Page 120 of The Catch

That's why I march down the sidewalk, trotting back to the condo after a shopping trip. I carry a few brown bags in my arms, full of his favorite food. I have about an hour to cook before he comes home, we eat, and he leaves for curfew. If I time this right, he'll go to San José with a grin on his face.

The smile I had of my own weakens— one of the paper bags breaks right as I take a step up the stairs to his building. Three oranges roll away, and the berries I just bought crash on the floor. The eggs remain close to my chest, luckily, shielded by an arm and a box of cornmeal. I'm making my own version of chocolate con queso, and I'm not sure where the chocolate is.

My cheeks warm up but I return to the curb and start picking things up. I get the berries but a few things are missing. The chocolate is still MIA, as is another orange. I get up and search around me. The single fruit magically appears in my field of vision.

"I think you're missing this," Aidan says.

I freeze. Nothing moves, except for my eyes. I'm stiff, but Aidan isn't. He's relaxed, standing in one of his signature casual poses.

A small smile tilts his lips. "Hi, Ames."

"What are you doing here?" I manage.

"Helping you pick up the mess, it seems."

"Don't try to be funny. It's not welcome."

"Alright, alright." He lifts his hands in an innocent gesture.

There's an orange in one large palm, and the chocolate container in the other.

"What are you doing here?" I demand.

I can barely hold the things I carry in my arms. I cling to them like they're lifesavers.

"I think you have my music book." The smile on his lips intensifies. "The one where I wrote my album and some of my poetry."

"Bullshit."

He shakes his head and drops his hands. "I bet it's still inside the piano bench."

Shock dissipates, to be replaced by the clear punch his presence knocks into my stomach.

"Have you ever lifted the cushion?" He gives me a smug look. "It has a small storage space there."

I purse my lips. It's a gesture I know well, but used to think was endlessly cute. I'm fully annoyed now. Especially because I didn't know that the bench had a small storage box.

"That's the last place I saw my things," he adds. "I promise. They're not anywhere else. You have to believe me."

"Why not text me?" I frown. "I could have left it with the concierge."

"And who would have helped you take these things up to the condo?" He shakes the ingredients he's holding hostage.

"What did I say about trying to be funny?" I pretend I'm going to walk past him and leave him with my food.

He can keep them prisoner. I'll make do with what I have.

"Ames— no. Please. Wait a second."

I don't know what stops me. I don't turn around.

"Look," he says. "That book is important to me, and I thought you maybe had me blocked. I know I made you angry enough to deserve it."

I turn. "So you came here and fancied yourself on a stakeout?"

"Tell me everything you still need to say to me, yeah? You can mutter to yourself all the way up the elevator, like you used to do when we were together. Remember?"

"You're not going upstairs with me."