A Quite Afternoon Turned Sour
857 Words
LUCA
The sun was warm against my skin, a golden blanket draped over the quiet little park. Square pour chiens Rue Bonaparte wasn’t particularly large, but it had a charm to it, a certain peacefulness that I rarely got to experience in my bakery. The scent of fresh air and the occasional whiff of damp earth from the morning’s watering was a stark contrast to the constant aroma of butter, sugar, and spices that surrounded me every day. I loved my shop, my little sanctuary of warmth and sweetness, but this, this was nice.
I adjusted my scarf around my neck, letting out a small hum as I flipped through the pages of a magazine I had picked up on the way here. I wasn’t really reading it, just letting my fingers turn the pages absently while my eyes occasionally skimmed over an article or advertisement. It didn’t matter. Today was one of those rare days when I didn’t have to talk, didn’t have to smile on cue or offer pleasantries to customers. I could just be.
People passed by, most of them walking their dogs, enjoying the beautiful weather. The soft jingling of collars and the rhythmic tapping of paws on the pavement were oddly soothing. No one paid me any mind, and I preferred it that way. I had always been good at socializing when necessary, but I was never one to seek it out.
The afternoon slipped away like honey dripping off a spoon, slow, warm, golden. It was well over two hours before I realized my throat was dry. I reached for the flask I usually carried with me only to come up empty. A small sigh escaped me. I had forgotten to bring it.
Pushing myself up from the bench, I stretched before heading towards a small shop nearby. It was a modest place, selling drinks and snacks from behind a tiny counter. The old man at the register barely spared me a glance as I grabbed a cold drink, some biscuits, and a fruit bar. I paid, muttering a quiet merci, and stepped back outside.
That was when I saw it.
A black car. Unassuming, parked a little ways down from the shop. It looked ordinary, but I had seen it before. Too many times for it to be a coincidence.
I felt my stomach tighten.
At first, I had brushed it off, told myself I was being paranoid, that I was seeing patterns where there were none. But gut feelings had never failed me before, and the longer this persisted, the harder it became to ignore. The same car. The same uneasy sensation creeping up my spine.
I exhaled slowly, keeping my movements natural as I turned away and started walking. My heart pounded against my ribs, but my steps remained calm, unhurried. I pulled my phone from my pocket, dialing Antonio.
“Come get me,” I said, voice low. “I’m sending my location.”
I shared it immediately, slipping the phone back into my coat as I turned down a different street. I walked at a steady pace, weaving through different blocks, using the crowd as a shield. I took turns at random, changing my route as subtly as possible.
Minutes passed. Then more.
I only stopped when I was sure I had lost them. Pressing my back against the rough brick of a building, I exhaled, finally allowing myself to feel the fear I had been pushing down.
I hated this.
The city had seen a rise in kidnappings recently, people vanishing without a trace. It wasn’t just paranoia, it was a real, tangible danger. And the idea of becoming just another name on a missing persons list, I couldn’t even bear the thought.
A familiar car pulled up to the curb. Antonio.
I rushed inside, slamming the door shut behind me. The tension in my muscles refused to fade, even as I sank into the seat. I let out a shaky breath, running a hand through my hair.
“Home,” I muttered.
Antonio didn’t question it. He simply nodded and pulled away from the curb.
I took out my phone, forcing myself to focus on something, anything, to distract me from the way my hands were trembling. My emails. A baking tour was coming up in a month, and I needed to finalize my schedule. I scrolled through the messages, trying to force my mind back into its usual rhythm.
But then,
A flicker of movement in the side mirror.
My blood ran cold.
That same car. The same damn car. Keeping its distance, but still there.
My throat tightened.
“Antonio,” I said, voice carefully even, “can you speed up a little? Something urgent just came up. I need to be home as soon as possible.”
Antonio flicked his eyes to the mirror, catching sight of the vehicle. He didn’t ask questions, just hummed and pressed down on the gas.
The car behind us did the same.
My pulse hammered. No more doubts. No more maybe I’m imagining things.
I was being followed.
And that scared me beyond belief.
- Writer
