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I slip behind a display of apples.

Roman picks up a bunch, looks at it, then puts it down. He picks up another.

Interesting. Apparently Roman has banana standards.

He puts the second bunch in his cart.

I pull out my phone and type in the Notes app. Roman buys bananas.

I stare at the screen.

Then add: He's picky about them.

Important information? Probably not. But I'm conducting surveillance. I don't get to decide which details matter yet.

I lock it and slide my phone into my pocket.

Roman starts moving.

I follow, but not too closely.

He goes to the vegetables. I watch as he adds broccoli, spinach, and peppers to his cart.

Of course. The man has abs.

I look down at my empty basket. I should probably buy something.

Roman glances over his shoulder.

Shit.

I grab the nearest item and stare at it.

A cantaloupe.

I turn it over thoughtfully. Yes, very interesting cantaloupe. I tap it, sniff it, then wonder if that’s how people pick cantaloupes?

I have no fucking idea. I don’t like cantaloupes.

When I look up, Roman is gone.

“Shit.”

Without thinking, I put the cantaloupe in my basket and hurry to the next aisle.

I spot him in the meat department.

Roman picks up chicken. Then ground beef.

He doesn't browse. Doesn't compare prices. Doesn't stare into refrigerated cases wondering what the hell he's going to make for dinner.

He moves through the store the same way he moves through life—with purpose.

No wasted motion. No hesitation.

I watch him turn toward the end of the aisle.

Then his head shifts slightly.