Chapter 10 #2
A low creak of floorboards pierced the stillness of the night, tearing the thin fabric of my sleep.
I sat upright. For a moment I remained still, listening.
The bakery had its own language after dark: settling beams, distant rain, the occasional rustle of Nutmeg exploring where she ought not to be.
Yet something about this sound felt different.
Without fully understanding why, I slipped from bed and softly opened my door.
I looked up and down the hallway. Gabe sat outside my bedroom, propped awkwardly against the wall with a pillow beneath his head and a blanket tucked around his shoulders.
He almost looked as though he were keeping watch, if not for the fact he appeared to be sleeping soundly despite the uncomfortable position.
For a moment I simply watched him. Moonlight filtered through the narrow window at the end of the hall, illuminating his sleeping form in shimmering silver.
One arm rested loosely atop the blanket while his head leaned awkwardly against the wall.
He couldn't possibly be comfortable, yet he hadn't complained, woken Grandmother, or knocked on my door. He’d simply endured it.
Something unpleasant tightened within my chest: guilt—not because Gabe was uncomfortable, but because he was uncomfortable on my behalf. Because my failed spell had stranded him here, and he now was forced to sleep on the floor rather than risk causing me inconvenience.
The realization came with surprising clarity.
I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt guilty about anything.
The unfamiliar emotion sat strangely upon my heart, uncomfortable and heavy.
Yet while it was not a pleasant sensation, it gave me the oddest sense of communion, as though feeling this burden could draw me closer to the person associated with the feeling.
Before I could examine it further, as though my presence acted as a silent alarm, Gabe suddenly stirred. His eyes blinked sleepily open. The moment he noticed me standing there, he nearly tripped over himself scrambling to his feet.
“Cecelia!” His voice was hoarse with sleep. “ I—forgive me, I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just…couldn’t sleep.” His frantic explanation faltered in the midst of his growing mortification.
“So you resorted to sleeping in the hallway?” I asked.
His ears immediately reddened and he lowered his eyes. “I can explain.”
“Please do.”
He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “When I entered the guest room, I felt…uncomfortable.”
My eyebrow lifted. “Uncomfortable?” The description seemed remarkably inadequate for the torment that had kept me tossing and turning for hours.
He gave a helpless shrug. “That's not quite the right word. The farther away I got from you, the worse it became.”
The admission hung awkwardly between us; to my annoyance, I understood exactly what he meant. “Like something was missing?” I offered hesitantly, both desiring and dreading to confirm what I’d felt.
His eyes widened. “Exactly.”
For a moment we simply stared at one another as the realization settled over us. We hadn't experienced similar sensations—we’d experienced the same one. A shiver rippled down my spine. Whatever connection the tart had created was proving far stronger than either of us had anticipated.
“I wrestled it for hours,” he admitted quietly. “I kept telling myself to ignore it. It didn’t fully disappear, but it became bearable once I reached your room. I assure you, I have no untoward purpose, and will remain out here in the hall.”
The more he described the sensation connecting us, the more I recognized it. That was exactly how the tracking spell was supposed to work. But what did it mean that it was trying to lead him to me? Whatever bond had formed between us was apparently far stronger than I initially believed.
“So your solution was to sleep on the floor?” I asked.
He shrugged. “It seemed preferable to disturbing you. And of course I would never enter a lady’s bedchamber while she slept.”
Another piece of the puzzle I’d been subconsciously been assembling about Gabe quietly slid into place—he would rather inconvenience himself than create discomfort for someone else.
Whatever his noble intentions, I didn’t want him sleeping on the floor.
Unfortunately, the alternatives seemed equally impractical.
He frowned slightly. “Aren’t you upset?”
I tilted my head. “Should I be?” By his widening eyes, the answer was apparently yes. Too late I realized I had once again missed my social cue.
Surprise flickered across his face, followed by something sadder, as though my answer had confirmed a suspicion he wasn’t yet ready to voice. “You found a strange man sleeping outside your room.”
I considered that. Objectively it sounded alarming, yet I couldn’t summon the appropriate reaction. I shrugged. “I knew it was you.”
His frown deepened. Somehow that response seemed to concern him even more.
Because Grandmother had a knack for knowing everything, a sharp tapping suddenly penetrated the night.
Because she was often unable to get out of bed, we’d developed a system where she rapped the floor with her cane to call me.
I went to her doorway, Gabe trailing behind.
She beckoned me closer to her bed with a conspiratorial gesture.
I quietly excused myself from Gabe and went in. “Grandmother, you know you should be sleeping—”
“Nothing cures the ailment of age quite like intrigue involving one’s beloved granddaughter.”
Her eyes sparkled with far too much energy for someone who had spent most of the day resting.
Her attention darted past me, through the open doorway, towards Gabe, who had resumed arranging his pillow and blanket along the hallway floor with all the solemn resignation of a man preparing for a lengthy exile.
“Are you truly going to leave him like that?” she whispered. “The poor boy looks as though he's been banished from the kingdom. What a way to treat a customer.”
I sighed. “And what do you propose I do?” I braced myself for what would inevitably be an unwanted suggestion.
Her grin widened. “Share a room, of course.”
I must have looked scandalized, for she chuckled and reached up to pat my cheek.
“That is exactly the sort of emotion I like to see. Perhaps there is hope for you yet.” Her smile turned positively impish. “And there’s no need to look so alarmed—I suggested you share a room, not a bed. Goodness, Cecelia.”
“As though that makes your suggestion any better.”
She shrugged. “If propriety is your concern, I shall sleep in the room too.”
“Absolutely not.” The protest escaped both Gabe and me simultaneously. I could only imagine how much more magnified the current awkwardness would be with her monitoring our every move.
Grandmother looked between us with a knowing smirk, far too pleased by our unified response. “Well, at least you’re capable of agreeing on something. But if you won’t have me, Nutmeg will accompany you to ensure nothing untoward occurs.”
Heat crept into my cheeks. Judging by the way Gabe suddenly became fascinated by a loose floorboard, he appeared equally mortified. The problem was that despite my immediate rejection, I couldn't think of a better solution. Neither, apparently, could Gabe.
The bond had already proven stronger than either of us anticipated. Separating us by a single hallway had been enough to keep us both awake for hours. Neither of us appeared eager to repeat the experience, yet neither wished to admit as much aloud.
“Finally you’re in agreement,” Grandmother said. “I was beginning to worry I might be the only practical person in this bakery.”
Before either of us could argue further, she waved a dismissive hand with the authority of someone accustomed to getting exactly what she wanted. “Now stop standing about looking miserable and go to bed.”
When the door closed behind her, silence settled over the hallway once more. Gabe and I exchanged a glance, but neither of us moved. Finally, with the air of a man accepting an unfortunate fate, Gabe turned to face me, shooting a nervous glance towards my bedroom.
We reluctantly obeyed. The magic’s tension that had been sharply stretching between us earlier, and still twinged as we fought the need to stay together, eased the moment he stepped inside my room, only to be replaced by an entirely different kind.
My room was surprisingly spacious for such a small bakery, serving not only as my bedroom but also my map room and workspace.
Shelves lined the walls, crowded with journals, rolled maps, sketches of flowers, and curiosities gathered from dozens of locations over the years.
Usually the room felt large and comfortably familiar.
Tonight it felt confined and impossibly small, Gabe’s presence seeming to crowd every available space.
Nutmeg floated in after us and immediately settled atop a shelf, looking entirely too pleased with herself. The tiny ember sprite folded her morphed arms and adopted the posture of a very self-important chaperone.
Gabe appeared equally uncomfortable as he hovered uncertainly in the doorway.
I glanced around the room before motioning towards a narrow daybed resting against the far wall beneath the window, the bed Grandmother used to sleep on when I was younger and experiencing nightmares after my parents’ death.
Gabe eased onto the edge with the cautious look of a man trying to occupy as little space as possible.
The arrangement was perfectly respectable. Mostly.
It didn’t matter that we weren’t sharing a bed—we seemed trapped into sharing silence instead, which felt nearly as dangerous. The sooner I slept, the sooner this strange night would finally be over.
I extinguished my candle, self-consciously yanked the blankets up to my chin, and turned my back firmly towards my new roommate, as though the extra barrier might somehow protect me from the bewildering emotions that had plagued me ever since we met.