Victoria couldn't get rid of the nagging feeling that something was amiss. It wasn't the usual stillness of the bakery—no, it thrived with the subdued buzz of people chatting, the soft clink of mugs against saucers, the sporadic burst of laughter.
But there was another kind of stillness in the air, a practically unsettling emptiness that pressed down on her chest. It wasn't quiet like it always was. This was heavier. This felt… wrong. She couldn't help but continue to stare at the clock—again, and again, and again—the millionth time, what felt like. Isabelle was late.
She had turned Isabelle away the day before, told her not to come back, her tone cold and sharp, yet deep within her, half of Victoria hoped that Isabelle would come marching in through the front door, sneering as though nothing had ever happened. She had expected Isabelle to stand there, hands on hips, that impish glint in her eye, waiting to break the silence with one of her jeering jokes or a goofy proposal that would make Victoria roll her eyes, but laugh anyway. But no.
The door remained shut, and the quiet went on. No Isabelle. No marketing jokes, no dramatic sighs that made everything seem. well, more alive. Just the muted murmurs of the patrons, the hum of the coffee machine, and her own thoughts—faster, louder than they ought to be.
She continued to glance over her shoulder, every now and then her gaze flicking to the door as if at any moment it would burst open, but it didn't. She had this tight, constricting feeling building in her chest. She was attempting to distract herself, but it felt like her mind was being magnetically drawn towards the same thing repeatedly: Isabelle. Did she really mean what she'd said? Was she too harsh?
Victoria had told herself she was done with the uncertainty, the madness, the constant headache that Isabelle brought into her life. But deep down, she knew. She knew she wasn't ready to let go of any of it, not really.
As the hours ticked by, the bakery fell into its normal routine. The morning rush was done, and only a few of the final stragglers lingered, sipping their drinks, lost in quiet conversation. The clock ticked away and away, but it seemed to make the silence even more piercing.
Victoria stood there distributing pastries and taking orders with robotic efficiency, her gaze constantly wandering to the vacant chair. Their chair. The one Isabelle always staked out for herself, the one she leaned back in as if it were her own.
Victoria could practically hear her voice echoing in her head—her playful teasing over the pastries, her goofy suggestions for new flavors, the way she'd complain about how much work she had to get done but never end up actually doing anything. It was all gone now, and it was as if the bakery had lost some of its heart without her.
By nightfall, Victoria had lost count of how many times she'd found herself thinking that maybe sending Isabelle away wasn't such a great idea. Not that she would ever utter it aloud, of course. Isabelle had been a total disaster these last few weeks—unmanageable, dangerous, a pain in the ass nonstop—but she also possessed a type of erratic energy that Victoria had somehow grown used to. It felt peculiar, the way the bakery was so unusually still without her. Too still. Almost too… normal. The balance was skewed, as if someone had pulled the plug from an engine that had been running smoothly for so long.
Was this what it felt like to truly miss someone? Victoria gritted her teeth, shoving the sensation away as if it were just a brief rush of air. Nope. She wasn't going there. Not now. Never. The idea of vulnerability, of needing anyone, much less someone like Isabelle, made her sick. But for all she tried to shove it away, the idea lingered, persistent and stubborn.
As the final customer grabbed their coffee and headed out the door, Victoria switched the sign to "Closed," her feet carrying her toward the door of their own accord. She should have locked up, gathered her things, and headed home for the evening, but something held her back from doing so. She lingered a step or two behind the door, hand hovering over the lock as her eyes drifted back to the now-empty room. That chair. It appeared to be teasing her.
She gazed out the window. The streets were black, the faint glow of streetlights casting long shadows on the ground, but still no Isabelle. Victoria sighed in frustration, her thoughts whirling with things she didn't want to think about.
Fine. She had been tough. She had told Isabelle not to come back, but deep down, she knew she hadn't meant it. She hadn't meant any of them. Maybe she should have said something else—something not so harsh. Maybe she should have tried harder. Maybe she should have…
Okay, maybe she was a little concerned. Maybe a lot.
With a swift snap, Victoria grabbed her coat and pulled it on over her head with no consideration. Her fingers fumbled over the buttons as she charged out of the door, her mind consumed by only one thought: Isabelle. The cold air hit her in the face like a wall, biting at her skin, but she barely noticed.
Her pace lengthened, step more frantic than the last one, her mind frantic as she sped along familiar streets. She did not so much as stop to think in going, faster and faster, her heart hammering in her chest.
It was Isabelle's house, a block away. The one place where she might possibly find answers, where she might possibly find some glimmer of Isabelle. She didn't care if she'd kicked her out, didn't care about any of the things she'd said yesterday. All that mattered now was making sure Isabelle was safe. Making sure she hadn't just disappeared into the night.
Victoria stood in front of the front door, hesitating to knock. After a few seconds she reluctantly closed her hand into a fist and raised it up to the door. Before she made contact with it the door opened, showing Isabelle.
"Look at you!" Isabelle teased, a smirk forming on her lips. "I knew you actually cared about me."