I realized with faint surprise that for the first time in years, getting lost had proven unexpectedly worthwhile.
CHAPTER 3
The scent of bread grew stronger the closer the mysterious hunter and I drew, but something new mingled with the familiar wheat aroma—a tangible anticipation, like a spell about to be fulfilled even though I had yet to bake any enchanted confection this morning.
Morning light filtered through the trees in golden shafts, illuminating the bakery windows and the ivy curling along the amber stone walls. Though I’d lived at the bakery ever since that fateful day nearly ten years ago when I became an orphan and Grandmother had come for me, the magic had never felt quite like this.
The hunter paused to take in the bakery with widened eyes. “It was too dark to see clearly last night, but there truly is a bakery in the middle of the forest.” He studied the structure with avid interest that quickly settled into a thoughtful frown. “I’ve searched these woods for quite some time. I don’t believe there’s ever been a bakery here…though you mentioned it only appeared last night?”
It seemed the full meaning of my words had finally settled over him. He took in the structure once more, this time with growing curiosity.
My own puzzlement lingered over the contradiction he’d revealed—if he knew the woods so well, how had he gotten lost? Had he only pretended to not know his way so he could follow me here? Suspicion toyed with me for a fleeting moment before I dismissed it with an indifferent shrug.
On the off chance his wandering eventually led him to the nearest village, I wouldn’t reject this opportunity to advertise. “We’re a traveling confectionery,” I explained. “With an…unusual assortment of treats.” I gestured towards the sign I’d arranged out front, and his attention immediately shifted.
“THE WANDERING HEARTH BAKERY,”he read aloud. “Enchanted Confections, Fresh Bread, and Herbal Remedies. One Taste May Change Your Fate.” His mouth silently formed the wordmagicalbefore he cast me a questioning glance. “Are your baked goods truly enchanted?”
My lips curled upward—not a true smile, but a gesture I hoped resembled a friendly invitation to learn more. “Depending on the confection, our pastries can soothe nightmares, sharpen perception, ease loneliness, strengthen courage, or help someone find what they’re searching for.” I tilted my head slightly. “Though I suppose whether the magic succeeds often depends upon what a person truly desires.”
His attention sharpened almost imperceptibly at that.
“We also carry ordinary baked goods,” I continued. “Rosemary sourdough, blackberry hand pies, honey cakes, berry scones, cinnamon twists, and oat biscuits…though I suppose those may not differ much from what you could acquire from your local bakery.”
His mouth twitched, the first genuine sign of humor I’d seen from him since our meeting. “You’ll have to be more convincing if you hope to tempt anyone from the village into patronizing your shop.”
“My expertise lies in baking rather than promotion,” I admitted. “Outside of the allure of free samples.” I gestured towards the floral-draped window beside the bakery door, where I reached over and hung theOpensign neatly in place. “Would you like to try one and look around? We just opened.”
Normally I didn’t invite strangers inside—especially while Grandmother slept and we had no other customers present. But something about him drew me despite my usual reservation around meeting new people. I convinced myself I could endure his company for the sake of whatever promotion he might bring during our month-long stay within the forest.
He didn’t immediately answer. Instead, he closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of fresh bread drifting through the clearing, mingling with the piney air of the halo of evergreens.
When he opened his eyes again, his expression had softened, wonder briefly slipping through the cracks of his guarded stoicism. He looked less like a wary hunter and more like someone who had unexpectedly stumbled into one of the old fairytales whispered beside winter hearth fires.
His gaze lingered on the chimney smoke curling into the morning sky, the flower boxes overflowing beneath the windows, and the warm glow spilling through the glass panes. For a moment, he simply stared, as though afraid the bakery might disappear if he looked away too soon.
“I can’t exactly ignore the promise of free samples,” he said at last. “I should probably inspect your establishment before the village becomes aware of your presence…just as a precaution.”
But his poorly disguised eagerness betrayed the attempted seriousness of his words, and though he tried to maintain a composed expression, curiosity had already quickened as he approached the door. I followed after him.
The bell tinkled merrily as we stepped inside. Warmth immediately enveloped us, carrying with it the comforting scentof cinnamon, rosemary bread, steeping tea, and lingering sugar. Morning light filtered through the bakery windows in golden pools.
The hunter slowed just beyond the doorway. His gaze swept across the shop with blatant amazement, lingering on every detail as though he’d stepped into another world entirely. Rows of fresh bread lined the shelves beside trays of pastries I’d set to cool near the window the night before, while bundles of herbs hung drying from the rafters overhead. Copper pans gleamed warmly beside glass jars filled with enchanted sugars, moon-dried berries, and strange glowing ingredients.
At the center of the bakery stood the long wooden worktable dusted with flour, while beyond it rested a small seating area tucked under the front windows where customers could linger with tea and pastries. Through an archway, the kitchen opened into the bakery proper, and beyond that, glimpses of our modest living quarters could be seen tucked warmly into the back.
For a moment he simply stared. “It’s…larger than I expected.” His voice faltered slightly.
“We live here,” I explained matter-of-factly. “The front is for customers. The kitchen is where the baking and enchantments are prepared. The pantry stores ingredients and herbs, and the back rooms belong to my grandmother and me.”
His attention snagged on a tray of glowing pastries near the counter. One of the tarts shimmered faintly silver beneath the morning light.
“That one is enchanted,” I clarified before he could ask. “Moon-sleep tarts, useful for nightmares.”
His hand immediately withdrew from the tray. “I wasn’t going to touch it,” he said quickly.
“I didn’t accuse you of attempting theft.”
He continued slowly wandering through the bakery, trying hard to appear unaffected by the unusual surroundings whilevisibly failing at it. His attention lingered on everything—the glowing preserves lining the shelves, the small charms hanging beside the doorway to keep pests from the flour stores.
