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“Oh, come on.”

An elderly woman beside me glances over.

I immediately put it back. “Not mine.”

Her eyebrows rise.

“I mean, I don't need it.”

She continues staring.

“I don't have hemorrhoids.”

Why am I explaining this?

Her mouth twitches. “Good for you, dear.”

She walks away.

I close my eyes. Jesus Christ.

Then they fly open.

Roman is getting away.

I hurry after him, spotting the back of his head in the cereal aisle.

I slow down, then casually pick up a box of cereal. Family size. Cartoon vampire on the front. I pretend to read the nutrition facts.

When Roman starts moving, I toss the cereal in the basket and take two steps.

Roman stops.

I stop.

Roman takes another step.

I take another step.

He stops again.

I nearly walk directly into a display of oatmeal.

“Shit,” I murmur, jerking sideways at the last second.

A woman pushing a cart stares at me.

“Sorry.”

She gives me a wide berth.

Fair.

Roman continues, and I follow again.

He's doing this on purpose.

No. That’s impossible. He doesn't know I'm here.