Chapter 14 #4
For one suspended heartbeat, the entire world narrowed until only the two of us remained.
Only then did I realize how close we’d drifted together—close enough to count the tiny flecks of gold hidden within her brown eyes, close enough to notice the faint dusting of graphite across her fingertips, close enough to smell cinnamon lingering in her hair from that morning’s baking reached me whenever the breeze shifted.
Hope stirred cautiously inside me. Slowly—careful not to frighten her—I leaned forward only enough that, if she wished, she could easily step away.
She remained perfectly still, her lips parting ever so slightly. Her eyes searched mine with quiet uncertainty, as though she sensed the moment changing even if she couldn’t quite name what it had become.
My heart pounded so loudly I was certain she must hear it. Another inch. I searched her face one final time for any sign of reluctance, any silent plea for me to stop. I found none. Instead, almost imperceptibly, she leaned towards me. The tiny movement stole what little hesitation I had left.
My hand lifted before I could stop it, aching to brush that stubborn lock of hair behind her ear, to discover whether her cheek was as soft and warm as it looked. “Cecelia…”
She blinked softly. “Hm?”
The gentle curiosity in that tiny sound nearly unraveled every careful thought I’d managed to hold together.
Remembrance suddenly flickered across her face.
Her gaze darted down to the map lying forgotten between us.
“Oh!“ She reached for her pencil with sudden urgency and bent over the parchment. “I nearly forgot. I haven’t marked where we found your maple leaf.” She hastily added another tiny mark near the edge of the page.
I stared at her for a long moment. Then, despite the acute disappointment of watching the path we’d been walking together vanish just before the destination I’d so desperately hoped to reach, I laughed.
She looked up, her brow furrowing slightly. I shook my head, smiling to myself. “The map comes first.”
“Well,” she replied matter-of-factly, “it would hardly be complete without it.”
I quietly rose to my feet. “No,” I agreed. “It wouldn’t.”
A small, content smile lit her face, appearing as though she were unaware she’d given it. She added one final symbol to the corner of the map, making it somehow even more precious because we’d created it together.
I watched her a moment longer. Perhaps someday we’d complete the journey that had nearly transpired, but today she was still learning the language of her own heart. I could wait…for as long as I had until either my wandering or the full moon separated us.
How many more places would we be able to add before the bakery moved and, left alone, the wandering curse took me away?
Already I could feel its familiar restlessness stirring once more—while I was close to the book, it seemed content, but I knew that would cease the moment the full moon rose and Cecelia and her book vanished.
The recipe in my pocket burned once more.
It would be so easy to use it, so easy to stay with her.
But if my selfishness stole even the smallest chance of seeing her smile again, I could never ask that price of her.
By the time Cecelia finally sat back with a satisfied sigh, the light filtering through the trees had softened into warm shades of amber and rose. She looked upward, her eyes widening. “How did it get to be so late?”
“I…don’t know.” I’d enjoyed my time so thoroughly that I hadn’t noticed the hours quietly slipping away, despite wishing to hold onto each one for as long as possible.
I followed her gaze. The afternoon had vanished, carrying with it one of what might be one of the last days we spent together before the curse inevitably compelled me to move on. My chest tightened at the thought.
She laughed quietly, something the Cecelia I’d first met would never have done. The cheerful sound was somehow delicate, as though still discovering its place within her. It only strengthened my resolve to protect the emotions slowly finding their way back to her.
“I’ve never spent so long on a single map.”
“And I’ve never wished an afternoon would last longer.” The words escaped before I could catch them.
Something quiet settled between us. Even without the enchantment that had once allowed me to glimpse the feelings hidden within her heart, I sensed she wasn’t quite ready for the afternoon to end either.
She hesitated before carefully rolling the parchment closed. “I suppose we should head back.”
I nodded, yet neither of us moved. Finally she rose to her feet. I offered my hand over the uneven stones beside the stream and she accepted it without hesitation. Her fingers settled naturally within mine, warm and trusting.
Neither of us let go even after she’d found her footing.
Instead, we simply began walking hand in hand.
Our surroundings blurred, my attention eclipsed by the feel of her hand enfolded within mine.
Even if I’d regained my tracking senses, I’m not sure I could have found my way back to the bakery with such a distraction.
But Cecelia led the way unhesitatingly, even as her fingers remained curled around mine.
The journey ended far too soon. By the time we returned, the evening air had turned pleasantly cool. The bakery glowed warmly in the gathering twilight, golden light spilling from its windows across the damp grass like a lantern welcoming weary travelers home.
I smiled despite myself. Home. The thought arrived so naturally that it startled me. Not because the bakery belonged to me. But because somehow, being here had begun to feel like belonging, a feeling my endless wandering had stolen from me long ago.
When we reached the little awning outside the bakery door, our footsteps slowed almost in unison. Neither of us seemed quite ready to be the first to let go. Her hand remained in mine for one lingering heartbeat, then another.
She looked up and our gazes locked. The warm light spilling from the windows caught the gentle blush still lingering upon her cheeks, and for one reckless moment I found myself wondering whether I ought to close the small distance between us, to complete the moment that we’d left unfinished beside beneath the oak.
She searched my face with that same quiet curiosity she’d worn all afternoon, as though sensing the question lingering between us even if she couldn’t yet give it a name.
Then her gaze flickered towards the bakery door. “I should check on Grandmother.”
The spell quietly dissolved. She slipped her hand from mine, though her fingertips brushed against my palm for just a moment longer than necessity required.
“Thank you for today,” she said softly.
Before I could think of a reply worthy of everything the day had become, she hurried inside. The door closed quietly behind her.
I remained beneath the awning, my hand still half-raised where hers had been only moments before.“I'll gather some firewood,” I murmured to no one in particular.
Yet I made no move towards the woodpile.
Instead I found myself staring at the closed door. Though she stood only a few feet away, separated by little more than weathered wood, already it felt as though some quiet part of me had been left on the other side with her.
Slowly, I unfolded the recipe I’d hidden inside my pocket. The worn parchment had become creased from how tightly I’d held it throughout the day. For several long moments, I simply stared at the final line: the Baker must willingly surrender the deepest desire remaining within her heart.
I lowered myself onto the old stump beside the bakery and rested my elbows on my knees. The price was just as horrific as the first time I’d read it. Not merely a single emotion or happiness or wonder, but whatever mattered enough to have remained even after everything else had been stolen.
My thoughts drifted to Cecelia—to the smile she’d forgotten to hide that morning, the wonder gradually returning to her eyes, the way she’d begun laughing without realizing it, the memories she’d marked on her maps…
and the almost kiss beneath the oak. Every day she became a little more herself, reclaiming another piece of the heart she’d spent years giving away.
Just a week ago, I would have given anything to end it. But the wandering no longer frightened me as much as it once had. Now the thought of ending it this way frightened me far more. The recipe crumpled as my fists clenched.
If remaining cursed meant Cecelia kept the smile she’d only just rediscovered, if wandering forever meant she never again had to surrender another piece of herself…then perhaps some journeys were worth continuing.
“Cecelia,” I whispered into the gathering dusk, “I’ll wander for the rest of my life before I allow any spell to take even one more piece of your heart.”
Though the curse remained, somehow, it no longer felt quite so heavy.