Chapter 4
Supper at the Long Table
By late afternoon, the Fletcher house carried the kind of warmth Tessa had only ever smelled drifting from someone else’s window at supper.
Chicken simmered in the heavy pot, steam rolling up with pepper and bay leaf.
Dough dusted her hands as she folded and cut the strips of dough for the dumplings.
Eli stood close, chin nearly on her shoulder. “Looks fancy.”
“It isn’t fancy,” she said. “Just careful.”
“Still smells good.”
She hid a smile and dropped the dough into the broth. The dumplings softened quickly, sinking into the rich simmer. This dish had always meant comfort. She tried not to think about the two times she’d made it before—once for her mother, and once on a night she’d needed a memory more than food.
“It’s good,” Eli said quietly. “Sam’s gonna like it.”
Her hand faltered on the spoon. She didn’t want to think about what Sam liked best. That path held trouble she wasn’t free to want.
A knock sounded on the porch.
Before she could answer, Eli swung the door wide. “Come smell this!”
Jo stepped inside and froze. “That’s the best smell in the whole county.”
“It’s just supper,” Tessa said.
“That isn’t just. Reed’s gonna make a fool of himself.”
Tessa stiffened. “Reed’s coming?”
Jo grinned. “He always wanders in when food shows up.”
Scout barreled in next, weaving between Eli’s legs. Sam followed, brushing dust from his sleeves.
“House smells good,” he said.
“It’ll be ready soon,” she murmured.
“Take your time.” Sam set his hat aside and lingered near, careful not to crowd. “You need help?”
“I’ve got it.”
Jo elbowed him. “Stop hovering.”
Sam shot her a look that nearly made Tessa laugh.
More footsteps. Rafe filled the doorway, Abby beside him with a basket.
“We brought greens,” Abby said. “Thought they’d go with whatever you’re cooking.”
“Thank you,” Tessa said.
Rafe leaned over the pot. “Haven’t smelled this since Montana. Last time someone burned it clean through.”
Jo snorted. “She did at that.”
Abby touched Tessa’s arm. “Need help setting the table?”
“If you want.”
“I do.”
Rafe and Sam shifted the long table straight. Eli darted back and forth, carrying forks with the importance of a man hauling something precious.
Reed arrived last.
Dust on his sleeves, hat low, he stepped in and stopped when the smell hit him.
“Chicken and dumplings,” he said, quiet as memory.
Jo touched his arm. “You remember that dish?”
He nodded. “I was meant to meet you at the café for it… the night I got myself in trouble.”
She frowned. “Don’t joke about that.”
“I’m not,” he said, voice low. “Just truth.”
He looked at Tessa then. “If this tastes half as good as it smells, it’ll be better than the café ever turned out.”
Heat climbed her neck. She stirred though nothing needed stirring.
Reed glanced at Sam, something teasing under it. Sam didn’t take the bait.
They sat. Bowls passed hand to hand. Eli talked in quick bursts about the colt. Rafe praised the meal with a slow nod. Abby said it was perfect. Jo thumped her spoon and told Sam he’d be a fool if he ever let Tessa leave.
Sam nearly choked.
Tessa wanted to vanish into the floor.
Reed lifted his bowl. “Best I’ve tasted.”
Sam waited until the talk picked up around the table before speaking quietly to her.
“It’s the best meal we’ve had in a long time.”
She kept her eyes down. Praise landed heavier than judgment ever had before.
When the bowls were nearly empty, she stood. “There’s something else.”
Eli sat up straight. “More food?”
“Dessert.”
Reed blinked. “Dessert?”
Tessa crossed to the counter and lifted a tin dish.
Peach cobbler—golden, crisp around the edges.
Abby let out a soft breath. “That’s beautiful.”
Rafe sat straighter. “Takes real skill.”
She served modest squares. Reed tasted first and shut his eyes, shaking his head.
“This is better than the café ever made,” he said. “Better than the one I missed that night, too.”
Jo nudged him. “Reed.”
“Truth,” he said.
Abby took a slow bite. “Perfect.”
Rafe agreed with a quiet nod.
Sam waited until the others were busy talking before leaning in.
“You didn’t have to make dessert.”
“I wanted to.”
He gave her a small smile. “I’m glad you did.”
Her breath caught. No one had ever reacted to her cooking like this. And nobody had ever looked at her the way Sam did right then.
Clearing up went quickly—Rafe took bowls, Jo gathered plates, Reed stacked cups, Abby wrapped leftovers. Eli fed scraps to Scout, who whined for more.
Tessa reached to help, but Abby touched her arm.
“You cooked,” Abby said. “Sit.”
Tessa hesitated until Sam sat beside her.
“You did plenty,” he said. “More than you know.”
***
Outside, dusk spread across the yard in soft copper light. Scout barked once into the open field. Voices rose and fell around her—Reed murmuring to Jo, Rafe teasing Eli, Abby laughing at something small.
Tessa blinked hard.
She wasn’t standing outside looking in anymore—she was sitting in the middle of it.
Sam didn’t touch her, but his nearness grounded her all the same.
After a moment, she whispered, “I’m glad you liked supper.”
His smile deepened, quiet and certain. “I liked more than supper.”
She looked away, heart knocking in her chest, unsure what to do with the warmth rising through her.
The house settled into an evening hush. Lamps glowed soft. Plates dried on the rack. Scout curled under the table.
And for the first time in years, Tessa felt something she barely recognized. Belonging, at last.