“I’m working on a project,” she said after a moment, her pencil still moving across the page. “A series of visual resources for caregivers. Something that might actually help people who are... struggling.”
Matt watched the subtle tension in her shoulders as she spoke. “That sounds like a wonderful idea,” he said sincerely. “What inspired it?”
Her pencil stilled. She clenched her jaw slightly, then took a deliberate sip of wine before answering. “I cared for my mom for a long time,” she said finally. “Before she died six months ago.”
The simple statement carried the weight of years, of exhaustion and grief, and love. Matt’s bear whined with the need to comfort, to protect.
“I’m sorry,” Matt said, meaning it with every fiber of his being.
“Thanks,” Tessa replied, her eyes on her sketch. “But it’s not your fault.”
The darkness that passed across her expression made his chest ache. Matt wanted to ask more, wanted to know everything about her mother, about what Tessa had endured, but he recognized the shuttering of her expression, the deliberate shift in her posture.
“Do you use these herbs in the restaurant?” she asked, clearly changing the subject as she gestured toward a bed of fragrant greenery.
Matt nodded, accepting the redirection. “Every day. Nothing beats fresh herbs for flavor.”
He stood, moving toward the raised beds. “That’s rosemary there—we use it in the lamb dishes. And here’s thyme, basil, oregano...” He pointed to each plant in turn.
Tessa joined him, her sketchbook tucked against her side as she leaned in to examine the plants more closely. Matt reached down and gently pinched a sprig of rosemary, holding it up to her.
“Here,” he said. “Smell this.”
She leaned forward, her face close to his hand as she inhaled. “That’s amazing,” she murmured. “So much more intense than dried rosemary.”
Being here, surrounded by the herbs his mother had planted, Matt felt the pressure of the truth like a pulse under his skin.
Tell her,his bear urged.Tell her what she is to us.
Not yet,Matt countered, though the need to do so was growing stronger with each passing minute. This fragile connection between them needed time to strengthen before he could risk the truth.
“I’m done with the sketches for now,” Tessa said. “Would you like to see?”
“Very much,” Matt replied.
She turned the sketchbook toward him, revealing a quick but remarkably detailed impression of the courtyard. With just a few lines, she had captured not just the appearance of the garden but its essence—the sheltered peace of it, the sense of hidden abundance. It was beautiful, just like her.
“Mom will love this,” he said, his voice rougher than he’d intended.
Tessa smiled, the expression reaching her eyes. “I’ll do a proper version, of course. This is just a rough sketch.”
“It’s perfect already,” Matt said simply.
Tessa closed her sketchbook. “This has been lovely. But I should probably get back to Rachel.”
“Of course, and thanks for this.” Matt nodded toward the sketchbook. “It’ll mean a lot to her.”
“You are welcome. It’s the least I can do since you have been so good to Rachel.” Tessa stood up.
“She’s great in the restaurant.” Matt nodded. “And I know how much this job means to her.”
“It means everything,” Tessa said. “It gave her the chance to make a fresh start. And we all deserve a second chance in life.”
“We do,” he said, locking eyes with her.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said and looked away.
Damn it, he’d said the wrong thing.
