Dinner for Two

Evening settled slowly over the house, the fading sunlight stretching long amber rectangles across the kitchen floor. Quiet lingered in the rooms like a held breath. No television murmured from the living room. No footsteps echoed upstairs. Just the low hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the house adjusting to the cooling air.

David still wasn't home.

Stacy stood at the kitchen counter with her arms folded, staring absently at the dark screen of her phone where it rested beside the fruit bowl. The absence of a message sat strangely in her mind. In the old world, before everything had twisted itself into this impossible new shape, David would have texted hours ago if work had kept him late. That had always been the arrangement. A quick message, a short apology, a promise he'd be home soon.

Now there was nothing.

Technically, he wasn't even her husband anymore.

The thought still refused to sit properly in her mind. Somehow the potion had rearranged reality so that David had become her father-in-law instead. At the same time, the world now treated him as dependent on her and Evan. The logic of it twisted into knots every time she tried to examine it too closely. None of it made sense.

Her phone's text notification sounded.

Evan.

The moment his name had appeared on the screen, that now-familiar sensation stirred low in her body. A soft, electric tickle between her legs that she had come to recognize all too well. The magic again. Always nudging. Always pushing.

Stacy had glared at the phone before opening it.

EVAN: Going to be late. Probably another hour. Got stuck at school. Sorry.

A simple message. Polite. Considerate. A message that should have come from David, but now came from her former stepson, her magically **** husband.

But the most recent text wasn't what concerned her. Her eyes looked up at the message chain, widening the more she saw.

The conversation thread stretched back through the entire afternoon, message after message appearing in the chat as though they had been sent hours ago. Photos. Texts. Replies.

Her replies.

Images of herself in dressing rooms wearing the exact outfits now sitting upstairs in the shopping bags. Tight dresses. Lace. Cleavage displayed boldly under harsh fitting-room lights. Messages asking if he liked what he saw. Asking if she should try something more daring.

The replies from Evan sat between them like little betrayals.

Compliments. Enthusiasm. Approval.

The humiliation of it still burned in her chest. Worst of all were the final messages. Waiting for him. Missing him. Promising exactly how she intended to welcome him when he walked through the door.

Not one of those messages had come from her. But to an outside observer, it would seem that she and Evan had a healthy and active sexual relationship, despite the fact that neither one of them were willing participants. No matter what the texts said, no matter what the tickle in her groin said, Stacy wanted nothing to do with Evan Mercer.

"No," she muttered aloud to the empty kitchen, a decision made.

No supper tonight. No waiting for him. No falling into the trap the magic kept laying in front of her.

If the potion demanded she sleep beside Evan in order to avoid the **** of sleeplessness, then she simply wouldn't sleep tonight. One miserable night of exhaustion was a small price to pay for maintaining some control over her own life.

Tomorrow night she might have to give in again just to survive, but tonight...

Tonight she was drawing a line.

The refrigerator door opened with a soft suctioned pop. Cool air spilled out, brushing lightly against her bare arms as she leaned forward to examine the shelves. Something simple would do. Something she could take upstairs and eat alone. Maybe some leftovers. A sandwich. Nothing complicated.

Her hand reached automatically for a container near the back.

Chicken. That would work.

The container came out, followed by a bundle of fresh vegetables from the crisper drawer. A knife appeared in her hand moments later, the blade tapping rhythmically against the cutting board as carrots and peppers fell into neat slices.

Thoughts drifted elsewhere.

One sleepless night wouldn't kill her. Plenty of people stayed awake for long stretches when life demanded it. University students did it all the time. One night would be unpleasant, certainly, but manageable.

The sound of sizzling filled the kitchen as a pan heated on the stove. Butter melted, releasing a rich scent that filled the air. The vegetables followed, bright colours hitting the hot surface with a sharp hiss.

Stacy barely noticed. What she noticed instead was the deeper, more unsettling question circling her thoughts. If the magic could rewrite text messages in real time, what else was it changing?

A wooden spoon stirred the vegetables almost absentmindedly.

Bank accounts. Legal records. Photographs. Memories. The scale of it made her stomach twist slightly. How many other changes had already happened without her realizing it?

Chicken joined the pan next, the pieces browning quickly as the heat climbed. Seasoning followed automatically, a practiced rhythm her hands had performed thousands of times before.

Salt.

Pepper.

Garlic.

Her mind remained far away from the kitchen. Maybe the magic wasn't finished yet. Maybe the world was still shifting around her in subtle ways she hadn't even begun to notice. That thought alone was enough to make her uneasy.

Plates appeared on the counter.

Two of them.

Neither the motion nor the number registered consciously.

Rice steamed gently in a pot while the smell of cooked chicken and garlic drifted through the quiet house. The rhythm of cooking settled into place without effort. Bowls. Utensils. Glasses filled with water. Two more beside them for wine.

The table received the plates next.

Napkins folded neatly beside them.

A candle appeared from the cupboard without her thinking much about it. The tiny flame flickered to life moments later, its warm glow dancing softly against the polished surface of the table.

Only when the front door opened did the spell break. Footsteps echoed faintly down the hallway. Stacy turned slightly as Evan stepped into the dining room, shrugging off his jacket.

"Hey," he said, sounding tired. "Sorry I'm late. I hope you didn't wait for..."

The rest of the sentence faded away.

His gaze dropped to the table. Two plates. A bottle of wine. The candle flickering romantically.

Then his eyes lifted slowly toward her.

Stacy followed his gaze down to the table she had set so carefully. The food. The plates. The candle. A long second passed. Then another.

Realization over what she had done crashed over her like a cold wave.

"Fuck."