It was almost funny—Mason, the guy who hated celebrating anything, was suddenly asking about a special date. In the past, I would have to remind him of important days, practically beg for some kind of effort. Now, he was throwing questions at me like he was trying to change the subject.
I mirrored his old tone, vague and dismissive. “Oh, nothing big. I’ve got a gift for you. You’ll find out soon enough.”
He smiled, relieved. “Funny, I’ve got a surprise for you that day too!”
I couldn’t help but laugh inside. Seven days from now, he had no idea what was coming.
Mason’s eyes drifted to my hand wrapped in gauze and he asked, almost hesitantly, “Does it still hurt?”
I shook my head. “Not really. I was anesthetized during the surgery and the painkillers are still working.”
He grabbed my arm to check, a little too roughly and I winced as the pain shot through my wound again.
“Baby, it was just a few falls. You needed surgery? Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice softened, guilt creeping in.
I pulled my hand back, trying to keep the irritation from showing. “It’s fine. Anyway, you should get some sleep. My tutor gave me some last-minute work and I have to stay up late.”