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And stil l, he watches.

I make the mistake of glancing up.

He winks.

Fucking hell.

I pivot the cart, sharp and smooth, wheels shrieking in protest. I take the next aisle with purpose, muttering under my breath.

“Gods preserve me from bored men with too much cologne and no concept of rejection.”

Tea aisle. Safe zone. Quiet. I scan the shelves, fingers brushing tins and boxes, looking for that obscure black jasmine Ambrose hoards like treasure.

Then, again.

His reflection.

In the freezer door glass across the aisle. Leaning against a stack of paper towel bundles now, phone in hand like he just happened to wander by.

No. Not even pretending anymore. Heknowswhat he’s doing.

The blue eyes flick up.

Smirk.

Slow blink.

He’s enjoying this.

I don’t give him the satisfaction of facing him. I chose a tin of tea. Place it in the cart. Calm. Precise. Like I’m not imagining the look on Lucien’s face if he saw this peacock circling me like I’m prey he thinks he can charm.

I make it to the dairy section. Cheese. Greek yogurt. Barley milk for Elias, because he insists it “makes his skin glow” and I’m too in love to argue.

Then Theo’s there again, arms resting on the freezer handle like he’s posing for a lifestyle brand ad. His head tilts when he sees I’m watching now, mouth curling up like we’re sharing a joke.

I push the cart toward him. Deliberate. Slow. Letting the sound of wheels on tile announce my arrival like thunder in a chapel. He straightens, just enough, still trying to look casual.

He opens his mouth.

I raise one hand.

“Nope,” I say, voice syrup-sweet and dripping with threat. “Don’t say a fucking word.”

The smile falters. Only slightly.

“You keep tailing me like this,” I go on, stepping just close enough for him to hear the heat curling behind every word, “and I’m going to start assuming you want to get hurt. Not bruised ego hurt.Hospital paperworkhurt.”

He holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, hey. I just thought you might change your mind.”

“I didn’t.”

“I’ve been told persistence is attractive.”

“By who?” I ask. “Girls you ghosted before they could file a restraining order?”

He laughs. The sound is rich and unbothered. “You’re wild.”

“You havenoidea.”