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7. Dirty Laundry

Aella

He’s here. The guy from the café, standing in front of a dryer and pulling out a T-shirt. Our eyes meet, and the world seems to halt, all sounds muffled, all thoughts obliterated by the shock of the moment.

“Evening, beautiful,” he says in that rough drawl, shooting me a wink. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“What are you doing here?” The words spill out before I can stop them and immediately regret the words as they come out. Great going, Aella!

He grins, that same earth-shattering smile from earlier. “Doing my laundry. What about you?”

I shake my head, disoriented. Of all the laundromats in all the towns, of all the apartment buildings, what are the chances?

“I can see that, but what…” I trail off, scoffing and feeling a blush rising into my cheeks. This man does not owe me any explanation, but I immediately slam those walls back up.

This can’t be a coincidence. I refuse to believe that.

“Same,” I manage to say, my voice sounding far away, as though coming from someone else. I wal
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