“But you couldn’t have. I stole—” The sharp, unfinished words lingered between us.
I frowned, my heart suddenly pounding. “What did you steal?”
His gaze flickered towards the recipe book before averting his eyes, as though he could no longer bear to look at it.
Heavy silence settled over the kitchen. Slowly, I bent down to retrieve the book. My fingers turned the pages almost of their own accord until they when I came to a section where the parchment ended too cleanly, the fibers along one side torn by careful hands. A page was missing.
A quiet ache settled over me as I traced the ragged edge with a trembling finger. I knew Gabe had never wanted to steal from me; he had only been reaching for hope, just as I had all these years…yet that didn’t excuse that he had hidden what he’d found. More importantly,whyhad he hidden it? Surely he knew he wouldn’t be able to complete a magical recipe without my help.
I gently closed the book and cradled it against my chest before lifting my gaze to his; he was still staring steadily at the floor, as though he could face every road in the world more easily than he could face me.
I crossed the kitchen before I had time to consider what I was doing. Perhaps part of me still hoped I had misunderstood. Or perhaps I simply needed to touch him—to reassure myself that the man who had kissed me yesterday was the one standing before me now. Peripherally I could see Granny still sitting by the hearth, her head bowed over her knitting as she waited for us to work through this on our own.
He looked up just as I reached him.
“I was going to tell you.” His voice caught. “I kept trying to find the right moment, and every moment became one I couldn’t bear to ruin.”
The pain in his face softened my hurt. I stepped closer, and he pulled me into his arms as though afraid I might disappear if he did not hold tightly enough.
For one fleeting moment, I allowed myself to rest against him and feel his heart’s erratic beat beneath my cheek.
When I began to draw back, something crackled softly between us. Gabe went utterly still. “Cecelia?—”
But my fingers had already found the folded parchment tucked inside his pocket. I pulled it free. The paper had been folded so many times that the creases had nearly worn through, one edge ragged where it had been torn from the recipe book.
Gabe made no attempt to stop me. My hand trembled as I unfolded it and spread it beside the new page that had just appeared. The familiar script mirrored the recipe I had just found…including the newest portion I hadn’t had a chance to read yet—the cost he had known before I ever discovered the cure.
To end the Wolf’s wandering, the Baker must willingly surrender the deepest desire remaining within her heart.Beneath the final ingredient, written in smaller letters:once given, the desire shall no longer dwell within her.
The room seemed to contract around me. I had already read those words in the book, but seeing them upon the stolen page—creased from being carried close to Gabe’s heart—made them feel newly cruel. Worst of all, Gabe had known all this time what the recipe would demand of me.
My deepest desire. I had once possessed so many that choosing among them would have been impossible. I had longed for friendship, belonging, security, wonder, and the freedom to remain somewhere long enough for it to become familiar. Oneby one, those desires had faded as the emotions sustaining them disappeared.
Yet only one remained now:Gabe. The magic wasn’t asking for another emotion I had already taught myself not to value—it wanted the one I had only just reclaimed, the one I finally understood I could not bear to lose.
“How long have you known?” Pain cinched my heart at his condemning silence. “This means you searched the book again, after promising you wouldn’t—” My voice faltered.
“I know.” The quiet remorse softened my rising emotion threatening to suffocate me.
I looked down at the page, then back at the man before me. The Gabe I had first met might have stolen the recipe because he wanted freedom—he had searched out of desperation, believing somewhere within its pages lay an end to his wandering.
But if freedom was still what he wanted most, he would have brought the recipe to me. Instead, he had hidden it. Not to keep its magic for himself, but to keep it fromme. “You weren’t going to tell me.”
“No.” His eyes met mine at last, dark and entirely unguarded. “Because I knew what your deepest desire would be…and I can’t bear for you to lose it.”
The confession settled over us with all the terrible certainty of a final farewell. I stared down at the page in my trembling hands. He had accepted that he would wander for the rest of his life rather than allow me to pay this price.
He took a tentative step closer, though this time he did not reach for me. “Initially, I only hoped,” he admitted. “But after yesterday, when you kissed me back…there could be no doubt.”
A faint flush warmed my cheeks, though it brought no sweetness now. “You knew the recipe would take my love for you.”
He nodded once.
“And you decided for me that I wouldn’t bake it.”
Pain tightened his expression. “I decided I would never ask you to make that decision.”
I stared down at the parchment. Only yesterday, I would have believed love was measured by how deeply it was felt—by the flutter of my heart whenever he smiled, the warmth of his hand in mine, the breathless wonder of his kiss.
