You haven’t caused any international incidents yet, have you?
Me:
Who, me? Never.
Xander:
Be good.
Me:
You’re bossy, you know that?
Xander:
You like it.
Me:
Debatable.
Xander:
You’re smiling.
Me:
I’m rolling my eyes.
Xander:
Same thing.
I can feel the smile tugging at my mouth before I even put the phone away.
Marco catches it and groans. “God, you’re doing that thing again.”
“What thing?”
“That face. The heart-eyes face. I’ve worked with him for years and never thought I’d see someone manage to soften that man. You’re a miracle, Dahlia.”
I roll my eyes, but the warmth stays. “You’re dramatic.”
“Maybe. But it’s nice to see.”
I turn back to the plants. For a moment, I picture the morning room back at the house, light pouring through the window, Xander adorably rambling about plants. I miss him. Ridiculous, since he’s only been gone a few hours, but the thought lands heavily anyway.
A prickle creeps along the back of my neck. The fine hairs stand up. It feels like eyes are on me. I straighten and scan the aisle.
Nothing. Just a mother with a stroller and a guy in a denim jacket, talking on his phone. The guards hover nearby, subtle as neon signs.
I rub my arm, shaking it off. “Paranoid,” I mutter under my breath.
Marco catches my tone. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I grab a bag of soil and add it to the cart. “Thought I saw someone I knew, but it’s fine.”
He studies me for a second too long, then nods. “If you’re ready, we can head to the next stop.”