Chapter 7
Cecelia
Storms possessed their own unique beauty, an observation I was fairly certain—like my perception of emotions—fell outside the realm of normalcy.
I often wandered outdoors in the rain, whether gathering ingredients that could only be foraged during a storm or capturing precious moments between bakery hours and caring for Grandmother to spend with my maps, committing every detail to memory to record later so I could discover before the bakery shifted to its next location.
While others found storms gloomy or frightening, I marveled at the way rain painted the world in hues of silver and grey.
I loved watching the landscape transform beneath an overcast sky, seeing how raindrops altered familiar scenery and revealed secrets that could only be discovered during a storm.
My ember sprite avoided both cold and wet weather with dramatic determination, so I normally ventured out alone.
The rain felt entirely different while walking beside Gabe.
Raindrops dripped from the leafy canopy overhead, while silver mist hovered between the moss-covered trunks like a cocoon.
The air carried the fresh scent of wet earth, pine, and evergreen, while water gathered in trembling patterns on the leaves before tumbling softly to the forest floor.
Our footsteps were soft and muted against the damp undergrowth as we walked side by side.
Silence settled comfortably around us, broken only by the gentle patters of rain, the occasional rustle of branches overhead, and the quiet brush of our cloaks whenever we drifted a little too close together, each sound its own conversation.
The forest seemed to enfold us within its own secluded world, hidden away from everything beyond the trees, the sort of atmosphere I might have described as cozy or peaceful, should I be able to feel either emotion. Instead I observed it objectively, the way I might note a landmark upon a map.
Though the scenery grew increasingly beautiful the deeper we ventured into the woods, Gabe appeared far less interested in our surroundings than I was. More than once I caught him glancing in my direction before quickly looking away the moment our eyes met.
No matter how often I noticed, his gaze inevitably wandered back, as though he couldn’t help himself. I puzzled over the behavior before realizing I was was doing precisely the same thing.
Every new village brought unfamiliar customers into the bakery, and over the years I’d learned to study people almost instinctively.
With emotions playing no role in my first appraisal of a person, I had become rather skilled at understanding them…
or at least their needs. Perhaps I was simply assessing Gabe the same way I would any other customer.
At first glance, he appeared composed and capable.
His movements were efficient without wasted motion.
His attention constantly drifted towards the surrounding forest, as though listening to sounds beyond my awareness.
His clothing, though worn from travel and use, had been carefully maintained.
The leather of his gloves and bracers showed repeated repair rather than neglect, suggesting practicality rather than poverty.
Yet the longer I studied him, the less interested I became in what his appearance revealed and the more aware I became of him.
The occasional shaft of sunlight piercing the clouds caught against the dark strands of hair falling across his brow, softening the sharpness of his features.
His hands were roughened from archery and long hours outdoors, yet unexpectedly gentle whenever he moved a branch aside or steadied a cluster of delicate wildflowers bent beneath the rain.
A faint scar disappeared beneath the edge of his collar near his throat, pale against sun-bronzed skin.
But it was his eyes that continually drew my attention.
Dark enough to appear almost black beneath the shadows of the trees, they carried an alertness that reminded me strangely of the forest itself—guarded, watchful, and filled with secrets.
Every time I caught him looking at me, I had the distinct impression he was trying to solve a mystery.
Unfortunately for both of us, I was beginning to suspect I was doing exactly the same thing.
I gave my head a small, rigid shake, attempting to banish the unnecessary distraction diverting my attention from exploring the forest. I tried to focus on the map I held instead.
Normally the winding trails, hidden clearings, and unexplored corners of a new landscape would have captured my complete attention.
Yet for once, I had found something more interesting than the mystery of where a path might lead.
Gabe glanced sideways at me again. This time I couldn’t contain my curiosity any longer. “Why do you keep looking at me?” I asked.
I felt no embarrassment as I asked, but he startled as though I’d caught him stealing sweets from a cookie jar. He lowered his gaze briefly. “I—I’m sorry. I just thought you looked…”
His voice faded away, but the tips of his ears reddened. For a moment he appeared engaged in some silent internal struggle.
“I normally travel alone,” he quietly admitted. “It’s nice having company.” His eyes flickered back to mine. “Especially yours.”
A strange warmth unfurled somewhere inside my chest despite the cool breeze drifting through the forest. I longed to return the sentiment, but doing so almost felt like a lie.
Instead I found myself staring down at the map even though I’d already memorized the route leading to the ingredient we’d come to forage.
The silence stretched between us until Gabe suddenly stepped closer, leaning over my shoulder to peer at the parchment.
My breath caught. He stood so close I could feel his warmth despite the chill in the air. “We appear to be close to our destination,” he observed. “Isn’t it just around the bend?” He confidently traced a path leading in the opposite direction from the berry bush.
Though possessing no sense of direction seemed far more inconvenient than amusing, my lips twitched despite myself. “Not quite. It’s this direction.”
I pointed towards a trail winding east through the trees, and as I lifted my arm, our hands brushed. The contact lasted scarcely a heartbeat, yet a shiver danced unexpectedly across my skin that had nothing to do with the cold.
I cast him a questioning glance. “How have you managed to travel from village to village without knowing how to read a map?”
His expression immediately became sheepish. “By taking several detours, repeatedly getting lost, and occasionally arriving in places that were not my intended destinations.”
I frowned. “That sounds wildly inefficient.”
He shrugged. “It is.” His admission was so sincere that another smile threatened to appear.
“But I’ve discovered some wonderful places by accident.
A hidden waterfall, an abandoned orchard, a village famous for blackberry pie that wasn’t on any map I’d seen.
” His expression softened. “Sometimes getting lost leads somewhere worth finding.”
I looked down at the map I held. For me, maps had always represented certainty—knowing where I stood, how to get home, and the assurance that I wouldn’t be lost forever. “Wouldn’t it be easier to simply arrive where you intended the first time?” I countered.
His laugh was quiet but genuine. “For as much as I’ve enjoyed my frequent misadventures, that’s probably the wiser approach. Fortunately, one of us is sensible.” His gaze lingered on me warmly. “I’ll leave the navigation to you.”
He fell a few steps behind after that, allowing me to take the lead.
Yet whenever low branches crossed the trail, he hurried forward to move them aside before I reached them.
The quiet attentiveness accompanied us through the misty woods, small enough that he likely thought I didn’t notice. But I did, and found it endearing.
When the path climbed a muddy slope, he offered his hand. I was almost tempted to accept it, but forged forward on my own; he hovered near me as I carefully picked my way up the steep path. A few moments later my boot found a patch of slick mud hidden beneath fallen leaves.
The ground vanished beneath me as I lost my footing and lurched sideways. Even without panic, I imagined being stuck in the forest with a broken ankle, or at the very least scrubbing mud stains out of my cloak.
Strong arms caught me before I could fall.
For one breathless moment, the world seemed to still.
The rain, the forest, the distant birdsong.
Everything faded beneath the startling awareness of Gabe’s arms wrapped securely around me.
Warm, steady, and safe. One hand rested lightly at my waist while the other braced my shoulder, holding me effortlessly upright.
I had never realized how long it had been since someone had caught me when I stumbled, since someone had worried whether I might fall at all.
The sensation awakened something deep within me—a feeling I couldn’t quite name.
Security, perhaps. Or belonging. Or simply the comfort of knowing someone was there.
I had convinced myself I was perfectly content on my own. Yet standing there in Gabe’s arms, surrounded by his warmth, I found myself remembering what I had been missing. All too soon, the moment ended. He released me and stepped back, leaving me longing for the feeling he’d taken with him.
His cheeks reddened. “Sorry,” he murmured quickly.
Words failed me and I looked away. Security was a pleasant feeling, but it didn’t keep the bakery running, nor could it pay for Grandmother’s medicine.
Security certainly couldn’t bake enchanted confections that helped all the customers who sought our help.
If emotions were the price required for our livelihood, then practicality demanded I continue sacrificing them…
even if part of me suddenly was no longer quite as eager to let them go.