I scarcely tasted the remainder of my breakfast. I found myself watching Cecelia while she listened to Granny’s stories with that same thoughtful stillness she gave everything. She tucked another loose strand of hair behind her ear, paused to refill Granny’s teacup before being asked, and absentmindedly scratched beneath Nutmeg’s chin as the little sprite floated past.
None of the gestures were remarkable on their own. Yet together, they made up all Cecelia was. And somehow I foundthat infinitely more captivating than any grand display of beauty.
When breakfast was finished, Cecelia gathered the bowls and carried them towards the sink. I rose automatically. “I’ll do the washing. Would you…like to join me?” The words escaped before I could stop them.
The tips of my ears warmed as she glanced over. For the briefest instant, something softened in her expression. Not quite happiness or even surprise, only that same tiny warmth that seemed to be appearing more often these days.
She gave a hesitant nod. “I’d like that.” The simple words filled me with entirely unreasonable satisfaction.
She picked up the drying towel while I filled the basin. For several peaceful minutes only the gentle splash of water and the clink of pottery filled the kitchen. She reached for each dish just as I finished washing it, our movements naturally finding the same companionable rhythm we’d discovered everywhere else, a companionship I found myself wishing could last forever.
After the last dish had been dried, Cecelia folded the towel with the same careful precision she seemed to apply to everything she touched. Comfortable silence settled around us, a cozy atmosphere that had become one of my favorite things about the bakery.
I was just mustering up the courage to invite her to spend the rest of the day with me when she spoke first. “I’ve been thinking about your curse.”
I felt a twinge of disappointment that her thoughts hadn’t wandered somewhere more romantic, though it was quickly eclipsed by warmth at the realization that she’d given the problem so much consideration—mixed with dread as I wondered if I could keep my secret from her.
“You have?” It took every effort to keep my voice steady. My heart beat with sudden trepidation, while the stolen recipeseemed to burn in my pocket. I silently prayed that whatever solution she was considering wouldn’t require her sacrificing any more of herself. Our quiet morning together had only confirmed how much of Cecelia remained hidden beneath her reserve—and how precious each newly discovered piece had become to me.
“When your curse compels you to wander, does it choose where you go?“ she asked.
I shook my head. “It simply…pulls, without any sense of there being a particular destination.“
Concentration settled over her, the one she wore whenever she was piecing together a map. “I’ll be right back.“
Before I could ask what she was doing, she’d disappeared upstairs. She returned a moment later carrying an armful of rolled parchment tied together with ribbon, only a small fraction of those that filled her bedroom.
She spread them across the table one after another, until the surface entirely disappeared beneath her maps. Some were new, while others had softened with age. Though I’d glimpsed portions of her vast collection these past few weeks, I couldn’t help being impressed. “You’ve made all of these?“
Her brow furrowed in faint puzzlement. “Of course.“ It was as though I’d asked whether she’d baked the bread cooling upon the windowsill. She unfolded another well-marked parchment. “I’ve recorded every place the bakery has ever settled.“
I leaned closer, eager for this unexpected window into Cecelia’s past. My gaze wandered over rivers, forests, villages, coastlines, and distant mountain ranges. Each map was lovingly drawn by hand and intricately detailed.
Some of the maps were drawn in shaky lines, with a few careful notes written in cramped handwriting. I guessed these were her early childish efforts. Glancing over the maps, I couldtrace her growth as the sketches became more skilled and detailed.
Tiny notes filled the margins, highlighting wildflowers, berry patches, interesting trees, bird nests, and even places where the morning light was especially beautiful. It felt less like looking at geography and more like paging through someone’s memories…much like the leaves I’d pressed into my journal over the years.
She dipped her pen into the ink. “Can you show me everywhere you’ve wandered?“
I almost laughed. “I’ve wandered everywhere.“
“Theneverywhereis where we’ll start.“ Her answer was so matter-of-fact that I found myself smiling.
I reached for the weathered journal tucked inside my satchel that held the path my wandering had taken. The leather cover had long ago wrinkled from years of travel, while the pages had grown thick with preserved leaves, flower petals, and other fragments from places I’d long since left behind.
I slowly turned through them until one particular leaf caught my attention—a narrow silver-green frond pressed flat against the page, its edges beginning to curl with age. “I found this in a valley surrounded by white cliffs,” I said. “A creek cut through the center, and every evening the mist settled over the fields until the entire place seemed to vanish beneath it.”
The memory had stayed with me more clearly than most. For three nights I’d camped beside the river, delaying my departure for as long as the curse allowed. It had been one of the few places where I’d briefly imagined what it might feel like to remain.
Her deep brown eyes brightened, causing my heart to trip over itself. Without a word, she disappeared into another stack of maps, emerging with another that she eagerly unrolled across the table. “I’ve lived there as well.”
“Truly?”
She nodded and pointed towards the eastern edge of the valley, where she’d drawn a tiny symbol beside the river. In the margin, her neat handwriting read:the mist gathers here at sunset until the valley seems to disappear from the world.
I stared at the words, then back at her. “That was my favorite part.”
A quiet pleasure warmed her expression. “Mine too.”
