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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.”