Grandfather had smiled sadly as he stared thoughtfully into the fire. “Perhaps because the book isn’t waiting to be found. Perhaps it's waiting for the right Wolf.”
The memory vanished as suddenly as it had come, leaving only the embossed wolf beneath my fingertips. The book, the cure, the answer I’d spent years wandering, lost, for. A voice echoed through my memory. “If you ever find it…do not let it slip away again.”
My hand tightened around the cover. I looked toward the door, then back to the book. Slowly, almost against my own will, I opened the book.
But before I could flip through its pages, a rosy amber streak shot across the kitchen in a flurry of agitated sparks. Nutmeg barreled into the cabinet with enough force to rattle the shelves, scattering sparks in every direction. A light dusting of sugar coated her cheeks, evidence she'd successfully raided the pantry. A crazed gleam in her eyes told me she’d passed her limit of safe consumption and I watched her uneasily, wondering if I should call Cecelia but trapped by my own actions.
She darted in front of the book, spreading her body wide as though her tiny frame alone could shield it from me. I immediately stepped back, releasing the cabinet door as though it had burned me. “I wasn’t going to steal it,” I whispered quickly.
She regarded me with undisguised suspicion.
“I mean it,” I insisted. “I was just…curious. I only wanted to learn more about the tart we’re about to bake…and to understand why it feels so important.”
She gave an exaggerated little huff that suggested she didn’t believe any of my explanation, and a shower of sparks erupted from her mouth. Typically these were harmless, losing heat by the time they touched anything. But this time, fueled by her unauthorized sugar consumption, a few sparks landed on my arm and burned.
“Ouch!” I quickly muffled my exclamation, rubbing at the sore spots. With a sigh, I reached into my pocket and withdrew the last bunchberry from those I’d gathered that afternoon. Her eyes immediately brightened. She floated cautiously closer, clearly torn between her distrust of me and her love of sweets.
“You drive a difficult bargain.” The moment I opened my hand, she snatched the berry, hugged it possessively to her small frame, and devoured it in one delighted spark. She floated thoughtfully in front of me while chewing, then glanced from meto the hallway where Cecelia had disappeared. A mischievous smile slowly spread across her tiny face.
Instead of returning to guard the cabinet, she drifted towards me and gave my sleeve a decisive tug. “What is it?” I asked. She pointed emphatically down the hallway. “Cecelia?” I mouthed the word, not wanting the baker to hear me.
Nutmeg nodded so vigorously that embers scattered from her glowing body. She pointed at me, back towards the hallway, then clasped both tiny morphed hands together beneath her cheek, closed her eyes dramatically, and swayed from side to side with an expression of theatrical bliss.
My ears warmed as her implication settled over me. “I think you’ve misunderstood the situation.”
She rolled her eyes with remarkable exaggeration for someone scarcely larger than a loaf of bread.
The recipe book still seemed to tug insistently at my attention, urging me to remain where I stood. But thanks to Nutmeg’s interference, I’d regained my senses. I forced myself to re-lock the cabinet and head towards the front of the bakery. Each pace felt strangely difficult, as though I were walking against a current determined to pull me back.
As I reached the hallway, a door quietly opened, and a snippet of an elderly voice filled with mischief reached me. “...a fine choice for a first courtship outing,” the voice declared with unmistakable satisfaction. “Be sure to wear your red cloak; it’s quite becoming and brings out your eyes.”
I froze. A…courtship outing?Surely I had misheard. We were only foraging for berries required for my commission…weren't we? Suddenly Nutmeg’s theatrics took on an entirely new meaning.
I suddenly remembered that it had been I who insisted on accompanying Cecelia. At the time, it had seemed only proper that she shouldn’t venture into the rain on my behalf alone.Now I found myself wondering, with growing embarrassment, whether she believed I’d possessed some entirely different motive.
My ears warmed. She hadn’t given any indication whatsoever that she viewed the outing as anything other than practical necessity. If anything, she’d appeared determined to keep me at arm’s length. Yet her grandmother spoke with such confidence that I found myself questioning whether I’d overlooked some subtle invitation or misread any signals entirely.
She’d appeared entirely uninterested in anything beyond a professional relationship, though women had always possessed an alarming talent for communicating in ways I never seemed able to decipher. Still, if she was open to the idea…I wasn’t entirely opposed to spending more time with her.
The realization arrived quietly enough to surprise me. It had been years since I’d looked forward to anyone’s company…though with my problem of wandering I doubted I could put down roots long enough to pursue anyone.
Yet if my curse wasn’t an obstacle… I stopped myself before the thought could fully take shape. It was foolish to wonder what might have been when I had never been permitted to remain anywhere long enough to discover it.
The curse had taken far more than my sense of direction—it had stolen the quiet comforts most people never thought twice about: sleeping beneath the same roof two nights in succession, leaving belongings where I knew I would find them again, watching the seasons change from a single window instead of countless unfamiliar ones. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d unpacked a satchel simply because I intended to stay. Home had become little more than a word other people used.
Yet something strange had happened the night this bakery had suddenly appeared within the forest. I had been following the same restless pull that had governed my every step for yearswhen I’d caught sight of a warm light glowing through the night. Nestled amongst the towering pines stood a little bakery, its windows aglow like a hearth welcoming weary travelers home. I still remembered catching sight of Cecelia through the glass, quietly arranging pastries behind the counter while an ember sprite darted mischievously around the shelves.
For the briefest moment, the ceaseless urgency driving me onward had quieted. Not disappeared, simply…paused. As though whatever invisible force had spent years driving me across forests, villages, and mountains had suddenly reached the place it had been searching for.
My cheeks warmed and I hastened outside and stepped beneath the awning, though the rainy chill did little to cool my embarrassment. By the time Cecelia emerged from the bakery, my blush had thankfully faded enough that I hoped she wouldn’t notice.
“My apologies,” she said as she fastened the clasp on her burgundy cloak. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”
I watched as her gaze drifted towards the swirling grey clouds overhead. Rather than shrinking from the rain, she studied it with quiet attentiveness. Her expression remained composed as always, yet there was the faintest spark in her eyes, as though the storm possessed a beauty invisible to everyone else.
“Forgive me for forcing you to forage in the rain,” I said.
She shrugged. “Rain doesn’t bother me.”
