Oliver bowed his head over his plate and mumbled, “You are all monsters.”
The laughter and conversation settled into something warmer, and for the first time in a long while, Grace found herself relaxing and her smile lighter. She couldn’t remember the last time she had let herself laugh like this. Sarah leaned back in her chair with a soft smile. “This is almost pleasant.”
Grace felt herself go still. The words hit her harder than they should have.Was it pleasant that they were able to sit in the glow of the candlelight, trading jests and laughter like nothingwas missing inside of them? She shifted slightly in her chair, the familiar prickle of discomfort rising along her spine. Pleasant meant softening. Pleasant meant letting go.
In that brief moment, when Grace had laughed without the weight of her grief, she had almost felt like herself again—and somehow that hurt more than anything else.
Across the table, Oliver had caught the slight change in her posture. His eyes were locked on hers, and for a moment, she was afraid he was going to press her like he had done that morning. Instead, he expertly shifted the conversation in the opposite direction.
“Perhaps,” he said thoughtfully. “I should bring my own croquet mallet tomorrow. I daresay none of theirs will be properly weighted, and a man must have standards after all.” Matthew chuckled. “You will need more than a weighted mallet if Sarah plans to play. She cheats.”
Sarah gasped, swatting Matthew playfully on the arm. “I do not!” As the laughter swelled again, Grace allowed herself a small smile. She looked up to see Oliver watching her again, his eyes full of an understanding that she couldn’t quite comprehend.
She wasn’t entirely sure she trusted him, but for the sake of Sarah and Matthew, she would do her best to tolerate him.
The fire had burned low in the hearth, casting a soft amber hue across the sitting area of Grace’s room. She curled beneath alight blanket on the window seat, the glass fogged slightly where her breath brushed against it. The moon had just peaked its way over the treetops, bathing the pond below in silver.
She should have been asleep, but her thoughts were restless things flitting from candlelit laughter around the dinner table, to the empty space beside her where Benjamin used to be, to a white handkerchief tucked away in the drawer of her writing desk.
She looked up as the door to her room creaked open, and Sarah peeked her head inside. “I hope I am not intruding.”
Grace gave her a weary smile, “If you were worried about that, you might have tried knocking.”
Sarah laughed softly as she stepped inside, carrying two cups of tea. “I thought you might be awake.” She settled herself into the armchair beside Grace, offering her a tea. “You left dinner rather quickly.”
Grace cradled the teacup in her hands, the warmth reaching into places that had long felt numb. “I just needed a moment.” Sarah nodded in understanding.
Sometimes it was easy to forget that the hollow grief Grace felt deep in her bones wasn’t only hers to bear. Sarah had lost her brother that night. While the ache in their hearts took different forms, the weight of it was the same.
“Dinner was quite nice,” Sarah said gently, attempting to bring a bit of light back into the room. Grace didn’t answer. It had been nice—and that was the problem.
Sarah took a sip of her tea, then lowered the cup, a knowing grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. “If I am being quite honest, when I saw you smiling at Oliver, I thought I had stumbled into a stranger's dining room.”
Grace rolled her eyes. “I was mildly amused.”
“You were laughing.”
“Briefly.”
Sarah arched a brow, “It was a whole string of laughs, nearly a symphony. Do not try to downplay it. I was there.”
Grace huffed softly, aiming for indifference but failing to hide the amusement in her voice. “He is ridiculous.”
“He is infuriating,” Sarah admitted with a chuckle. “But he is also not the worst company when he behaves.”
Grace shook her head, "That is a generous assessment.” She turned her attention to the tea leaves floating in her cup, her thoughts drifting back to that morning at the pond. For one fleeting moment, she had thought she had seen a crack in his dramatic facade—a flicker of humanity and brokenness, but as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone.
She didn’t know exactly what to make of Oliver Blackburn, but something inside of her couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew her far better than she wanted him to.
“You know,” Sarah’s voice pulled Grace from her thoughts, “I told Matthew earlier that it feels as though we are getting a head start on parenthood.”
Grace furrowed her brow, unsure where Sarah was taking this. “I beg your pardon?” Sarah took another sip of her tea, looking far too amused with herself. “Watching you and Oliver bicker is what I imagine raising twins would be like.”
Grace shook her head, but she couldn’t hold back her laughter. Sarah smiled as she reached over to squeeze Grace’s hand. “There it is again. I have missed that sound.”
Grace’s laughter faded into a sigh. “It’s easier when I forget.” She said softly. “When I am not thinking about him.” Sarah’s face softened as she tightened her grip on Grace’s hand. “No one expects you to forget, Grace.”
Grace turned to look out the window, her eyes flickering up to the sky. Benjamin loved the stars. He had always said they were heaven’s jewels. She used to gaze up at them and marvel at their beauty, but now she was jealous of them. Envious that theyseemed to shine a little brighter, because the light Benjamin had brought to her life was now living among them.
