Chapter 8
Stepping into the bakery was like leaving a dream and returning to something familiar, enfolding me once more in an environment of warmth, routine, and control.
Yet despite the welcoming scents of baked goods wafting through the air and the reassuring familiarity of home, I found myself hesitating on the threshold, a small part of me reluctant for my and Gabe’s outing to end.
Grandmother waited in the parlor, watching the door expectantly for my return.
My wet cloak trailed water across the floor as I hurried forward.
I gave her a scolding look. “You know you’re not supposed to be out of bed or moving about on your own.
” My voice hitched slightly, undoubtedly a lingering aftereffect of Gabe’s strange influence upon me.
Though her weakened condition often confined her to bed, she could still move about, given enough determination and motivation…
but that didn’t mean she should. Unfortunately, I knew my warnings were no match for her insistence on acquiring the latest gossip concerning her granddaughter as quickly as possible.
She waved away my admonitions. “I couldn’t very well leave the bakery unattended in case we got a customer.
” By the mischievous glimmer in her eyes, we both knew the only customer she had any interest in at the moment was the one currently standing uncertainly in the doorway, looking as though he wasn't entirely convinced he belonged there.
She leaned forward and lowered her voice to what she likely imagined was a discreet whisper, but which I was certain was loud enough to reach the doorway. “No ailment would keep me from greeting my granddaughter after her first outing with a gentleman.”
She peered around me for a better look and her eyes widened appreciatively upon spotting Gabe.
Her gaze lingered longer than was strictly polite before drifting to the basket of berries he still carried for me.
She nodded with painfully obvious approval, as though that single gentlemanly gesture had revealed everything she needed to know about our afternoon.
“I must say, Cecelia, he is a mighty fine specimen indeed.”
Heat rushed into my cheeks. I darted a nervous gaze in Gabe’s direction. Judging by the reddening tips of his ears, Grandmother’s whisper carried much farther than she’d intended…or perhaps exactly as far as she’d hoped.
He lowered his gaze, making it impossible to decipher his expression. After a brief hesitation, he squared his shoulders and stepped forward to offer a timid bow.
“My name is Gabriel. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“What a polite young man you are.” Grandmother cast me a meaningful look that clearly suggested I take note of this admirable quality. I hadn’t thought anyone could top Nutmeg’s insinuations, but clearly I’d been mistaken.
“This is my grandmother,” I said hastily before she could offer any further incriminating observations that might reveal her matchmaking intentions…although it was probably far too late for that.
The laugh lines around her eyes softened as she smiled at him. “You may call me Granny, dear. No need for formality.”
His previously tense expression relaxed. “It would be my honor, Granny.”
A strange tightness settled in my chest. Even I didn’t address her so familiarly despite her frequent requests that I do so.
The formality I maintained created just enough distance to feel safe.
She was the only parent I’d known for years, but I’d been reluctant to truly open my heart to her.
Yet hearing him accept her invitation so naturally made me wonder whether I'd been wrong to keep that particular barrier in place.
Desperate for a distraction from such uncomfortable thoughts, I adjusted the blanket resting across her lap and tucked it more securely around her waist while doing my best to avoid eye contact.
Nutmeg proved much harder to ignore. The ember sprite kept darting into my line of sight, studying my expression with open fascination, as though searching for evidence of whatever had changed during my outing.
I wondered if they could sense the lingering afterglow that still seemed to enfold me. The thought alone made me desperate to escape the interrogation.
Turning towards Gabe, I clasped my hands together and adopted what I hoped was a businesslike expression. “Shall I bake your confection now, or would you prefer to return in the morning?”
“I’d appreciate it if you could bake it today, if you have time.” His gaze flicked towards the darkened windows; dusk had fully melted into velvety night. “Forgive me, I’d forgotten how late it’s become. Tomorrow would be acceptable.”
Sending him back through the forest after nightfall seemed unwise.
His sense of direction was questionable even during daylight; darkness would only worsen the situation.
The tracking tart would help, but I wasn't entirely convinced it would be enough to compensate for his unfortunate talent for becoming lost. Not to mention there was no telling what creatures wandered the woods after dark. My absence of emotions hadn’t rendered me entirely heartless.
“I often bake late to prepare tomorrow’s stock,” I assured him. “It’s no trouble.”
After several rounds of obligatory politeness on both our parts, he finally surrendered the argument with a sigh. “Very well, I appreciate your generosity. Of course, I’ll pay you for your extra trouble—” He reached for the coin pouch at his waist.
“Nonsense, Cecelia will be happy to accommodate you at no extra charge,” Grandmother interrupted. “You may even stay for dinner.”
I shot her a look, which she returned with an entirely unrepentant smile. Suppressing a sigh, I forced my lips upward, pretending that this was a normal service for evening customers.
“Certainly. I’ll heat up some leftover stew from lunch, and you can have it with fresh bread while I work. It shouldn’t take much more than an hour. You may wait in the parlor.”
I reached for the basket of berries. Gabe surrendered it almost reluctantly. “I would hate to intrude.”
My brow furrowed. Had my displeasure somehow shown? Had I even felt such an emotion?
“It’s no trouble at all,” Grandmother answered before I could speak. “We insist.”
After another brief hesitation, Gabe bowed his head. “Thank you for your hospitality.”
At Grandmother’s expectant look, I finally conceded defeat. Leaving him alone with her seemed far riskier than allowing him to remain under my supervision while I baked.
Doing my best to ignore the satisfied smirk following me from across the room, I led Gabe into the kitchen.
I started to seat him at the table where we’d shared tea earlier, but if he was there while I baked, we would have to speak loudly enough that Grandmother would doubtless hear every word that passed between us.
Not that I planned anything of the slightest impropriety, but somehow I felt more comfortable having him closer, where we could communicate easily…
though I convinced myself it was simply to make things simpler.
Nutmeg trailed after us with a spark of excitement that suggested she considered herself an essential participant in whatever happened next. She hovered over my shoulder as I pulled a tall stool up to the end of my flour-dusted worktable, and then settled herself next to Gabe as he sat.
I set the pot of stew over the fire to warm, then tied on my apron and prepared to get to work. Gabe watched me with his dark eyes for a moment before rising from his seat. “May I help?”
I paused in gathering the bowls from the cupboard and looked over my shoulder.
His earnest expression tempted me to sway from my usual preference for baking alone, a habit I’d developed as Grandmother’s illness worsened over the years…
with the exception of Nutmeg’s supervision and her frequent attempts to steal samples of sugar, heedless of the discomfort it would cause her.
“That won’t be necessary.”
“But…” He looked away.
I tilted my head, studying him for clues that might reveal the hidden motive behind his offer. Hunched shoulders, avoiding eye contact, shuffling feet. Was he…nervous? But why? If he doubted his abilities in the kitchen, why volunteer in the first place?
The longer I watched him, the redder the tips of his ears became, though that particular symptom had become so commonplace around me it provided very little useful information. Offering assistance hardly seemed like the sort of thing that should inspire embarrassment.
I…didn’t understand. Normally I paid little attention to what emotions others were feeling beyond what was necessary to recommend the appropriate enchanted confection.
Yet for some reason my inability to decipher him created an uncomfortable tightness in my chest. Hopefully that would be the emotion the magic chose to take for the spell I was about to bake.
He looked so unexpectedly dejected by my refusal that I found myself offering additional explanation. “It wouldn’t be right for me to allow a customer to help create something they’re paying for.” I did my best to soften the words.
“That’s precisely why I want to help,” he said. “This spell is important to me. It only seems right I assist in its creation.”
He lifted his chin with quiet determination.
The expression reminded me so strongly of Grandmother whenever she resolved to be stubborn that I almost smiled.
It was not the emotion I would have expected from the quiet hunter, nor was it one I encountered often anymore. Yet I recognized it all the same.
It reminded me of the same unwavering resolve that had once driven me to make my bargain with the bakery’s magic all those years ago.
I could no longer remember what that fierce determination felt like; all that remained was the knowledge that I had once possessed it. Even so, it was a quality I respected.