Chapter 3 - Breaking Bread
The formal dining room of the Marchetti estate was built for fifty people, but tonight, only three sat at the massive mahogany table. The chandeliers cast a warm, golden glow over the fine china and silver silverware, but the atmosphere was far from stiff.
That was entirely due to Tessa.
Throughout dinner, while Martha hovered approvingly in the doorway, Tessa kept up a steady stream of witty observations about Newport contractors, the quirks of historic glass restoration, and her disastrous attempt to bake a sourdough loaf that ended up resembling a medieval mace.
Lucy was actually laughing. Real, ringing laughter that bounced off the high plaster ceilings and filled the cavernous room with life.
Dominic sat at the head of the table, cutting his steak with clinical precision, watching the two of them interact. For nine years, dinner had been a silent, ritualistic affair where he ate mechanically while reviewing financial reports. Tonight, the reports sat unopened in his study.
"So, let me get this straight," Tessa said, taking a sip of sparkling water and leaning back in her chair with complete ease. "You have six funeral homes, a private cemetery, and half the coast owing you favors, yet you’re terrified of a little stained glass?"
Martha, standing near the kitchen entrance, choked back a sudden cough, her eyes widening in sheer delight.
Dominic paused, his knife hovering over his plate. He looked across the table at Tessa, whose full, expressive face was alive with playful mischief.
"I am not terrified of glass, Ms. Miller," Dominic said slowly, his voice dropping an octave. "I simply prefer things that don't shatter under pressure."
"Everything shatters if you hit it hard enough, Mr. Marchetti," Tessa replied softly, her green eyes locking onto his with an unexpected depth that made the air in the room suddenly feel very thin. "The trick isn't preventing the break. It’s knowing how to put the pieces back together so they're stronger than they were before."
Dominic stared at her, a strange, heavy weight settling in his chest. She wasn't just talking about church windows. She was talking about him. About his home. About the nine years of cold, stagnant grief he had wrapped around himself like a shroud.
Lucy looked between them, sensing the sudden shift in the room's energy. She reached across the table, hesitantly touching Tessa’s sleeve.
"Can you teach me how to solder tomorrow?" Lucy asked softly.
Tessa’s face instantly softened, the intense energy dissipating into a warm, gentle smile. "I'd love nothing more, sweetie. But only if your dad approves of your apprenticeship."
Lucy turned her dark, hopeful eyes toward her father. It was the same look Anna used to give him when she wanted to bend the rules.
Dominic felt his defenses crumble completely. He couldn't say no. He realized, with a sudden, startling jolt, that he didn't even want to.
"Only if you wear safety goggles," Dominic conceded quietly.
Lucy beamed, a bright, radiant smile that broke through years of shadows.
Later that evening, after Tessa had packed her tools and headed back to her van, and after Lucy had been tucked safely into bed—sound asleep within minutes instead of tossing from anxiety—Dominic walked down to the chapel alone.
The heavy doors creaked open. Inside, the moonlight streamed through the broken north window, casting silver beams across the floor.
On the center work crate, Tessa had left a small, neatly arranged mosaic heart made from the leftover shards of blue and red glass.
May you like
Dominic reached out slowly, his large, calloused fingers brushing against the smooth, lead-soldered edges. For the first time in nine years, the suffocating tightness in his chest loosened.
He didn't laugh yet. But for the first time, he realized he might actually remember how.
