Chapter 6 #2
As I reached the hallway, a door quietly opened, and a snippet of an elderly voice filled with mischief reached me. “...a fine choice for a first courtship outing,” the voice declared with unmistakable satisfaction. “Be sure to wear your red cloak; it’s quite becoming and brings out your eyes.”
I froze. A…courtship outing? Surely I had misheard. We were only foraging for berries required for my commission…weren't we? Suddenly Nutmeg’s theatrics took on an entirely new meaning.
I suddenly remembered that it had been I who insisted on accompanying Cecelia.
At the time, it had seemed only proper that she shouldn’t venture into the rain on my behalf alone.
Now I found myself wondering, with growing embarrassment, whether she believed I’d possessed some entirely different motive.
My ears warmed. She hadn’t given any indication whatsoever that she viewed the outing as anything other than practical necessity.
If anything, she’d appeared determined to keep me at arm’s length.
Yet her grandmother spoke with such confidence that I found myself questioning whether I’d overlooked some subtle invitation or misread any signals entirely.
She’d appeared entirely uninterested in anything beyond a professional relationship, though women had always possessed an alarming talent for communicating in ways I never seemed able to decipher. Still, if she was open to the idea…I wasn’t entirely opposed to spending more time with her.
The realization arrived quietly enough to surprise me. It had been years since I’d looked forward to anyone’s company…though with my problem of wandering I doubted I could put down roots long enough to pursue anyone.
Yet if my curse wasn’t an obstacle… I stopped myself before the thought could fully take shape. It was foolish to wonder what might have been when I had never been permitted to remain anywhere long enough to discover it.
The curse had taken far more than my sense of direction—it had stolen the quiet comforts most people never thought twice about: sleeping beneath the same roof two nights in succession, leaving belongings where I knew I would find them again, watching the seasons change from a single window instead of countless unfamiliar ones.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d unpacked a satchel simply because I intended to stay.
Home had become little more than a word other people used.
Yet something strange had happened the night this bakery had suddenly appeared within the forest. I had been following the same restless pull that had governed my every step for years when I’d caught sight of a warm light glowing through the night.
Nestled amongst the towering pines stood a little bakery, its windows aglow like a hearth welcoming weary travelers home.
I still remembered catching sight of Cecelia through the glass, quietly arranging pastries behind the counter while an ember sprite darted mischievously around the shelves.
For the briefest moment, the ceaseless urgency driving me onward had quieted. Not disappeared, simply…paused. As though whatever invisible force had spent years driving me across forests, villages, and mountains had suddenly reached the place it had been searching for.
My cheeks warmed and I hastened outside and stepped beneath the awning, though the rainy chill did little to cool my embarrassment. By the time Cecelia emerged from the bakery, my blush had thankfully faded enough that I hoped she wouldn’t notice.
“My apologies,” she said as she fastened the clasp on her burgundy cloak. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”
I watched as her gaze drifted towards the swirling grey clouds overhead.
Rather than shrinking from the rain, she studied it with quiet attentiveness.
Her expression remained composed as always, yet there was the faintest spark in her eyes, as though the storm possessed a beauty invisible to everyone else.
“Forgive me for forcing you to forage in the rain,” I said.
She shrugged. “Rain doesn’t bother me.”
She drew the hood of her cloak over her hair with practiced ease.
Normally I paid little attention to such things, but I couldn’t help noticing the way the deep crimson framed her soft brown hair and brought warmth to the rich chestnut of her eyes.
Her grandmother had been right—it suited her remarkably well.
My heart gave an unexpectedly pleasant lurch. She was undeniably pretty, but more than that, despite her reserved manner, she possessed a quiet gentleness that drew me like the warm scent of fresh bread drifting from an open bakery door.
The realization should have pleased me. Instead it only deepened the knot tightening my chest. Somewhere inside that bakery rested a book I was becoming increasingly convinced held the answer to my curse. Yet the more time I spent with Cecelia, the more impossible the thought of taking it became.
I had come searching for a cure. Somehow, without noticing, I'd begun worrying far more about hurting the woman who might possess it.
Her grandmother’s words returned once more: a courtship outing.
My stomach gave another strange jolt, equal parts pleasant anticipation and anxious dread.
Had she truly meant it? Or had she merely been teasing us both?
I stole a cautious glance towards Cecelia, searching for…
something. A shy smile, a blush, some small indication that she viewed this outing as anything other than gathering berries.
She simply unfolded her map, no sign of tension in her movements.
For a long moment she studied it with focused concentration, occasionally comparing its markings to the surrounding trees.
If she felt even the slightest awkwardness about spending the afternoon alone with a man, she concealed it remarkably well.
I found myself relaxing. Perhaps I had misunderstood, and this was simply the way her grandmother joked about every young man who entered the bakery…unless she expected me to make the first move and say something. The possibility immediately tied my thoughts into hopeless knots once more.
She looked up with a tilt of her head that was rather becoming. “Is something wrong, Gabe?”
I met her eyes for the briefest moment before looking away again. “Nothing at all.” That, unfortunately, was an obvious lie.
I’d always been told I wore every thought plainly upon my face.
Usually people laughed and assured me they knew precisely what I was feeling before I ever spoke.
Cecelia merely regarded me with quiet curiosity before giving a small shrug and returning her attention to the map, apparently satisfied with my answer.
Her lack of suspicion should have been a relief.
Instead it only sharpened the guilt for what I’d nearly done in her kitchen—and made me wonder, for reasons I couldn't yet explain, why she seemed so difficult to read. I was grateful Nutmeg hadn’t joined our outing; the little ember sprite had enough suspicion and intuition for the two of them and would doubtless have made the trip uncomfortable.
The forest welcomed us beneath a canopy of rain-darkened branches, the settling twilight glistening off the droplets clinging to the needles overhead. Cecelia scarcely hesitated as she set off along the narrow trail.
I fell into step behind her to let her lead, before remembering that if this was a courtship outing—which the less shy part of me secretly welcomed—it might be best to walk beside her.
I quickened my pace until I was level with her; she didn’t seem to notice my change in position, her attention divided effortlessly between the parchment in her hands and the world around her.
For years every journey had begun with uncertainty. I would choose a direction only to discover hours later that the curse had quietly twisted my sense of distance or convinced me that north was east. Every path eventually dissolved into confusion, leaving me lost both physically and mentally.
Yet Cecelia never questioned her route. She studied the map, glanced towards the trees, and continued forward with quiet confidence, as though the forest were speaking a language only she understood…one I myself once knew a long time ago.
I felt a sudden surge of longing for that intimate understanding of the woods. Once, every bent fern, broken twig, and patch of disturbed moss had spoken to me like familiar words upon a page, quietly revealing who had passed before me and where they had gone.
Now those subtle trail markers seemed swallowed by the forest itself, leaving behind only the lingering memory of a language I could no longer understand.
Tracking had once been as natural as breathing; now that knowledge felt shrouded in fog, obscured by the curse that tightened its hold with every passing full moon.
What had begun as the occasional misread trail or forgotten turn had gradually worsened into restless wandering, until even the paths I knew by heart no longer wished to lead me home.
The confidence I used to carry whenever I entered the woods no longer belonged to the man I had become.
Occasionally, I caught fleeting glimpses of that former self.
For a precious few moments, the forest would once again reveal its hidden language, and my feet instinctively knew where to step before the curse quietly stole the knowledge away again, leaving only uncertainty in its place.
Those brief mercies almost felt crueler than never remembering at all.
I had lost not only my sense of direction but a large portion of my identity, and every time I entered the woods I was harshly reminded of my loss.
Yet that familiar anxiety was strangely absent today, as I walked with beside my red-cloaked companion through the peaceful embrace of the rain-dampened forest.