Chapter 11 #3
Through the bond I sensed another emotion beneath the embarrassment—nervousness, not over the cooking itself, but over whether I would like it.
I shrugged. “Grandmother wants to try your cooking.” And a small, inconvenient part of me did too, though I did my best to ignore that thought, hoping Gabe wouldn’t notice.
His shoulders relaxed at my words. He motioned for me to sit and returned to his task. Despite his invitation, I remained standing. I spent almost all my time either mapping or in the kitchen. Without some task to occupy my hands, I felt strangely adrift and without purpose.
My fingers itched to prepare some confection—preferably one capable of removing every unwanted emotion currently complicating my life. Unfortunately, Gabe occupied the kitchen, once again creating inconvenience I hadn’t asked for.
He glanced over his shoulder and raised his an eyebrow questioningly.
When I still didn’t move, he abandoned the hearth, crossed the room, and pulled out a chair for me, motioning for me to sit.
The hopeful look on his face softened my resistance far more effectively than any argument could have.
Reluctantly, I perched on the edge of the seat, feeling self-conscious with nothing to do.
Soon the homey sounds of breakfast preparation filled the kitchen. Eggs sizzled in the pan while bread toasted over the fire, the delicious scents drifting through the room in warm curls of steam.
I tried to ignore his presence crowding the kitchen, but found my gaze repeatedly drawn to him as he worked.
Perhaps it was because Gabe approached the everyday task with such earnest concentration, or perhaps it was simply because it was Gabe.
Concentration furrowed his brow as he attentively watched the eggs to ensure they reached the perfect state of crispy edges and soft middles, and I found my gaze repeatedly drifting towards the dark strand of hair that kept falling stubbornly across his forehead.
He reached for another piece of bread to add to the pan when the loaf suddenly floated into the air. Gabe nearly dropped the spatula. “What—”
“Nutmeg!” I scolded.
My ember sprite immediately abandoned her disguise and morphed back into herself with a cheerful spark, looking entirely too pleased with herself despite having been caught. I cast Gabe an apologetic look.
“She enjoys disguising herself as baked goods and playing hide-and-seek.” While technically true, today her purpose appeared to be surveillance more than a simple game, undoubtedly under Grandmother’s orders.
I felt a burst of delight through our connection as he gaped wide-eyed at my ember sprite, who’d floated closer to the pan to investigate the delicious smell. He smiled, carefully broke off a piece of egg, and offered it to her on the end of his spatula.
Nutmeg accepted it with a delighted spark before floating over to show me her prize as though she had personally hunted it. Then she zipped up to the rafters to enjoy her breakfast.
Something about the simple kindness of the exchange and the thoughtful way he treated my peculiar little ember sprite softened me, a naturalness that made him feel as though he belonged here.
The feeling lingered, making it difficult to look away as he finished preparing breakfast and carried the steaming plates to the table.
I took a cautious bite. My mouth immediately flooded with flavor. Objectively there was nothing remarkable about eggs and toast, yet somehow they tasted better than any breakfast I could remember. I found myself taking another enthusiastic bite.
When I glanced up, I discovered Gabe watching me.
Hope and anxiety mingled so strongly through our connection that I nearly smiled.
“It’s delicious,” I assured him. For some reason, the admission made me feel shy.
Relief washed through him, then quiet satisfaction, the emotions filling me so clearly I almost felt they were my own.
He smiled and my heart responded with an answering flutter, my own pleasure in making him happy…
evidence, surely, of why it was imperative that I sever this connection as quickly as possible and return my life to its previous state entirely free from kind, handsome men determined to undermine my good sense.
I cleared my throat and he looked up. “I thought we should begin our research into what went wrong with the tart by discussing what you wanted it to lead to.” He’d claimed before he wasn’t entirely certain what he was searching for, but I sensed he hadn't been completely forthcoming.
He was silent a long moment before sighing. “It seems only fair that I give you all the information I have. I shouldn’t have withheld it in the first place.” He set his fork down to give me his full attention. “The truth is, I’ve been cursed to wander. I can never settle in one place.”
That explained his poor sense of direction, as well as his urgency to leave one village for the next. A twinge of disappointment stirred within me before I could stop it. Unless his curse was broken, he would never remain anywhere long enough for us to truly know one another.
Then again, the wandering bakery would eventually carry me away as well.
“Over the course of my travels, I’ve researched everything I can about the curse,” he continued. “What I’ve discovered suggests it can be broken through a specific recipe. If my curse prevents me from finding what I seek, then I hoped your magic might be able to guide me to it.”
I frowned. “How long have you been wandering for?”
He was silent long enough that I wondered if he intended to answer at all. “Years.” His brow furrowed slightly. “I don't know how many. I stopped counting. After a while the days all begin to blur together.”
His gaze drifted towards the window. For the first time since he'd arrived, he looked tired, worn from the invisible burden he carried.
“I don’t remember what it feels like to stay anywhere anymore.” Something in his voice made my chest tighten. “I’ve slept in hundreds of beds, seen dozens of villages, met more people than I could ever name. I leave before any of them can become important.”
His fingers tightened around his teacup. “The curse doesn't just make me wander. It makes sure I never belong.”
He gestured at one of my maps hanging on the wall depicting the desert oasis where the bakery had once settled. “If you can never go back, why spend so much time recording them?”
The answer came so naturally that I didn't have to think. “So I don't lose them.”
Something vulnerable entered his expression as the words settled between us and he looked away. For a long moment he didn’t speak.
“I wish I'd had maps of the places I've left,” he murmured. “There are villages I barely remember anymore. I thought I'd remember them forever.” For the first time, I realized that wandering wasn’t an adventure to him—it was loss. “I can’t remember the last time someone expected me to return. That’s when I understood the curse wasn’t trying to make me lost—it was trying to make me forgotten. ”
I was at a loss on how to respond to his tragic story, or how to cope with the urgent need growing within me to find a way to help him. “With such a devastating curse, why did you commission a tracking tart rather than a curse-breaking confection?”
His eyes widened. “Your magic is capable of baking something so powerful?”
I shook my head. “I’m afraid I specialize in granting heart’s desires, not breaking curses.”
He nodded, unsurprised. “I thought that might be the case.”
His disappointment unexpectedly tugged at a hidden part inside me. “Just because there isn’t a recipe in my current book doesn’t mean one doesn’t exist. I could help you search for one—”
He was already shaking his head. “Even if you found one, I couldn't accept another enchanted confection from you.”
I frowned. “Why not?”
“Because of what it’ll cost you.”
I nearly scoffed. “Is this about me choosing to sacrifice my emotions?”
He frowned. The emotions that reached me through our connection made me want to immediately retreat from the topic.
“I’m honestly baffled that you don’t understand how significant it is.
Ever since the magic connected us, I’ve glimpsed fragments of what your life must be like; I don’t know how you endure it. This numbness isn’t living.”
A wave of defensiveness surged through me.
I still didn’t understand why he—and Grandmother, for that matter—seemed to care more about my emotions than I did.
If anything, the flood of feelings I’d experienced through our connection only confirmed I had made the correct choice to sacrifice them.
Wonder, embarrassment, longing, regret…every one of them carried the potential to wound.
While some of what I sensed through our bond was pleasant, the pain I recalled from my past far outweighed the delight.
I couldn’t help but briefly wonder whether it was a mistake to treat something others viewed as precious so callously…especially when I remembered the awe from this morning’s breathtaking sunrise, the wonder that had washed over me from the warmth of the dawn.
I hastily hid the memory away before it could take root, unwilling to examine anything that could persuade me from my chosen course. Unfortunately, I couldn’t conceal the falter in my resolve quickly enough before Gabe sensed it.
“Not all emotions are bad, Cecelia,” he said softly.
“They are if you can’t keep the precious ones.”
I returned my attention to breakfast, determined to end the conversation before he could continue dismantling my carefully constructed arguments. I took another bite of toast, scarcely enjoying the sweet tartness of the berry jam spreading across my tongue.