For the first time since arriving, a genuine smile brightened his face, softening his guarded expression. “That’s the most emotion I’ve seen from you.”
I blinked, startled by the observation. The magic and I had an unspoken agreement not to interfere with my love of maps; it remained one of the few passions untouched by my enchantments.
Without waiting for permission, I eagerly reached for the parchment. My fingers lingered briefly against the worn surface, savoring the familiar worn texture before I hurriedly pushed aside the tea things and double checked that the surface was clear of crumbs and droplets before spreading the map carefully across the table.
My breath caught in wonder. My eyes caressed every surface, savoring every detail. The map depicted the northern region of the forest in astonishing detail.
Charcoal lines traced winding trails through dense clusters of pine and cedar, while faded ink marked streams, ravines,abandoned hunting paths, and strange landmarks hidden deep beneath the canopy. Tiny handwritten notes filled the margins in the same neat, careful script as his pressed-leaf journal.
Bridge washed out after autumn storms.
Fox den here in early spring.
Moonveil blossoms rumored near the ravine after heavy rain.
My fingers traced the ravine markings near the forest’s northern edge, an area I already yearned to explore. This map wasn’t merely functional, but lovingly made. The sort of map created by someone who observed the world closely enough to care about its smallest details.
For him to share something so precious meant he had remembered how much maps mattered to me after a single conversation…the realization settled strangely inside my chest and I lifted my eyes from the precious map to study him curiously.
“I recopied the map I’ve been using while exploring the area,” he explained. “If you’re only here until the next full moon, I thought it would help ensure you see everything you hope to.” He met my gaze. “Is this sufficient payment for a commissioned dessert?”
Some of my excitement dimmed, replaced by an uncomfortable tightness I couldn’t immediately identify. That was why he’d returned. Of course it was.
We had only shared one afternoon together—not nearly long enough to form anything meaningful; I’d ensured that myself. Relationships in the bakery were always temporary things. Customers arrived, customers departed. The full moon eventually carried us elsewhere.
So why did some secret part of me still wish he had crossed the forest in the the rain simply because he wanted to see me again?
As though sensing the increasingly dangerous direction of my thoughts, Nutmeg peeked once more from her hiding place atop the rafters where she was hoarding her bunchberries, sparks flickering with unbearable smugness. I hastily looked away from her knowing smirk and, mirroring Gabe, drained the remainder of my tea in one reckless gulp. The scalding liquid hit my throat, making me cough.
Gabe shot upright from his chair with alarming speed, reaching for me as though to steady me. I lifted up a hand before he could touch me.
“I’m alright,” I managed, the unfamiliar warmth returning and rising into my cheeks. To cover my confusion, I hurried across the kitchen towards the locked cabinet where we kept the recipe book, giving myself a moment to regain my usual calm balance.
I could sense Gabe’s gaze following me, watching as I withdrew the small key hidden beneath my collar and unlocked the enchanted cabinet. I blocked his view with my body out of habit, even though the lock itself could not be opened by ordinary means.
The cabinet required more than a key. Every few days I reinforced the charm with enchanted sugar dissolved into warm milk and painted carefully across the lock and along the seams of the wood. For additional protection, the recipe book within recognized only the touch of those who had entered a magical contract with it generations ago.
When I lifted the heavy tome into my arms, warmth radiated faintly through the worn leather cover as though it had spent the morning resting beside a baker’s oven. Gold filigree curled across the dark burgundy binding in delicate vine-like patterns, while strange embossed symbols shimmered subtly whenever firelight struck them. From one angle, I could see an ancient, gnarled tree. If I tilted the book another direction the faintform of a wolf appeared. The pages smelled faintly of cinnamon, smoke, and old magic.
“What sort of dessert would you like me to bake?” I asked, grateful my voice had finally returned to the safe monotony of professionalism.
Gabe didn’t answer at first. His gaze was fixed on the book with an expression I couldn’t decipher.
“It’s not quite an ordinary-looking cookbook, is it?” I asked, flipping through pages.
Gabe still hesitated. When he finally answered, his voice emerged quieter than before, almost reluctant. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”
I stilled, hand resting against the the knob. “Are you lost again?” Surely repeated disorientation was becoming professionally concerning for a hunter.
A faint flush touched his ears again as he shook his head. “I marked the trail the tracking tart guided me along.” His gaze lowered briefly toward the map still spread across the table. “But this time…I need it to lead me somewhere more specific than a village.”
Something in his tone made me turn fully towards him.
“Once I find it,” he continued carefully, “I’ll eventually need to move on.”
The words struck with surprising force and I nearly dropped the recipe book. “You’re leaving?” The question escaped far too quickly—far too emotionally.
His eyes lifted, seeming startled by my reaction. “Not yet,” he clarified. “But eventually, once I find what I’m looking for.”
