“I’m sorry,” I said automatically, though the words felt oddly insufficient.
Gabe shook his head quickly. “It’s alright.” He looked down at the notebook a moment longer before glancing back up at me. A new emotion filled his guarded expression—recognition, asthough he suddenly understood I might comprehend his strange habit of preserving leaves better than anyone else ever had.
His gaze drifted briefly toward the map journal tucked in my apron pocket. “Do you also preserve places?”
I nodded. “And you preserve moments.”
Silence settled between us, different from the awkward pauses that had stumbled between us earlier, softer somehow. A quiet understanding lingered in the warm bakery air between the scent of cinnamon and rosemary—two lonely people recognizing the same instinct within one another.
For reasons I couldn’t entirely explain, a strange desperation rose within me, a need for him to leave before this moment settled too deeply. I hastily crossed over to the shelf of enchanted pastries near the counter and retrieved a small paper-wrapped pastry from the tray.
“If you’re struggling to navigate the woods back to the village, this should help.”
Gabe eyed the pastry suspiciously. “I’m assuming that’s enchanted. What does it do?”
“It’s a pathfinder tart,” I explained. “It strengthens one’s sense of direction and makes hidden trails easier to notice. It might prevent future incidents involving accidental wandering, and help you find your way to the village.” As he gazed at it with continued mistrust, I added, “There are no magical side effects. The gift simply fades with time.”
He still made no motion to take it. I held the tart toward him patiently until, with visible reluctance, he accepted it.
“I’ll repay you,” he said immediately.
“You don’t need to.”
“I do.” The answer came too quickly, too firmly. “I don’t like owing people.”
Again, that same instinctive discomfort with receiving kindness freely. I studied him, but he avoided my gaze, as if to hide his secrets from my curious perusal.
“At the very least,” he continued awkwardly, “I can spread word about the bakery in the village.” He glanced towards the forest extending beyond the windows. “And I could mark a clearer trail leading here so people stop getting lost.” The seriousness with which he offered the gesture made it feel less like repayment and more like a promise.
“I would appreciate that.”
Relief softened his shoulders slightly at my acceptance of his offer. He nodded and turned to depart, but lingered another moment beside the doorway, the pastry still warm in his hands while morning light spilled through the bakery windows around him. Then his gaze drifted once more across the shelves, the hanging herbs, the glowing pastries, and finally towards me.
“Thank you…miss,” he said. “I’m sorry—I introduced myself to your, ah, pet, but I failed to make your official acquaintance.”
“My name is Cecelia.” I felt almost shy as I spoke, a sensation foreign to me.
“Cecelia, I’ll return soon,” he said quietly. Before I could answer, Nutmeg gave a delighted little spark from atop the rafters. I pretended not to notice her obvious approval.
He lingered a moment longer, as if reluctant to leave. Then, after one final hesitant look in my direction, he stepped back outside into the sea of green forest beyond the bakery clearing, pausing to take a bite of the tart before he moved into the woods. The bell above the door chimed softly behind him.
I remained still long after he disappeared amongst the trees.
Objectively, I knew I should have returned to preparing the bakery for customers. Grandmother would wake soon, and there was still dough to shape, herbs to sort, and enchanted fillings to prepare. Yet instead my gaze drifted towards the forest whereGabe had vanished. And though I couldn’t quite identify the unfamiliar feeling lingering quietly inside my chest, I found myself secretly hoping I would see him again tomorrow.
CHAPTER 4
The bell above the door had been tinkling cheerfully throughout the shop all morning, a welcome change from the bakery’s usual stillness.
Though the forest remained drenched in mist and steady rain, a small handful of villagers had nevertheless braved the woods these past few days, following the carefully marked trail Gabe had carved through the trees—bits of red cloth tied around branches and subtle charcoal arrows along stones now guided wary travelers safely to our clearing.
Most arrived nervous and skeptical; few left empty-handed. This morning alone, I’d sold three loaves of rosemary bread, a box of lavender sleep biscuits to an exhausted mother with shadows beneath her eyes, and an enchanted honey candy to an elderly man hoping to soothe aching joints before winter settled in.
“The hunter told us about your bakery,” several customers had explained cautiously, as though still uncertain whether they truly believed the place existed.
I always answered with polite professionalism while pretending not to notice how often my gaze drifted towards the rain-streaked windows afterward. Not waiting for him, simply…observing. Yet the hunter had yet to return. He had promised he would, and I had the impression he wasn’t the type to go back on his word, so I kept watching.
As if answer to my unspoken longing, the bell above the door chimed again. I turned from arranging jars of gumdrops, lollipops, and other sweets—both enchanted and ordinary—and faced the new arrival. My heart gave a strange, unevenpatterI couldn’t account for.Gabe.
