, but he was only moderately successful. “How long have you been dating?”
“Not long,” Dubey answered. There was a tiny smirk as if he knew the answer meant something to Mason.
“It’s the three-month anniversary of our first date,” Laila clarified, ducking under Dubey’s outstretched arm. Her voice was low, almost apologetic, as the man wrapped an arm around her. “Joseph likes to celebrate every occasion. He gave me flowers at the one-week mark, and he hasn’t stopped since.”
The mention of flowers made her face tighten as if she’d just remembered his plants. “Mason, I’m so sorry about what happened.”
He waved her apology away. “It’s all right. I’m glad you’re in one piece. I was…concerned.”
Dubey squeezed Laila, pulling her into him a bit tighter. “Babe, we have to get going if we’re going to make our reservation in time.”
“Oh, yes.” Laila winced and bit her lip, hesitating as she reluctantly met Mason’s eyes.
“Don’t worry about it. They’re just plants,” he assured her, hating the uncertainty in her expression.
“But—”
“I should get going. Let you get back to your night,” he interrupted, discarding his initial plan to linger and grab some groceries. “Congratulations on the anniversary, by the way.”
Excusing himself with a murmur, he walked away, heading to his vehicle. It was a good thing it was a sports car.
Mason couldn’t get away fast enough.
Chapter Eighteen
The next day Laila swore under her breath as a fat stream of water splattered her from the rear awning, sending water trickling down her back.
A sudden storm had rolled in during the early afternoon. She’d hoped it would clear up before she had to empty the bakery’s bins, but her shift was almost over, and the weather showed no signs of letting up.
Resigned to getting wet, Laila hauled the full waste bags to the dumpster behind the store, trying not to drag them as she went. The plastic wasn’t strong enough to survive the asphalt intact. The last thing she needed was to be forced to pick up the garbage from the ground by hand—again.
She had just heaved the first overfilled bag over the edge of the dumpster when he called her name.
Laila spun around. The second bag crashed to the ground, slipping from her nerveless fingers.
Mason stood a few feet away. He must have been waiting for her to come out for some time because he was dripping wet, his golden hair a darker shade of wheat and plastered to his head.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hi.” Laila blinked, the moisture collecting on her long lashes, making it difficult to see.
There was a long stretch of silence. How was it possible she’d missed him? This impossibly beautiful man had hurt her so much—he shouldn’t have the power to affect her. Not anymore.
And yet, it felt like her heart was breaking all over again.
Hungrier than she should have been, Laila drank the sight of him in.
She pointed to his arm. He was still wearing a sling, but the white cast had disappeared. “Can you get that wet?” she asked in a low voice.
He glanced at his sling. “Yes, I had the plaster one removed yesterday. This is just nylon and plastic now—machine washable.”
“Oh.” Laila picked at the store apron she was wearing. “That’s good. It’s an improvement,” she added lamely.
“Yeah.” That was followed by more silence.
“Are you—”
“Why are—”
They both stopped. She smiled apologetically, but she gave up the effort when he