"Abuela, I'm perfectly fine going home by myself. Está solo al final de la calle…" the girl said, her voice pleading. (It's only down the street.)
"El resto de tu familia está en el retiro de la iglesia, no dejaré que te vayas solo a casa," Mrs. Blossom replied firmly, denying her plea. They began to argue again in Spanish, the girl losing.
(The rest of your family is at the church retreat. I won't let you go home alone.)
I stepped out from behind the last desk, interrupting their conversation. "Oh, Aiden, could you be a darling? I have a favor to ask—will you walk my little cariño home?" Mrs. Blossom said, turning toward me with a sly smile.
(Sweetheart)
I glanced at the girl; she looked familiar—long brown hair with honey streaks, just like Mrs. Blossom.
"Angela," I said, nodding.
"Aiden," she replied, offering a small wave.
Mrs. Blossom's eyes sparkled with curiosity. "Hola guapo, how do you know my granddaughter?" she teased. (Hello, handsome)
"We're in a couple of classes together at the high school," Angela said timidly, trying to hide from Mrs. Blossom's interrogation.
"Oh, well, now you can't refuse my offer. Will you take my niece home for me?" she said with a playful nudge. (Granddaughter)
I tried to protest. "Mrs. Blossom, my father still has to pick me up, what if…" I started, but she cut me off.
"Está bien, puedo hacerle saber que volverás enseguida, y eso te dará tiempo para alcanzar a mi nieta. Está bien, sal de aquí. Ahora." She gently pushed us both toward the door and locked it behind us.
(Okay, I can let him know you'll be right back, and that will give you time to catch up with my granddaughter. Now get out of here.)
"Abuela, I don't think Aiden understands you," Angela said, confused as she was pushed outside.
"Él habla español," Mrs. Blossom called out before slamming the door and locking it firmly. (He speaks Spanish.)
Angela and I exchanged looks of mild defeat. Then we started down the street together, the sun gone and a drizzle falling. The sky darkened as day shifted into night.
After a couple of minutes, Angela glanced over. She was taller than most girls, slim almost to the point of fragility, but still, I towered over her.
"I'm sorry about my grandma. She's a bit eccentric sometimes," she admitted, shivering in her light shirt.
"It's fine." I took off my hooded jacket and held it out to her. She blinked in surprise.
"You didn't have to do that. I'm perfectly fine," she said, a slight blush coloring her cheeks.
"Nah. Even though I just met Mrs. Blossom, I know she wouldn't want her little cariño getting sick going home. So, I insist. For both our sakes," I said, walking ahead.
Angela hesitated a moment before shrugging into the jacket and hurrying to catch up.
"So, Aiden, I know you probably already said, but why did you move to Forks?" she asked as we walked side by side.
"Well… several reasons. Mainly, things happened in my life, and I don't want to go back," I said, stopping and meeting her gaze.
She looked back at me, eyes searching, trying to figure out what I meant, but I quickly changed the subject.
"So, what's your story?" I asked, stepping closer, and she shyly moved away.
"Nothing much. I've lived here all my life. My father's the minister. I have two brothers. I like photography," she said, shrugging.
We paused at the end of the street, waiting for a car to pass. A blue Toyota Camry rolled by slowly, windows tinted.
"You got a stalker. That car's been following us since we left," I said quietly, nodding toward it.
Angela scanned the street, shaking her head. "I don't see anyone," she said, clearly denying it.
Darkness had settled by then, streetlights flickering on and casting pools of pale light.
"Well, whatever. Are we almost there?" she asked.
"Yeah, three houses down. You can stop here if you want," she said as we reached her house.
"But like I said, Mrs. Blossom would probably be clocking us. So…" I said, looking at her.
"Thanks. I appreciate it. Have a good night, Aiden," she said quickly, handing back the jacket and slipping inside.
"See you at school tomorrow," she called before shutting the door.
I stared at the closed door a moment, then turned and walked back toward the police station.
Aiden stood for a moment on the wet sidewalk, the soft glow of the streetlamp casting long shadows across the puddles at his feet. The rain had eased, but the air still smelled faintly of damp earth and cold asphalt. His breath came out in quiet puffs, mingling with the evening mist.
He pulled his jacket tighter around him, the fabric still smelling faintly of Angela's shampoo — a subtle sweetness mixed with the dampness clinging to the air. For a brief second, the normal hum of the town felt distant, replaced by the quiet rhythm of his heartbeat.
The blue Camry had vanished around the corner, but the unease it left lingered. Aiden's eyes flicked to the darkened street behind him, half-expecting the car to reappear, its tinted windows hiding who or what might be inside. He shook the thought away and started walking back toward the police station, each step measured and deliberate.
It's just a car. Just someone driving past. Nothing more.
But the weight of his past, the reason he'd left Chicago, sat heavy on his chest, mingling with the cool night air. He didn't want to bring trouble here, not to this quiet town. Yet sometimes, no matter how far you run, the shadows follow.
As he reached the front door of the station, a soft chime echoed behind him — the sound of the door locking, or maybe something else. Aiden glanced back once more before stepping inside, the warm hum of fluorescent lights wrapping around him like a fragile shield.