Chapter 16
I was preoccupied as I swept up the broken shards and flour from the kitchen floor.
Part of me was listening for any sounds from Granny’s room, hoping she was resting deeply.
Part of me seemed to be listening for something else, but I wasn’t sure what until I felt a sudden awareness—not through enchantment, but through a soft whisper of my heart.
The moment I noticed it, I heard the bakery door open.
I hastily brushed away my lingering tears on the corner of my apron and put the broom away, gently shooing Nutmeg towards Granny’s bedroom. The little ember sprite gave me a questioning glance before obediently slipping through the crack beneath the door.
Gabe walked over to the hearth, carefully stacking the firewood he’d gathered into a neat pile. I stood motionless, watching his familiar movements. As though sensing my gaze, he looked up.
The moment our eyes met, I instinctively reached for the familiar thread that had once connected us—the quiet warmth of his emotions, the comforting awareness that had always lingered somewhere just beyond my own thoughts.
No quiet contentment. No gentle pulse of concern.
No warmth brushing against my heart. Only silence.
Though I had expected it, the absence startled me far more than I expected. I’d believed breaking the enchantment would feel like freedom. Instead, it felt almost…lonely.
My hand drifted unconsciously to my chest. The realization settled over me with quiet certainty: I wasn’t just grieving the loss of borrowed emotions; somewhere along the way, I’d begun creating my own.
He searched my face as though seeing all the tears I’d shed, all the turmoil I’d just gone through. His brows slowly drew together. “Something’s changed.”
I instinctively shook my head.
His gaze lingered on me a moment longer before he quietly set down the last log and crossed the room. He stopped close enough that I could see the concern softening his expression. Without a word, his fingertip lightly traced the damp path a tear had left upon my cheek.
“You’ve been crying.”
Our fingers brushed as I reached up to caress my face. His touch had once been accompanied by emotions flowing freely between us. Now there was only the tenderness in his eyes. Strangely, that alone felt enough.
I found myself lingering beneath his gaze, quietly studying the gentle concern written so openly across his face.
It was astonishing how expressive he was, every feeling reflected there without reservation.
A hidden part of me treasured the way he looked at me—as though my tears mattered to him simply because they were mine.
“Are you alright, Cecelia?” he asked softly.
The sound of my name in his deep, gentle timbre sent a shudder through me.
Perhaps I would never be capable of experiencing emotions quite the way most people did.
Yet I couldn’t deny the longing growing quietly within me—the desire not merely to be near Gabe for another month, but to somehow remain beside him long after the bakery carried me elsewhere.
I forced a smile. “Yes, I’m fine.”
He looked unconvinced.
Instead of pressing me further, he simply bent to gather the flour-dusted bowls still scattered across the counters, seeming to know where everything belonged almost as well as I did. I stooped to retrieve the measuring cups, filling a basin with soapy water to clean the rest of the mess I’d made.
We worked quietly, immersed in the familiar choreography of sharing a kitchen that had developed between us during our time together. He no longer felt like a guest. Somehow, without either of us noticing, he’d quietly become part of the bakery’s daily rhythm, my home.
The thought of losing him suddenly hurt far more than I wanted to admit.
I cleared my throat, searching for lighter ground, an attempt to deflect with humor before my thoughts wandered somewhere dangerous.
“How is it that you keep ending up in my kitchen?” I asked.
“I thought that misguided spell was finally broken.”
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he finished brushing flour from his hands. “I’ve been thinking about that tracking tart.”
His joy was contagious. I couldn’t help returning his smile. “The one that upended both our lives?”
A quiet laugh escaped him. “I don’t think it upended anything.”
I tilted my head. “No?”
He stepped closer again, his gaze never leaving mine. Almost absentmindedly, he reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my hear. My breath caught.
“I think,” he said softly, “it simply led me somewhere I didn’t yet realize I was searching for.” His eyes held mine with such quiet certainty that my heart forgot how to beat. “I don’t think the spell went wrong after all.”
He now stood too close, his proximity enfolding me with feelings far too strong for my heart to possibly contain.
He caressed my cheek with tender, achingly careful movements, giving me plenty of time to push him away if I wasn’t ready.
And though these new emotions overwhelmed me, for once I didn’t feel as though I were drowning…
but instead like I was truly living for the first time.
Unconsciously, I leaned against his touch, savoring the moment I knew would be fleeting, no matter how much I now yearned to keep it. “How could the tracking tart not have been a mistake when the spell didn’t lead you to where you’ve been seeking?” I asked.
“Ever since being cursed to wander, I didn’t know what I’ve been truly seeking,” he said. “Yet now I realize that all this time, my heart has been searching not for a way to break the curse, but for you—the person who would end my wandering forever.”
My heart fluttered at his beautiful confession.
Though I was still afraid, it was overcome by an emotion far stronger—longing.
I yearned to reciprocate with my own confession that I couldn’t put into words, to explore this feeling more deeply until I finally understood what was filling my heart, making me yearn to be close to him forever.
As though sensing this silent wish, he caressed my cheek again, slower this time, allowing me to savor his heavenly touch and discover each wondrous detail. As beautiful as this moment was, it still felt impossibly out of reach.
“You can’t possibly desire someone like me,” I said.
“Not when I can’t return what you’re offering.
I hardly even know what love is…I’m just beginning to rediscover my love for my grandmother and I don’t have any idea how to—“ I hesitated, embarrassed but needing to be clear. “I know nothing about the kind of love I used to dream of as a little girl, when I thought I’d one day meet a dashing prince.”
A smile touched his lips, tender and knowing. “I think you understand it far better than you realize.”
As much as I wished for his words to be true, I couldn’t accept them. “How can you possibly know that?”
“Because I’ve seen it.” His thumb brushed lightly against my cheek.
“I’ve seen your love every time you care for your grandmother, every time you make certain Nutmeg stays away from sweets that would make her ill, even when she was driving you to distraction.
I’ve seen it in the way you spend hours searching for medicinal herbs to help people you’ll never meet again, and in the way you sacrifice pieces of yourself so complete strangers can have what they need. ”
His gaze held mine. “I’ve seen it in the way you record every place the bakery visits because you can’t bear the thought of losing them, in the way you map every path and clearing so they’ll be remembered after they’re gone.
” His smile softened. “And I’ve seen it in the way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention. ”
Heat rushed to my cheeks. “That isn’t love.”
“No?” His eyebrows lifted slightly. “Then why did you spend days trying to help me break my curse? Why do you worry when I leave your sight? Why did you sacrifice one of the few emotions you’ve recovered so I could have that tart?”
I opened my mouth to answer and found I had none, not when I desperately wanted to believe every example he offered.
“I love you, Cecelia.” The words settled gently between us—not demanding, simply a beautiful truth that until this moment I hadn’t realized how desperately I’d wished for.
The walls around my heart seemed to tremble beneath their weight, inviting the possibility for my heart to expand and open up to him, something I never would have imagined. And yet… “I…can’t,” I whispered. “As much as I might want to—”
The devastation that briefly flashed through his eyes at my initial rejection cinched my heart, then hope returned. “So you do want to?”
“More than I’ve ever wanted anything before.” This admission felt terrifying, while also feeling like finally marking an unexplored region on a map after wandering its borders for far too long.
A slow smile spread across his face. “Then perhaps we’re closer than you think.”
I shook my head. “You don’t understand.” My voice emerged barely above a whisper. “I don’t know if I can love you the way you deserve. In fact, I’m quite sure I can’t.”
His expression softened even further. “Cecelia, I don’t need you to love me exactly the way I love you. I only need you to be yourself.”
My breath hitched. He wasn’t asking me to become someone different or to be whole; he was choosing me exactly as I was.
His gentle sincerity made my chest ache.
All this time I’d believed love was merely another emotion I had sacrificed, one more precious feeling forever beyond my reach.
But perhaps love was something deeper than the fluttering of a heart or the warmth of affection.
Perhaps it was a choice, a promise, a willingness to remain.
Despite every fear and careful argument I had constructed against it, I suddenly knew with perfect certainty that if Gabe asked me to follow him anywhere, I would. The realization left me breathless.