His gaze settled on a row of tiny tea cakes decorated with crystallized violets and he paused. “What do those do?” he asked.
“They help shy individuals speak honestly.”
His hand jerked back, as though the pastries themselves had lunged towards him.
I blinked at the reaction. “You needn’t look so alarmed. They only work if willingly consumed.”
“That’s reassuring,” he muttered.
A soft, brief sound escaped him. It took me a moment to realize he’d laughed—not mockingly, but a sound that felt oddly bright against the quiet atmosphere of the bakery. Before I could examine the unfamiliar sensation it stirred within me, movement caught my eye near the upper shelves.
Nutmeg. The ember sprite peeked around a row of spice jars, pink flames flickering mischievously while she observed the stranger from hiding. She ducked quickly out of sight the moment I noticed her, though not before I caught a scatter of delighted sparks drifting through the air.
Whether she hid because of her own reservations around strangers or because she intended to leave me alone with one of the few people I’d spoken with one-on-one in months, I wasn’t entirely certain.
The hunter had wandered towards the hearth now, his gaze slowly tracing the room once more. “It’s a wonderful place,” he said quietly. “You must be proud.”
Proud?I was certain I would be if I were still of feeling such an emotion. But rather than delve into the complexities of my increasingly absent emotions, I merely nodded politely.
“It’s unfortunate you’ve settled so far from the village,” he continued, “especially if you won’t remain long. Why do you move about so much? Are you running from something?”
Though our bakery had accumulated its fair share of dark rumors over the years, no one had ever asked so directly. “Magic should be used to bless as many people as possible,” I answered. “It would be a shame to limit our reach for the sake of consistency.”
He nodded slowly, though he didn’t appear entirely convinced. “It must be difficult not having a place to call home,” he murmured.
I tilted my head slightly. “Why would it be difficult?”
By the way his eyes widened, I realized I’d once again failed to respond the way a normal person likely would have. But whatever indiscernible emotion crossed his face—surprise, confusion, perhaps even concern—vanished almost as quickly as it’d come.
A heavy silence settled around us—not a peaceful kind, but one I began to wonder might be awkward. He shifted slightly, as though uncomfortable, before his gaze settled on a tray of freshly-baked snickerdoodles. Warm cinnamon scented the air around them in tantalizing curls of steam.
Almost cautiously, he sidled closer and reached towards the tray…only to pause with his hand hovering uncertainly over the plate. “Are they also enchanted?” He studied the cookies as though signs of magic might be visible amongst the cinnamon sugar dusting their surface.
“They’re ordinary cookies,” I assured him. “Though if you’d prefer something enchanted, perhaps a hunter might appreciate a pathfinder biscuit? They sharpen one’s sense of direction and make trails easier to follow.”
His expression became deeply wary. “No, thank you. The regular ones will suffice.”
“I insist, as a way to thank you for your escort.”
Rather than reassured, he somehow looked even more hesitant. “I’m reluctant to accept gratitude I haven’t earned, especially considering I got myself lost.”
His ears reddened again at the memory. Embarrassment, I concluded automatically. Yet there was something else beneath his hesitation—caution, restraint. I studied him more carefully.
The controlled stillness in his posture, the way his gaze flicked briefly towards the cookies before retreating again, the strange uncertainty around accepting something freely offered. His behavior reminded me of certain customers who lingered too long near the day-old bread shelf while insisting they weren’t hungry. This was someone accustomed to scarcity—not merely of food, but of kindness freely given.
“I did lure you inside with the promise of free samples,” I reminded him. “And once you taste them, you’ll undoubtedly promote the bakery enthusiastically throughout the village. So really, accepting one only benefits my business.”
That finally seemed to ease some invisible tension from his shoulders. Slowly, as though still half-expecting a hidden consequence, he picked up one of the cookies. The warmth seemed to surprise him.
“They’re fresh,” I explained. “I baked them this morning.”
He broke off a piece cautiously and tasted it. For a moment, all guardedness disappeared from his expression. His eyes widened slightly, and something soft and almost boyish crossed his face before he quickly attempted to hide it beneath composure.
“This is unfairly good,” he admitted after a pause. He looked genuinely troubled by the matter. “If the ordinary pastries taste like this, the enchanted ones are probably dangerous.”
Another faint laugh escaped him then as he reached for a second bite of the cookie, softer this time, less guarded. Andthough I did not fully understand why, I found myself wanting to hear the sound again. His laugh lingered strangely in my thoughts as I moved behind the counter to straighten a tray of pastries that didn’t actually need adjusting.
As though my enchanted companion had noticed my reaction and decided to tease me for it, Nutmeg burst suddenly into view with a cheerfulpopof pink flame. The hunter startled violently enough to nearly drop his cookie. Nutmeg circled her head triumphantly, trailing sparks.
