Chapter 12
Over the next week, the strange awkwardness surrounding Gabe’s unexpected stay gradually dissolved beneath the quiet rhythm of ordinary days.
One morning blended into another until I no longer questioned his presence in the bakery any more than I questioned Nutmeg’s habit of stealing sugar or Grandmother’s tendency to eavesdrop from the doorway.
Each morning I found myself unconsciously searching the kitchen for him before remembering he had taken to rising before dawn.
Sometimes I would discover him outside splitting kindling, sometimes wandering the nearby woods collecting edible herbs, and occasionally simply sitting beneath the awning watching the mist drift through the trees.
His curse compelled him to wander, but our enchanted connection never allowed him to stray too far, a fact which grew more reassuring the longer we remained bound.
We spent the evenings researching the tracking tart and how to break the spell between us, but during the day Gabe accompanied me in the kitchen.
He insisted upon helping with every commission, though his greatest contribution seemed to be volunteering to taste every tart that emerged less than perfect.
Despite repeatedly claiming he wasn’t particularly fond of sweets, he somehow never refused a single failed experiment.
Without asking, he began remembering the little things I never imagined anyone would notice.
Which teacup I always reached for first, how I preferred honey stirred into chamomile but never mint, the medicines Grandmother needed as well as her favorite spot near the hearth, and which shelf Nutmeg inevitably raided whenever left unsupervised.
My maps gradually became less solitary affairs.
Gabe would follow beside me while I sketched new trails, occasionally pointing out unusual trees or animal tracks I might otherwise have overlooked.
In return, I quietly discovered that leading someone through the forest felt strangely different from exploring it alone.
I had always believed maps existed merely to preserve places.
But the longer Gabe stayed, I began to wonder if perhaps they also existed to share them.
His wandering seemed to quiet whenever we explored together.
He still glanced towards every unfamiliar path, as though expecting the curse to tug him away without warning, but gradually those restless looks became fewer.
Sometimes I would glance up from my map to discover he wasn’t watching the trail at all—he was watching me.
And strangely, it didn’t take long before I began to watch him too.
It was dangerous how naturally Gabe had woven himself into the fabric of my days—like flour folded into dough, I could no longer separate where one ended and the other began. Each sunrise carried us one day closer to the full moon, when the bakery would once again leave the forest—and him—behind.
The thought lingered over every pleasant moment like spilled ink across a map.
I had spent years convincing myself that nothing could be lost if I never allowed myself to become attached.
Now, despite every effort to remain untouched, I was beginning to understand why people risked loving things that could not stay.
One morning about a week after the tart bound us, as I turned to leave the bedroom, I noticed that Gabe’s unpacked satchel that was always at the ready by the door in order to depart at any time was no longer in its usual position by the front door, but now rested beside the daybed.
A quiet sign that he stopped expecting to leave at every moment.
I followed the comforting trail of his voice down the stairs. Before I even reached the last stair, I heard Gabe laughing with Nutmeg, the comfortable laughter of someone with a friend. I peeked into the kitchen.
Nutmeg had involved Gabe in a game of hide-and-seek she invented, disguising herself as loaves of bread, cinnamon rolls, or sugar jars while he dramatically pretended not to notice before gasping in exaggerated surprise when she revealed herself. Her delighted sparks filled the room.
I caught myself lingering longer than necessary simply to watch, smiling before I even realized I was doing it.
I hastily rearranged my expression before entering the kitchen as though nothing had happened, and tried not to notice the way my heart lifted when Gabe smiled at me and wished me good morning.
I couldn’t tell whether the warmth in my chest was my own or whether he felt the same way.
Today I had a commission for a batch of Soothing Sugar Cookies to bake for a funeral in the village.
I hadn’t had many orders this past week, the bakery too deep in the woods for most to venture, leaving me once again to wonder why the magic had selected such a remote location; my well-stocked supplies from our previous location were quickly dwindling.
I didn’t miss baking as much as thought I would.
Without realizing it, Gabe had quietly settled into the empty spaces of my days, as though he had always belonged beside me in the kitchen.
Even the strange emotional connection between us had become something I was gradually learning to accommodate, though it still left me with an exhausting assortment of feelings that never seemed entirely my own.
I looked around for the recipe book, but it wasn’t in its usual cabinet. My brow furrowed. That was strange. Grandmother no longer baked with magic, which left only one likely culprit.
“Nutmeg?” I called. “Did you move my recipe book?”
She peeked cautiously from behind the sugar jar and tentatively shook her head.
I frowned. My ember sprite had little reason to lie to me in matters unrelated to stolen sugar or her attempts to sample cooling pastries before they were ready.
Yet for reasons I couldn’t explain, I remained unconvinced.
“Then have you seen it? I can’t seem find it anywhere.”
Her gaze darted towards Gabe—who had gone still—before once more shaking her head with almost frantic enthusiasm, an emotion too out of place for me to have accurately deciphered.
I nibbled my lip and studied her carefully, searching for some clue hidden within her expression.
Surely guilt must reveal itself somehow.
However, the longer I searched, the more the familiar tension pulsed behind my temples.
Lately every attempt to untangle emotions left me more exhausted than kneading dough for hours, and with Gabe’s feelings continually brushing against my own through the enchantment, the effort only seemed to grow more taxing.
“Are you certain you didn’t move it?” I asked again, though I couldn’t imagine what possible use an ember sprite would have for an enchanted recipe book.
Nutmeg released an indignant shower of sparks before vigorously shaking herself once more. I’d clearly accused her unfairly, though whether she was offended, annoyed, or simply exasperated by my lack of trust, I couldn't confidently determine.
The puzzle left me exhausted. I pressed my fingers to my aching forehead until another sensation quietly prodded my attention—it settled heavily in my chest, taut and uncomfortable, carrying with it the unmistakable impression that something precious stood on the verge of being lost.
I glanced towards Gabe curiously, wondering if the feeling came from him. His jaw had tightened almost imperceptibly, and though his expression remained carefully composed, I could feel his silent wrestle echoing through the invisible thread connecting us.
“What is this feeling?” I asked.
He hesitated. “It’s…” His voice faltered before he lowered his eyes. “I’m just worried.”
While I was no expert in emotions, the answer didn’t seem entirely truthful. And yet…I couldn’t tell for certain. I looked back and forth between Nutmeg and Gabe.
Something had quietly passed between them, some shared understanding that remained entirely beyond my reach.
They weren’t speaking, yet they seemed to understand one another perfectly, leaving me standing just outside whatever invisible conversation had taken place.
I was used to a lonely existence, but something about the pact between these two, a bond that didn’t include me, made me unhappy.
I pushed past the barrier I’d willingly erected over my emotions and reached for that understanding with all the determination I normally reserved for solving an unfamiliar map. Instead, I found only another unfamiliar feeling rising quietly within my own heart.
It wasn’t sharp like anger, nor heavy like grief.
It felt smaller than either of those, yet somehow more uncomfortable.
Like standing outside a warmly lit bakery on a winter evening, able to see the laughter within while remaining on the other side of the glass.
The feeling tightened unexpectedly. For the first time in years, I realized I didn’t want to be left outside.
Was this…frustration? Or was it something else entirely?
The thought unsettled me almost as much as the feeling itself.
Ever since the tracking tart had bound Gabe and me together, emotions I had believed forever sacrificed seemed to be quietly returning, slipping through cracks I hadn’t realized existed in the walls I’d so carefully built around my heart.
The enchantment had allowed me to borrow Gabe’s emotions, but even with his feelings brushing against mine, I still couldn't understand them. The realization left me feeling strangely…small, like a child staring at a map she could no longer read.
Worse still, I found myself wishing I understood—not for my own sake, but because I suddenly disliked appearing so hopelessly lost whenever Gabe was nearby. That, perhaps more than any emotion I’d rediscovered so far, frightened me most.