This time, Gabe stood beside me. “Together,” I promised.
We set to work. I measured the flour while Gabe sifted, though his first attempt sent a pale cloud billowing across the table and dusted the front of his shirt. I bit back a smile as he looked down at himself with mild indignation. Nutmeg helpfully whirled around him, fanning sparks at him in a vain attempt to help, which only made him sneeze as flour went up his nose.
As we mixed the dry ingredients, Granny warmed the milk on the stove while I fetched the last jar of honey we had gatherednear the northern village where the bakery had remained three years ago.
Gabe removed the pressed fern from his journal with reverent care, holding it as though it were something infinitely more precious than a dried leaf. “This came from one of the first places I remember wishing I could return to.”
I brushed a fingertip along its fragile edge. One of the places where our paths had nearly crossed, long before either of us knew of one another.
For my offering, I retrieved the map we had drawn in the hidden meadow. The parchment still bore the faint impression of our hands, and there, winding cheerfully across the page, flowed the ridiculous stream Gabe had first insisted should travel uphill.
My chest tightened. Then, before sentiment could change my mind, I tore a narrow strip from one corner and laid it gently into the bowl beside his leaf.
The fern crumbled beneath the spoon. Threads of ink rose from the torn parchment like glowing wisps of golden smoke, lifting into the air before weaving themselves through the dough. As Gabe folded the mixture together, green and gold spiraled beneath his hands.
Nutmeg leapt onto the table and dragged the jar of enchanted sugar, her tiny body straining against its weight. “You are not eating any,” I warned.
She fixed me with a deeply affronted stare. Then, with an indignant chirp, she gave the jar a final triumphant shove into my hands. The dough shimmered with warm golden light as I sprinkled a careful spoonful into the bowl.
We shaped the dough together. His hands were larger than mine and far less practiced, yet he followed every instruction with unwavering concentration. Whenever the dough resisted,he simply pressed harder, as though sheer determination might convince the ancient magic to cooperate.
I laid my hands gently over his and his movements immediately stilled. “Softly,” I murmured. “Bread responds much better when it isn’t treated like an enemy.”
His thoughtful gaze lifted to mine. “Does magic?”
A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth, even as I felt tension gathering inside me. “I suppose we’re about to find out.”
Together we folded the dough until the streaks of color disappeared beneath its smooth surface. At last, only the final ingredient remained—the deepest desire within my heart.
I drew a slow breath and reached towards the dough. Before my fingers could touch it, Gabe’s hand settled firmly over the loaf, his expression firm with resolve. “If the magic requires a desire, it can have mine.”
“Gabe—”
His eyes met mine, fierce with quiet certainty. “You’ve spent your life giving up parts of yourself for others. It’s my turn to do that for you.”
Before I could stop him, he pressed his palm against the unfinished loaf. The dough began to glow. Silver light slowly climbed his across his skin, threading around his wrist like living ivy.
For one hopeful heartbeat, nothing happened. Then the light flared violently. Gabe gasped as an invisible force hurled him backward. He struck the edge of the table before collapsing heavily to one knee.
“Gabe!”
Panic surged as I rushed towards him, but he lifted one hand before I could reach him. “I…I’m fine.”
I slipped beneath his arm and helped him to his feet. The silver glow vanished from his skin as though it had never been there.
Across the recipe, a single line blazed crimson:The bargain may claim only what has been bound to it.
Gabe frowned at the words. “It appears the magic won’t accept me.”
“No,” Granny said, her face pale with understanding. “You inherited the wandering, but you never willingly entered a bargain with the magic.”
As though in silent confirmation, the unfinished loaf began to collapse. Its golden veins darkened, and the sweet fragrance filling the kitchen soured into something bitter, like honey scorched too long upon the fire. It slowly split down the center, causing darkness to seep through the crack. Though I’d never seen a physical manifestation of the magic, I recognized the shadow that hungrilyreached out of the loaf.
The bond between us tightened like an unseen thread wrapped around my heart. It recognized me. The book had reached into me so many times that it no longer needed to search for a path—it knew the way by memory alone.
Joy rose first—the memory of Gabe enjoying my baked confections for the first time. Then affection—the quiet comfort of his presence beside me. Hope—the maps spread across the table, proving his curse had been closely following the bakery’s route. Fear that the bakery would soon move. Grief—every farewell I had tried to escape by convincing myself not to care.
And then finally…love. Warm, bright, terrifying love. It surged through me all at once, so powerful it stole the breath from my lungs. I gasped. My knees buckled beneath me, and Gabe caught me before I could fall.
