“It hasn’t been here long.” Delving into the intricacies of my suddenly appearing bakery seemed a bit much for a first meeting.
At that, his gaze darted in the direction I was fairly certain I’d come from. The movement was subtle, but revealing enough. So he had seen it.
“Do you know the way back?” I asked. Only afterward did I realize I was asking something nearly impossible of him—to guide me towards a place he’d supposedly never seen before.
“I could likely find it.”
He stepped closer, carrying with him the earthy scent of cedar, pine, and cold morning air. As he moved beneath a shaft of sunlight filtering through the leafy canopy overhead, the shadows concealing his face finally receded, illuminating his features.
My breath caught faintly. It had been difficult to discern from a distance with the morning light behind him, but up close he was undeniably easy on the eyes.
Dark hair fell carelessly across his brow, softened slightly where sunlight brushed against it, while his features possessed the sort of rough symmetry that felt more shaped by wilderness than careful grooming. His skin was touched by sun from long hours outdoors, and his dark eyes remained fixed on me with quiet intensity beneath thick lashes. He appeared less like someone who belonged in a village and more like a figure conjured by the forest itself.
Sunlight filtered through the canopy overhead as he crouched where I’d been kneeling moments before. The signs I’d struggled to decipher suddenly seemed to come alive beneath his attention. His gaze swept over the disturbed moss and bent fern fronds before shifting towards the scattered impressions left in the earth.
“There,” he murmured, almost to himself.
He brushed aside a layer of pine needles, revealing the faint outline of my footprint pressed into damp soil beneath, while nearby a cluster of crushed clover marked where my skirt had brushed against the undergrowth. What had appeared meaningless moments ago now formed a clear path beneath his careful observation.
A faint flicker of fascination stirred somewhere deep within the hollow quietness of my emotions as I watched him work. “You track people often?” I asked.
“Animals, mostly.” His fingers ghosted lightly over the forest floor before he rose smoothly to his feet. “But people leave trails too, usually noisier ones.”
I glanced down at my basket overflowing with herbs and frowned faintly. “I didn’t realize I was particularly noisy.”
The corner of his mouth twitched slightly, not quite a smile. “You stop every few minutes to sketch flowers.”
Before I could respond, he turned and began walking through the forest with quiet confidence, following signs invisible to me. I hurried after him, holding my skirt up with one hand and lugging the basket with the other. His certainty only deepened my unspoken suspicion that he was the same figure I’d glimpsed outside the bakery the previous night.
As we walked, I found myself studying him sidelong. This man might be the only local I encountered for days, perhaps longer. I needed to gather what information I could about the area.
“Why don’t the villagers venture into the forest?” I asked. “Is it dangerous?”
I had yet to detect any sign of wolves or other predators, though appearances could be deceiving. Regardless of what dangers might roam these woods, I was eager to learn more about my temporary home. There was only so much time before the bakery inevitably transported us elsewhere again.
He blinked, visibly caught off guard by the question. “They…have their reasons.” His expression became guarded, subtle but unmistakable, making me wonder if I had unknowingly brushed against a subject the villagers avoided discussing.
Ordinarily I possessed very little curiosity towards other people’s secrets. Yet uncharacteristically, I found myself wanting to dig deeper.
The more I learned about this forest, the stranger it seemed that the bakery’s magic had chosen to settle here. Even after all these years, I had never fully understood its whims guiding its movements from place to place.The only pattern I’d ever managed to notice was that somehow the bakery always seemed to lead me towards something I needed, often long before I realized it myself…such as the time the bakery settled in a cornerof the kingdom that had just the herb I needed for a fever, and shortly after the move, Grandmother had fallen ill and needed it.
In all likelihood, this mysterious forest contained something I needed—whether a rare ingredient, a hidden recipe, or…my gaze drifted back towards the stranger beside me.
For a fleeting moment, I studied his form as though seeing him anew, as if observation alone might reveal whether our meeting had been intentional—whether by some ulterior motive of his own or by the strange magic guiding the bakery from place to place each month—or if it had simply been a coincidence.
I blinked at the odd direction of my thoughts; suspicion did not come naturally to me anymore. I dismissed the notion almost immediately. The bakery could hardly have a reason to lead me towards this random stranger; any friendship forged between us would disappear alongside the forest itself once the next full moon rose.
Our relationship would remain purely practical. “Do you believe the remoteness will hinder potential customers,” I asked, “or might villagers still venture into the forest with the proper…persuasion?” Personally, I could think of few incentives stronger than pastries capable of fulfilling heartfelt wishes.
His hesitant silence testified clearly enough of his doubts, though he seemed too polite to discourage me outright. He avoided looking directly at me, as though uncomfortable delivering unfortunate news directly.
“We’re pretty deep in the woods,” he admitted carefully. “You could perhaps have chosen a better location for a bakery.” Then, after a slight pause, he added, “Though I suppose it could become a welcome haven for those unfortunate enough to find themselves lost.”
The remark was delivered with such earnest seriousness that I almost missed the faint upward twitch at the corner of his mouth. Was he teasing me? If so, the attempt was entirelywasted. Humor had been sacrificed years ago in the making of our moonberry mirth pastries—an enchanted confection famous for easing sorrow and coaxing laughter even from the most dour patrons.
He cast me a cautious sideways glance, seemingly waiting for some sort of reaction. When none came, pink tinged the tips of his ears before he hastily looked away again. Curious.
I studied his flustered profile before my gaze drifted downward, settling on the worn moleskin notebook tucked beneath his arm. It looked remarkably similar to my own. Something stirred faintly in my chest, a feeling dangerously close to hope, an emotion I experienced so rarely it had not yet been entirely consumed by my magic.
