Chapter 12 #3
For one bewildered moment neither of us moved. The guilt that struck me through our connection was so sharp it almost made me wince. His eyes widened, reminding me of a young child I’d once caught helping himself to a cherry tart.
“…Gabe?”
He looked down at the book then slowly closed it. “I can explain.”
My gaze shifted from the recipe book, to the cabinet, then back again. Understanding arrived in quiet pieces, one ingredient at a time. The missing book. Nutmeg’s suspicious behavior and her repeated glances towards Gabe. The uncomfortable guilt that had lingered all morning.
“You’re the one who took my recipe book.” The words felt strangely difficult, as though speaking them aloud made them all the more real.
His shoulders lowered in resignation, confirming my fear that he’d been the one who’d taken it. A complicated knot tightened inside me. Surprisingly, the strongest feeling wasn't anger—it was hurt. Not because he’d looked through my recipe book, but because he’d believed he had to hide it from me.
I sank into one of the kitchen chairs, suddenly too weary to remain standing. “Why do you have my book?” I asked, my voice quieter.
His gaze shifted to the floor. “I should have told you.” The regret flowing through our connection was so vivid I almost mistook it for my own. “But every time I tried…” He shook his head. “I couldn't bring myself to. I’ve enjoyed my time with you too much to risk losing it.”
My heart gave an unexpected flutter too pleasant to be part of his apology.
He looked miserably at the recipe book still resting in his hands. “You've shown me nothing but kindness…and I repaid you by betraying your trust.”
I was spared analyzing the complicated feelings when glowing amber movement caught my attention.
Nutmeg floated hesitantly towards me, looking almost guilty herself.
Without meeting my eyes, she nudged a stolen sugar cube across the table towards me like a peace offering. Despite everything, I nearly smiled.
I sighed and stroked her warm little head. She gave a hopeful spark before curling happily against my hand, nuzzling it contentedly. Apparently I had forgiven her…or perhaps she simply assumed I would.
I looked back towards Gabe, still steadying avoiding my eyes, as if he couldn’t bear to look at me.
The feeling flowing through the bond was heavy—ashamed and aching.
“I think…” I frowned. “No, not that emotion.” I forced myself to feel the emotion long enough to better understand it. “…is this remorse?”
His eyes lifted in surprise before a small, sad smile touched his mouth. “You're learning.”
For reasons I couldn’t explain, the realization pleased me, only a little, but enough.
He finally lifted his head. “I can’t explain what happened, but I want to be as honest with you as I’m able.” He took a wavering breath. “The truth is…I recognized the crest,” he confessed, tapping the faded emblem.
I stilled, an emotion I faintly recognized as shock catching my breath. “You’ve seen it before?” I finally managed.
He nodded. “My grandfather used to tell me stories about a magical recipe book that was the key to breaking the curse upon our family. The moment I first saw your book, I wanted to take it,” he continued. “I hated myself for even thinking it, but it was as though some outside force compelled me.”
Which meant this wasn’t random temptation, but something personal to him. Instead of becoming angry at the revelation, I only felt curious. “How fascinating. It’s quite the puzzle.” One that stirred the same desire to solve as when I tried to figure out a recipe’s secret ingredient.
Gabe seemed surprised by my reaction, before smiling to himself. “This is the type of person you are. You claim to be emotionless, but possess nothing but kindness.”
A peculiar warmth caressed my cheeks, a surprisingly tender response I yearned to explore further. For the first time, I considered the possibility it might be worth occasionally experiencing emotions as unpleasant as frustration if I could keep enjoying the sensations Gabe stirred within my heart.
It took me a long moment to regain my senses enough in order to focus on the matter at hand. “You’re clearly in no more control over the enchanted connection binding you to the book than you are for the one currently binding us. Do you have any idea what that connection might be?”
He shrugged. “I wish I knew. I only know the book feels familiar, as though I've spent years looking for it without realizing.”
“Then the stories are true.”
At Grandmother’s interjection, we both looked towards her. She hobbled over and rested one weathered hand upon the recipe book. For a long moment she simply traced the wolf embossed into its worn leather cover.
When she finally looked up, the warmth had disappeared from her eyes. “I wondered how much longer it would take before one of the Wolves found us.”
Silence settled over the kitchen. I looked from Grandmother to Gabe, who’d gone still. “The Wolves?” I repeated. “What do you mean?”
With a weary sigh, she met my eyes. “I think it’s finally time you learned where that recipe book came from.”