“I wanted to shove the plate from me in defiance, but the delicious smell was making me too hungry. It tasted just as good as it looked and smelled, and I enjoyed every last bite of it. Sitting back after the satisfaction of a good meal, I saw that Mason was also done eating. He smirked when the waiter asked if we wanted dessert, but he politely declined. After he paid the check, he handed me my journal.
Feeling mollified, it didn’t occur to me to ask for my poem back until we were driving away from the restaurant. “No,” Mason said with his eyes on the road.
“You promised!” I protested.
“I promised to give you your journal back, and I have. That was the deal.”
“That poem is part of it,” I argued. “You took it with the journal. Give it back! It’s mine!”
“Clearly,” he acknowled
