Chapter 12 #2
A dull ache continued to pulse behind my temples, growing stronger the longer unfamiliar emotions crowded my thoughts. I leaned one hand against the counter and closed my eyes for a moment, releasing a slow breath.
Ever since the enchantment had bound Gabe and me together, my heart no longer felt like the quiet, orderly pantry it had become over the years.
Instead it resembled a kitchen during the busiest festival of the year, every shelf overturned and every ingredient demanding my attention at once. No wonder my head hurt.
“Are you alright?” Gabe asked.
“Of course.” The words emerged sharper than I intended, carrying an edge I scarcely recognized as my own voice.
He studied me with growing concern. “You don’t sound fine.”
Nutmeg bobbed emphatically in agreement, showering the air with tiny approving sparks.
The sight only deepened the unpleasant sensation tightening inside me.
The two of them seemed to have formed their own quiet alliance, exchanging glances and understanding one another with effortless ease while I remained hopelessly behind.
The feeling reminded me of biting into what appeared to be a chocolate chip cookie only to discover someone had filled it with raisins instead.
Gabe frowned, but his look had gentled. “You seem frustrated.”
“I’m not frustrated.”
The denial escaped before I remembered the unfortunate reality that he could feel everything stirring inside me. If anyone knew whether I was frustrated, it was almost certainly Gabe. The realization tightened something deep inside my chest.
“This is all your fault,” I snapped before I could stop myself. “Until you arrived, I never had to deal with these…these pesky emotions that refuse to leave me alone.” The words hung between us.
Gabe’s eyes widened, and then he lowered his gaze. “I do feel responsible. The truth is…”
I waited for him to continue. When he remained silent, the strange pressure inside me swelled until it felt almost unbearable, like a kettle left too long upon the stove with nowhere for the steam to escape.
I needed to bake something. Unfortunately, I still couldn't find my recipe book. No matter; I had dozens of ordinary recipes committed to memory.
My hands moved almost of their own accord as I reached for flour, sugar, and butter, not caring what I grabbed, simply wanting to move.
Unlike every other time I’d baked, nothing followed the orderly rhythm I normally loved.
I dumped ingredients into bowls without measuring them, cracked eggs far harder than necessary, and scattered flour across the countertop with careless abandon.
I was dimly aware of Gabe watching silently, distress traveling along our bond, but that only made me move more quickly.
Somewhere in the midst of my frantic efforts I realized I wasn’t following any recipe at all.
Surely if I kneaded enough dough or whisked vigorously enough I could outrun whatever was happening inside me.
Instead the feeling followed me from cupboard to counter to mixing bowl, refusing to loosen its hold.
“What on earth is going on?”
Grandmother stood in the doorway, balancing on her cane.
Her gaze slowly traveled across the kitchen, taking in the measuring cups scattered across every available surface, open jars of flour and sugar, a cracked egg dripping onto the floor beside its abandoned shell, spoons soaking forgotten in the sink, and enough spilled ingredients to suggest a small cyclone had swept through the bakery.
Her eyebrows rose almost as high as Gabe’s had moments earlier.
Another swell of the same unpleasant emotion rushed through me, similar to the unidentified one I’d felt from Gabe…
only this time it was my own. It faltered as something else quietly followed, heavier somehow, leaving me acutely aware of the disaster I’d created.
“I…” I looked around the kitchen as though noticing the mess for the first time. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Nor had I meant to draw her from her room.
Lately she’d been venturing from bed far more more often than her strength ought to allow, undoubtedly encouraged by the unfolding drama between Gabe and me.
She still seemed determined to witness every moment of her latest matchmaking scheme, one I remained equally determined to prove entirely unsuccessful.
She beckoned for me to follow. We couldn’t venture far without the invisible thread binding Gabe and me tightening into the familiar, uncomfortable pull that seemed determined to keep us together so she led me only as far as the adjoining parlor before lowering her voice to a whisper.
The precaution was likely unnecessary; over the past week I’d come to know Gabe well enough to realize he wasn’t the sort of man who would intentionally eavesdrop upon a private conversation.
I shuffled after her, suddenly feeling like a child about to receive a well-deserved scolding.
The sensation caught me off guard. I hadn’t felt this way since I’d been a little girl and my parents had gently corrected me after some childish mishap.
Would these troublesome emotions ever leave me alone?
When we’d gone just far enough not to be overheard, yet remained close enough to avoid aggravating the enchantment, Grandmother slowly turned to face me. She regarded me with the same knowing expression she wore whenever she’d caught Nutmeg sneaking sugar from the pantry.
I braced myself. Surely she was about to remind me that slamming cupboards, accusing innocent ember spirits, and creating disasters in the kitchen were hardly becoming behaviors…particularly in front of the young man she seemed determined to convince me to marry.
Instead, I found only compassion; the realization left me unexpectedly ashamed for having so badly misjudged her intentions.
She shifted her weight upon her cane before reaching out to gently cover my hand with her own. A softness filled her eyes that I still lacked the vocabulary to name, though I found myself wishing I could.
“Are you alright, Cecelia?”
I simply stared at her. Of all the questions I’d expected, that wasn’t one of them. When I didn’t answer, she squeezed my hand reassuringly.
“I’m sure all these emotions are overwhelming, especially for someone who’s gone so long without them. What happened?”
“I…don’t know.” My hand drifted unconsciously to my chest, where my heart still refused to settle into its familiar, quiet rhythm.
“I couldn’t find my recipe book. Then I couldn’t understand what Nutmeg and Gabe’s emotions were feeling.
” I looked helplessly towards the kitchen.
“They both knew something I didn’t. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t figure it out. ”
Grandmother released a slow breath, though unlike the sighs I’d spent years carefully cataloguing, this one carried no disappointment. “That is a great deal for anyone to carry,” she said gently. “Especially all at once.”
Something inside me quietly gave way. I hadn’t realized how much I longed for understanding this inescapable confusion until she’d so freely given it. The knot I’d been holding so tightly loosened just enough that my next question escaped before I could stop it.
“Why aren’t you upset with me?”
Her forehead creased with genuine confusion. “My dear…” She lifted a hand to brush an errant strand of hair behind my ear, just as she used to when I was little. “Why would I be?”
“I made a mess of the kitchen. I snapped at Gabe. I accused Nutmeg.” I lowered my eyes. “I behaved terribly.”
“You behaved emotionally. There’s a difference.” She waited until I reluctantly looked back up before continuing. “Flour spills. Tempers flare. Hearts become overwhelmed. None of those things make someone bad.” A fond smile touched her lips. “They simply make them human.”
The words settled over me with surprising weight.
“I spent so many years trying to protect you from pain,” she continued quietly.
“Though I was horrified by the bargain you’d struck with the recipe book, part of me rejoiced when your magic eased your grief after your parents passed away because I thought it had spared you suffering.
But somewhere along the way…” Her voice caught.
“I forgot that healing doesn’t come from never feeling again. ”
I swallowed. “So I’m not failing when I feel all of these painful emotions?”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Her thumb gently stroked the back of my hand. “Feeling something doesn’t mean you’re failing.” She smiled with a tenderness that seemed to reach straight through every carefully built wall around my heart. “It means your heart is waking up.”
I returned to the kitchen intending to resume cleaning the disaster I’d created…only to freeze in the doorway. Gabe stood before the cabinet, one hand still rested upon the door. The missing recipe book lay open in his hands.