Page 47 of Catch Me
“Andreas.” My voice comes out breathier than normal.
“The one and only.”
A grin sprouts on my lips. “You say that like I should be flattered.”
“I’m the one who’s flattered.”
“Honestly?” I plop down on the couch with Ms. Shelby. I hold the phone with one hand and stroke her back with the other.
“You don’t know me well enough yet to determine whether I’m lying or not, but take my word for it when I tell you that it’s me who’s flattered that you answered my call.”
The sincere tone in his voice spikes my heartbeat.
“Well, you chose the right time. I just walked in the door.”
“What did you do today?”
I bite down the urge to tell him he’s not interested in my day. Instead, I choose to believe his words. So, I tell him.
“Thank you again for the magazine. It turned out to be a catalyst to making a new friend here in the city.” If I hadn’t been inspired by the magazine, I don’t know if I would’ve ended up at the consignment store today.
“Why were you hesitant to pick it up yesterday?”
“Huh?” I ask, shocked by the question.
“I watched you in that store. You lifted your hand like you were about to reach for it but stopped halfway. You just stared like it was a precious piece of china that was only brought out for special guests.
“You wanted it but wouldn’t allow yourself to have it. Why?”
Ms. Shelby’s loud meow startles me out of my stunned silence. When I loosen the hold I have on her, she scampers off of my lap.
It takes a couple of tries to clear the lump that’s formed in my throat.
“Y-You saw all of that?” My voice is just above a whisper.
“All of it.”
My eyes fall closed as my emotions sink somewhere between embarrassed and gratitude.
“I had a copy of the same magazine when I was a teenager. My aunt gave it to me,” I finally answer.
“She must’ve meant a lot to you.”
“Aunt Gloria meant the world to me,” I say honestly. “She was a seamstress.”
“She passed down her love of fashion to you. Kind of like my mom passed down her love of books to me.”
My lips part on a smile. “Something like that. I was fourteen when she died,” I tell him, for some reason needing to tell him a little more context. “I started my own personal collection of vintage cultural and fashion magazines, but, um, I lost them,” I say, not wanting to go into detail.
“Do you remember all of the magazines you lost?”
I push out a relieved breath that he doesn’t ask how I lost my collection.
“Yes.”
“Make a list and send it to me.”
“A list?”
