Twisted Valentine

Breached

✽ Mandy ✽

I slid into David’s car with my coat pulled tight and my nerves buzzing under my skin. He shot me a winning smile before he pulled away. The streetlights streaked across the windshield as he drove, one hand on the wheel, the other relaxed on the gearshift like he had done this a thousand times. I told myself to enjoy it. This was normal. A late-night bite after work with a guy I liked. David put on the heater, and the warmth added a layer of comfort.

“You hungry?” he asked.

“A little,” I said. The pizzeria wasn’t far, and within minutes, David parked alongside the curb. Most of the places were already closed, but this little place was still buzzing with late-night activity. David kept a constant flow of easy conversation. He was clearly confident and almost acted as if the city was his and nothing could touch him. I tried to match his energy, but his attitude, if I could call it that, was slightly off-putting. Thankfully, he didn’t try to hold my hand as we headed inside. There were a few people scattered around, which made me feel a bit more at ease. The place smelled like baked dough and cheese. It wasn’t unpleasant. Music played softly from the speakers, and I forced a smile as we headed straight to the counter to place our order.

“Two slices, meat lovers,” he told the cashier, then glanced back at me.

“One slice,” I said. “Veggie loaded,” the cashier nodded while David raised an eyebrow, clearly amused with my order.

“You are disciplined,”

“I am realistic,” I replied. “I’m too beat to eat two or more slices,” he turned away without a word, and I shifted uncomfortably on my feet. David was a nice guy. A bit overly confident. A bit full of himself. But I had a feeling it was because he is a basketball player. Athletes tended to be more cocky, right? David got us each a soda, and then he paid. The cashier came back with our plates, and David handed me my plate and one soda. We sat down at the nearest table. David immediately took a large bite, while I took a smaller bite. He talked between bites as he asked me more questions about my pastry classes and then proceeded to tease me about how serious I sounded when I described recipes.

“You talk about dough like it is a science project,” he said.

“It is,” I replied. “It behaves if you respect it,” he smiled.

“I like that. Respect,” he said. The conversation shifted when he studied me closely. “What do you want?” he then asked. I paused with my slice halfway to my mouth.

“Tonight?” I asked, confused, but he shook his head.

“In general. Future,” the question should have felt too big for a back booth in a twenty-four-hour pizzeria, but it didn’t. It felt honest. David wiped his hands on a napkin and chuckled. “I want to go pro,” he said. “That is the goal. Not just play in college, but actually make it. I want to win. I want to prove I earned the scholarship and everything that came with it,”

“You think you can?” I asked curiously.

“I know I can,” he said, and there was no arrogance in it, only certainty. “After that, I want a normal life. A wife. A home. Two kids at least. Maybe more if the universe is generous,” I laughed at the way he said it, like he had already pictured it. “What about you?” he asked. I stared down at my plate for a second, then forced myself to meet his eyes.

“I want to be a baker,” I said. “Not just someone who makes pies behind a diner counter. I want to be good. I want my own place one day, a bakery that smells like cinnamon and fresh bread all morning,”

“That sounds perfect,” he said.

“And,” I added as I blushed. “I want the other stuff too. Marriage, kids. I don’t know how many. And a dog. Maybe two dogs,” David’s smile widened.

“Two dogs is ambitious,”

“I am ambitious,” I shot back. David then reached across the table and brushed his fingers against mine. The touch was light, but it made my stomach flip. For a while, everything really did feel peachy. We talked about silly things too, like whether tacos counted as a serious meal and which mystery movies had the worst endings. David made me laugh in a way that felt effortless, and I caught myself relaxing. I had been far too tense and possibly judgmental. Now that we had relaxed, I realized that I liked David. He was confident, but he was also sweet and kind. Still, underneath it all, a small part of me stayed alert. I watched the pizzeria door every time it opened. I listened for footsteps behind me when I stood to throw away our plates. I told myself I was just adjusting. I told myself it was just my imagination. When we left, the night air hit my face and woke me up. David unlocked his car and held the door for me like he was trying to be polite on purpose. He drove me home, and when he stopped alongside the curb, he turned to me.

“I had a good time,” he said.

“Me too,” I admitted.

“Saturday?” he asked. “Official date. I will pick you up…what do you say?” I hesitated just long enough to feel my old caution stir, then I nodded.

“Saturday,” I confirmed. David smiled and leaned in. For a split second, I panicked, but he lightly brushed his lips against my cheek. When he pulled back, his eyes stayed on mine like he was memorizing my face.

“Thanks for tonight, Mandy…goodnight,”

“Thanks…night, David,” I said as I climbed out and shut the door. David waited until I reached the building entrance, then drove off, tail lights fading into the street. The lobby light flickered above the mailboxes. I climbed the stairs, one hand on the rail, keys ready in the other. My floor felt colder than usual. When I reached my door, I stopped. The air in front of it felt wrong. Not dramatic. Not obvious. Just wrong, like a room after someone else’s perfume had faded. I unlocked the door and stepped inside. I flipped the switch, and my breath caught. Nothing looked destroyed. Nothing looked stolen. I checked the lock twice, even though it hung in place. My heartbeat was loud, and the silence felt practiced tonight. But my throw blanket was folded instead of draped. The edge of the curtain was tucked behind the window frame, neat when I always left it loose. My kitchen chair was pushed in perfectly, like someone had cared enough to align it. My laptop sat on the table, closed, but turned slightly, angled toward the couch. My mouth went dry. I stood there, frozen in shock, and I understood with sudden certainty that I was not imagining it anymore.

Someone had been here.

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