“I’m sorry.” Gabe looked grieved, which struck me as odd. He seemed to feel more for a person he’d ever met than I did for my only family member. Of course, I couldn’t feel so that shouldn’t have been surprising. But I hadn’t expected this solitary stranger to care about someone he hadn’t even seen.
I began to pour tea, and behind me, Gabe shifted faintly in his chair. My heart immediately answered with an uneven patter so loud I was almost certain it echoed more clearly than the rain against the windows, the crackling fire in the hearth, or even the boiling kettle itself.
Nutmeg kept floating directly into my line of sight to cast me exaggeratedly knowing glances that tempted me to confine her inside the cookie jar until our guest departed.
“You’re imagining things,” I whispered pointedly beneath my breath. “And if you continue looking at me like that, I’ll replace your cloves with peppercorns.”
Nutmeg gave an affronted little spark and withdrew slightly to pout, though she positioned herself with a good view of both of us.
Though I’d kept my voice low, the exchange still drew Gabe’s curious gaze. He didn’t pry or interrupt, but I could feel him quietly observing me while I hastened through the final preparations…which somehow only worsened my nervousness.
With a long, steadying breath, I carried the tray towards the table where he waited. He sat just as stiffly as when he’d first taken his seat, shoulders tense, as if time alone wasn’t enough for him to relax.
Yet despite his unease, he had still returned. He could have avoided the long walk through the storm and remained in the village, yet somehow he had found his way back to the lonely bakery hidden deep within the forest…to me. The thought made a foreign sensation flutter unexpectedly through my chest before I hastily pushed it aside.
Gabe’s attention shifted to my hands as the dishes rattled faintly against the tray. His brow furrowed. “Should I…leave? I hate to be a bother.”
The concern in his voice startled me more than the question itself, almost as though my nervousness troubled him.I forced my lips upward into what I hoped resembled reassurance. “I’m the one who extended the invitation. I would never send a customer back into the rain after such a journey.”
While I occasionally allowed customers to take shelter inside the bakery during storms, this was the first time I’d deviated from my usual practice of politely ignoring them while they browsed the shelves before eventually departing with baked muffins warm from the oven once the skies cleared.
But the bakery now resided deep within the forest far from the village; no casual window shoppers stopped in to stay dry. Gabe must have deliberately sought me out…unless he’d somehow gotten lost again. Yet despite the practicality of that explanation, another quieter thought slipped unbidden through my mind: perhaps he had simply wanted to see me. The notionfelt dangerously close to a daydream, one I had no business entertaining.
I quickly distracted myself by setting a steaming cup of citrus tea before him, alongside a lemon scone dusted with powdered sugar and drizzled with fresh citrus glaze. I expected him to warm himself with the tea first. Instead, he immediately reached for the scone. He tore off a small piece and sampled it cautiously, nibbling with the wariness of someone half-convinced he might accidentally consume magic despite repeated reassurances.
Then his expression softened, just enough for the guarded tension in his features to briefly disappear beneath quiet pleasure. The corners of his mouth lifted slightly as he tore off another piece. Warmth flickered unexpectedly through me at the sight—satisfaction perhaps, or something frighteningly similar.
Then he noticed me watching him. Color immediately rushed from the tips of his ears to engulf his cheeks. Startled, he dropped the scone back onto the plate as though caught doing something embarrassing and hastily grabbed his tea instead, gulping far too quickly. He winced sharply.
“Did you burn yourself? I have healing toffees—” I started to rise, but he motioned quickly for me to stay seated.
“Thank you for your concern, but I’m alright.”
Concern?The word lingered strangely in my thoughts while he lifted the cup again and blew carefully across the surface, his breath sending gentle ripples across the amber liquid before he took a much more cautious sip.
His shoulders relaxed slightly. “It’s delicious,” he murmured. “What flavor is it?”
“I like experimenting with unique ingredient combinations,” I explained. “This blend contains mountain mint, lemon balm, chamomile, dried orange peel, and a touch of lavender.”
Normally I guarded my recipes carefully, especially around strangers. Yet something about his quiet attentiveness keptdrawing words from me that I usually preferred leaving unspoken.
Gabe nodded thoughtfully and took another slow sip.
Silence once more settled around us, broken only by our quiet sips of tea. This one felt softer than the awkward pauses that had plagued our earlier interactions. Rain whispered steadily against the windows while firelight flickered warmly across the kitchen walls.
Yet despite the calm atmosphere, I noticed Gabe’s gaze repeatedly drifting towards the scone resting untouched on his plate.
I nibbled at my lip, suddenly seized by the uncomfortable worry that perhaps he simply hadn’t liked it after all. My mind raced through the ingredients and my preparation, wondering if I’d made any mistakes.
The sensation of concern felt strange and unfamiliar, like stumbling across an old object long forgotten in the back of a cupboard. It tightened quietly inside my chest, awkward and uncertain, and for a fleeting moment I found myself wondering where on earth it had come from. I had sacrificed so many emotions over the years in exchange for magic. Surely this particular one had long ago been baked into some forgotten confection. Yet despite that certainty, the feeling lingered stubbornly.
It took me several more minutes of watching Gabe carefully avoid the untouched scone—and several increasingly accusatory glances cast in its direction—before I finally recognized the sensation for what it was—not sadness or even hurt, but a small, hot knot of restless indignation curling tighter and tighter the longer the pastry sat neglected upon his plate. Like a kettle left too long upon the fire, steadily building pressure beneath the surface.
Gabe suddenly paused mid-sip, teacup hovering halfway lifted to his lips. “Are you…glaring at my scone?”
I immediately yanked my gaze away. “Of course not.”
He narrowed his eyes with a slight frown. “You definitely are. I’ve never seen anyone look so personally offended by a baked good before.” He lowered his cup onto its saucer, head tilted as he studied me with growing suspicion. “You keep staring at it like you want to steal it, but it’s mine.”
