The forest had grown impossibly quiet around us. The rain had softened to little more than a mist drifting through the clearing, while the scent of wild raspberries and damp pine filled the air. Somewhere overhead, sunlight broke through the clouds in scattered golden beams that illuminated the lingering droplets upon the leaves, causing them to sparkle like scattered jewels.
Wordlessly, we moved towards the brambles together, unconsciously stepping close to each other. This time when we reached for the berries, the invisible barrier offered no resistance, the magic welcoming us.
The moment my fingers closed around the berry, another hand brushed mine. I glanced up. Sometime between reaching for the fruit and plucking it from the vine, Gabe’s hand had settled over mine. So that together we cradled the berry between our palms, as though the magic required both of us to harvest it.
Neither of us immediately pulled away. Despite my silent orders to myself to withdraw my hand, for reasons I couldn’texplain, I remained still, unwilling to shift away from this position.
I became acutely aware of the warmth of his hand against mine, the steady rhythm of my heartbeat echoing in my ears, and most of all his nearness. When I finally managed to lower my gaze, I found him watching me with the same quiet intensity that had accompanied so many of his glances throughout the day.
This newfound awareness deepened with every berry we plucked. Each time our hands brushed while gathering the fruit, warmth stirred unexpectedly within me. Each shared glance lingered a fraction longer than it should have. Even the silence felt different now, no longer empty but filled with an unspoken understanding I couldn’t quite name.
The experience was simultaneously torturous and wonderful, one I both wanted to escape and couldn’t bear to end. By the time we harvested the final berry required for the tart, my thoughts felt hopelessly tangled, as if thebriarthornvines had somehow wrapped themselves around my mind instead of my cloak.
The moment the last berry settled into the basket, I abruptly rose and retreated several paces away beneath the shelter of an overhanging branch. The distance wasn’t nearly far enough to escape his presence…or the relentless pounding of my heart. I wrapped my arms around myself in a futile attempt to contain whatever was happening inside me.
Whatwasthis I was experiencing?
It wasn’t painful like grief, lacking the sharp edges of loss and the hollow ache that had followed my parents’ deaths. Nor was it entirely pleasant. It felt more like every ingredient in a mixing bowl had been thrown together at once.
Curiosity mingled with anticipation, warmth blended with uncertainty, while a strange longing threaded through it all, impossible to separate from the rest. The result overflowedwithin me until I could scarcely tell where one feeling ended and another began.
“Are you alright, Cecelia?” The concern in Gabe’s voice nearly undid me. I kept my back turned towards him, clinging to the thin protection it offered.
“I’m fine.” The words emerged more stiffly than intended, trembling slightly despite my efforts to remain composed. First the laughter, then the lingering touch, now whatever this was.
What was happening to me?
I closed my eyes and drew several slow breaths, focusing on the scent of rain and pine while I attempted to gather the scattered fragments of myself back into some semblance of order. When I finally felt capable of facing him again, I turned around.
Gabe was watching me carefully, posture tense, as though he wanted to step closer and check on me, but was deliberately restraining himself. The realization warmed me more than it should have.
“I’m fine,” I repeated. This time the words sounded more convincing. Whether I actually believed them was another matter entirely.
His gaze lingered upon me for another moment before he slowly nodded. He didn’t question me further, much to my relief. Yet the concern remained visible in his dark eyes, softening his usually guarded expression. Oddly enough, his quiet presence soothed me…which was rather unfortunate considering he was also the source of my distress.
Eventually his attention shifted towards the laden basket resting between us. “Do we have enough berries?” he asked.
I followed his gaze, grateful for the return to a practical subject. “Yes,” I said, perhaps a little too quickly. “More than enough.”
Yet despite my words, I reached towards a nearby cluster, as though picking just one more would allow me to linger in this moment a little longer. In my distraction, a thorn caught my fingertip.
I felt a brief prick and let out a small gasp, but otherwise didn’t react. A bead of crimson welled against my skin. I watched it with detached fascination.
Gabe reacted far more strongly. He was suddenly beside me and gently caught my hand. His thumb carefully turned my hand towards the light. Blood slipped down my finger.
His gaze slowly lifted to my indifferent expression. “Doesn’t that hurt?”
The worry in his expression startled me. I considered the question as I looked down at my hand. The wound seemed rather minor, nothing to get upset over. “Is it supposed to?”
His gaze snapped upward. Something in his expression had changed.
Concern remained, but now something deeper lingered beneath it—confusion if I had to guess, almost alarm. As though my answer disturbed him far more than the injury itself.
Slowly he released my hand, yet the troubled look never fully left his face, making me wonder if he was beginning to notice my lack of emotion wasn’t merely unusual. Something was wrong with me.
The realization should have unsettled me. Instead I found myself oddly touched that he cared enough to notice…but that sensation faded almost as soon as I felt it, my heart finally exhausted from all the feelings this outing had caused, returning me to my previous peaceful numbness. Yet despite my attempts to ignore it, some trace of awareness remained, like a warm current flowing beneath the surface of my quiet, practical existence.
When we finally prepared to leave, Gabe insisted upon carrying the berry basket. Before departing the hollow, he paused beside a nearby oak and carefully plucked a single silver-green leaf. He pressed it between the pages of his journal with familiar care before tucking his journal back into his cloak, preserving the moment…just as I preserved places within my maps.
