Page 20 of Gap Control

He grinned like I'd complimented him. "And yet they keep putting me on the power play."

I didn't answer. Not because I was annoyed, but because, for some reason, I didn't want to interrupt him. I wanted him to keep talking.

We passed a woman with a cart full of snacks and a toddler wearing a hockey beanie. She glanced at us and smiled.

I looked down and kept walking.

TJ waited until we turned into the cereal aisle before saying, gently, "Want me to give you space?"

"No. Just don't make a scene."

He held up the mango seltzer. "Too late."

Maybe I should've been annoyed, but I kept walking beside him.

We moved through the aisles in loose formation. I stuck to my list. TJ did not.

He stopped to grab a box of cereal that boasted "crunch clusters" and featured a cartoon bear wearing sunglasses. He dropped it into his basket with zero shame.

I looked at him.

"What? He's a cool bear."

I didn't respond, but I didn't look away either. There was something weirdly comforting about how TJ made decisions—like he was playing a game I didn't understand but was considering learning.

We turned the corner toward the freezer section, and I heard a soft click behind us—the unmistakable sound of a phone camera.

I didn't turn.

TJ did.

A kid—college-aged, probably—stood near the end of the aisle, phone in hand, trying very hard to pretend he hadn't just taken a picture of us standing a little too close to the frozen waffles.

TJ waved. "Hey, man."

The kid blushed and ducked around the corner.

TJ turned toward me. "Don't worry. He was more nervous than you are."

I didn't respond right away. My brain was already ten steps ahead—image, caption, speculation. What angle had the kid caught? How close had we looked?

TJ noticed. He touched my shoulder. "Hey, you want a minute?"

I nodded, and he gently steered us down the next aisle, past the pharmacy, and into the little alcove near the restrooms—flickering soda machine on one side, corkboard of lost pet flyers on the other.

I stood there for a moment, breathing.

TJ leaned against the wall, arms crossed, saying nothing.

I spoke first. "This was supposed to be neutral ground."

"I know."

"I don't want everything I do to be… visible."

"I get that."

"I don't think you do."

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