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8

LARK

B y the time I got upstairs, Alessandro was already in the vehicle. I watched it disappear down the winding drive until the trees swallowed it from view. The late-afternoon sun came through the window, but despite its warmth, I shivered.

“Tea?” Alice appeared beside me, two steaming mugs in hand. The familiar scent of my own Matcha blend was comforting.

“Thanks.” I wrapped my hands around the warm ceramic, trying to ground myself in its solid comfort. “Is Gram settled in okay?”

“Fast asleep in the downstairs bedroom. The stress of the morning must have worn her out.” Alice leaned against the railing. “I’m glad you’re both here, Lark.”

“I appreciate this so much,” I said, following her over to the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the lake.

“I heard someone say there was a flood in the coffee shop basement.”

I nodded, sipping my tea and taking in the peaceful scene before us. “There was. But, according to Alessandro, they were able to recover what was stored down there. I think someone might bring it here later. I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course it is,” she said, nudging me, but not enough that the hot liquid in my cup spilled. “So, what was down there?”

“So much. Historical documents, glove patterns, and I’m not sure what else. Alessandro knew how important it was to me and to Gram.”

“He understands how much your family’s history means to you both,” Alice said softly.

“He does,” I agreed, remembering the intensity always evident in his eyes, regardless of what we were talking about. It was hard to reconcile that care with the stories I’d grown up hearing about his family. But, again, he wasn’t just his family name, any more than I was mine.

Alice touched my arm gently. “You can talk to me about him. You know, if you’re trying to sort through your feelings. I had a hard time admitting how I felt about Pershing, even to myself. Honestly, the two men aren’t that different.”

“I appreciate it.” I wasn’t ready to, though. My feelings were too new, too jumbled.

“I was about to get a yoga session in. Want to join me?”

I sighed. “Definitely. I can’t tell you how much I need that right now.”

I followed her into the master bedroom, where two mats and two zafu cushions were set up. “Do you and Pershing do yoga together?” I asked.

Her cheeks turned pink, and she smiled. “We do.”

I almost laughed out loud at the idea that Alessandro would ever do it with me.

“I was stunned when he wanted to,” she said as though she’d read my thoughts. I watched her lean down and pick two crystals. “Rose quartz and a smooth black tourmaline for heart healing and protection,” she explained, handing them to me. “I thought you might need both.”

I placed them beside my mat, their presence oddly comforting as we moved through our poses. The bedroom’s massive windows filled the space with golden light, and the gentle lapping of the lake created a natural meditation soundtrack. As we flowed from one position to the next, I felt some of the day’s tension begin to dissolve.

When we finished, Alice led me out to the deck off the great room. A movement at the tree line caught my eye—one of the security teams doing their rounds. The sight was reassuring rather than feeling invasive. Was it my relaxed state after the session, or did it signal acceptance?

“Come sit down,” Alice said, motioning to two Adirondack chairs

I sank into the deep seat, tucking my legs under me. A loon’s call echoed across the lake’s surface. “It’s so nice here,” I said.

She rested her head against the chair. “I know. I never dreamed I’d want to leave Manhattan, but now, I can’t imagine going back.”

A door opened behind us, and Blackjack, one of the guys I met at the wedding, walked over to where we sat. “Miss Gregory? The team just arrived with the stuff they recovered from the coffee shop’s basement.”

I started to rise, but Alice put a hand on my arm. “Let them handle it.”

“I need to keep busy. Otherwise, I’ll just sit here thinking about everything that could go wrong.” Like Alessandro facing his brother in court tomorrow and what the ramifications of that might be. Or like whoever was behind the flooding making another move.

“At least, let them bring it inside,” she encouraged. “Then you can go through it.”

“It’s been so long since I have. I guess I took for granted that it would always be there.”

I spent the next hour cataloging the contents of each of the boxes that were delivered, something I should’ve done long ago.

“Oh my goodness.” Gram came out of the bedroom and gasped. “I haven’t seen most of that in decades.” She sat in one of the dining table chairs and picked up a pair of gloves. “See these markings, little bird?” she asked, fingering the leather’s delicate detail. “That’s how you know who sewed them. The women were responsible for that step in the process.”

“Yeah?”

“In the beginning, they were done by hand. Men would cut the leather from the patterns, then boxes of pieces would be taken to the homes where they’d be sewn together. Eventually, the manufacturers added rows upon rows of electric sewing machines at their plants, which were quite expensive in those days. Then the women happily moved from working at home to the factories.”

“Now, everyone wants to work remotely.”

She nodded. “Some think the grass is greener, but it never is.”

I murmured my agreement, remembering how I’d once believed my life would be so much more exciting, living in New York City. It hadn’t been. Manhattan was crowded, expensive, and noisy. More often than not, I found myself longing for the quiet peace of a place like Gloversville. Canada Lake was even more so.

“I’ll start dinner,” Gram said, pushing her chair back and using her cane to stand.

“Oh, err, I’m not sure what’s here. We may need to go grocery shopping.”

She turned to me with a smug smile. “I had one of those nice young men bring everything I needed.”

“For?”

“Sauce, of course. Oh, and go get Alice, little bird. She wants me to teach her how to make it.”

“I’ve always wondered something. Your parents and grandparents were German. How did you get so good at making marinara?”

“My husband’s grandmother taught me.”

I thought about that for a minute. “Weren’t they from Wales?”

She shook her head. “Glasgow,” she said, then began humming like she always did when she cooked.

“Well, that explains it,” I muttered, laughing.

“Explains what?” Alice asked, coming downstairs before I’d had the chance to go get her.

“I asked Gram how she learned to make sauce.”

“And?” Alice prompted.

I shook my head. “Her explanation made no sense to me, so I doubt it would to you, either.” I caught my grandmother glance at me over her shoulder. There was something about her expression that told me I should drop the subject. Almost as if she’d lied about who she learned it from. Later, when we were alone, I’d ask. Not that she’d tell me if she didn’t want to.

Gram resumed humming while gathering ingredients. “Lark, chop the onions. Alice, you crush the garlic. And you—” She pointed her wooden spoon at Tank, who I hadn’t noticed come downstairs. “Stay out of my way.”

For the next hour, we fell into a rhythm that almost felt normal. The familiar scent of Gram’s sauce filled the kitchen, and her running commentary on proper preparation provided a welcome distraction. Every so often, I’d check my phone, telling myself I did it to make sure I hadn’t heard anything more from Karen about the coffee shop. The truth, though, was I was hoping for news from Alessandro.

“Any update?” Alice asked.

I put my hands on my hips. “Would you stop doing that? It’s starting to freak me out. It’s like you can read my mind.”

“What you’re thinking is written all over your face,” Gram said from where she stood, stirring the sauce.

“He’ll be fine,” Alice said quietly as we worked side by side. “He knows what he’s doing.”

“I’m not worried about him,” I lied, focusing on dicing more tomatoes.

Since my grandmother insisted on making a double batch and a single one would’ve fed twenty people, Alice asked Admiral to see if some of the guys wanted to come up to the house for dinner. Grit was the first to show up. “Perimeter check is clear,” he reported. “We’ve got teams posted at all access points.”

“Any news on the shop?” I asked, unable to help myself.

“Secure. The water’s been shut off, and we’ve got people watching it round the clock.” He hesitated. “Oh, and the crew found more stored boxes that they’re bringing in now, but there’s one you might want to come up to see.”

I wiped my hands on a dish towel. “What is it?”

“A metal container full of old photographs.”

My heart leaped. “From the factory?”

He nodded.

“Go ahead,” Gram said before I could ask. “Alice and I will finish up here, then the boys can bring everything upstairs.”

I followed Grit up to the great room, where several piles of things had been neatly arranged. The metal box he’d mentioned sat apart from the others, its surface scratched but intact. With trembling fingers, I opened the latch.

Inside, black-and-white photographs captured moments frozen in time—workers at their stations, proud displays of finished gloves, my great-grandfather standing in front of the factory. Each image was a piece of our history that hadn’t been lost to fire or flood.

“There’s more,” Grit said, pointing to a stack of leather-bound ledgers. “Account books, order records, and additional glove patterns.”

I traced my fingers over the faded handwriting, recognizing my great-grandfather’s precise script. “I don’t remember seeing these before.”

“Blackjack said Alessandro insisted they check every corner and nothing be left behind. Which means there are bags and bags of coffee beans they don’t know what to do with.”

I laughed about the beans, but the rest meant more to me than I had words to convey. The same determination that had driven Alessandro to bring down his own brother, his own family, would ensure no detail was overlooked, no piece of my family’s heritage lost if he could help it.

When my phone buzzed and I saw a text from him, I couldn’t contain my smile. Made it to the city. Everything okay there?

I stared at the screen, wishing I could talk to him instead, hear his voice. Everything’s good, I typed back. Found some old factory photos. Will show you when you return.

His response was immediate. Looking forward to it. Wish I was there instead of here.

“Miss Gregory?” Tank’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. “Admiral wants to discuss logistics for tomorrow. About getting you to and from the shop.”

Reality crashed back in. Tomorrow, I’d have to face going back to Gloversville, to the damage left behind. But tonight, surrounded by pieces of my family’s past and people determined to protect our future, all I could feel was grateful.

After dinner, I sat in front of the downstairs fireplace, still studying the photos from the metal box. When I looked up, Gram was approaching from the hallway. “Want to see?” I asked.

She sat beside me on the sofa.

“Look, isn’t this Papa Werner in front of the factory?”

“I remember that day. The town had just given him an award for businessman of the year, or something like that. I can’t remember exactly.” Her finger traced the outline of the building. “Look how proud he was.”

More memories spilled out as we went through the photos together. Stories of the workers who’d been like family, of summer afternoons spent playing hide-and-seek among the leather rolls, of the exact way sunlight used to stream through the plant’s windows.

“Alessandro’s men found these,” I told her. “They searched until everything was recovered.”

Gram was quiet for a moment, studying another photograph. “Perhaps we were too quick to judge him,” she finally said.

Her admission surprised me, though maybe it shouldn’t have. Gram had always valued actions over words, and Alessandro’s efforts to save our family’s legacy spoke volumes.

My phone buzzed with another text. Trial prep going late. How’s your grandmother settling in?

The simple question warmed something inside me. Even amid preparing for tomorrow’s ordeal, he was thinking of us.

“Tell him I’m fine,” Gram said, glancing at my phone. “And thank him for saving these. And…” She hesitated. “Tell him to be careful tomorrow.”

I typed out the message, adding my own thanks for the recovered photos. His response came quickly. Your family’s history matters. To you, to your grandmother, and now, to me too.

Alice appeared with fresh tea and settled into one of the oversized chairs. “Find anything interesting?”

“More than we imagined.” I showed her a photo of the factory’s interior. “Look at the detail in these gloves. Each one handmade.”

“The craftsmanship was extraordinary,” Gram added, her voice proud. “Every pair had to be perfect.” I remembered her saying that was how she chose the name of the shop—the Perfect Fit Coffee & Tea.

We were still looking at photos when Tank and Grit came downstairs. When one of them paused to admire the photographs, asking questions about the equipment shown, Gram launched into an enthusiastic explanation of the glove-making process.

The sky outside was pitch black when Pershing joined us, carrying a tablet with security plans for tomorrow’s trip into Gloversville. “We’ll have three vehicles,” he explained. “Different routes each time. No patterns they can track.”

“This seems like too much,” I said, trying not to sound ungrateful.

“About tomorrow,” Gram said. “I’d like to come to the shop too.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

She lifted her chin. “Don’t forget, little bird, I’m the one who built it into what it is today.”

“I know, Gram. It’s just?—”

Pershing put his hand on my arm. “We’ll make it work.”

Later, after Gram had gone to bed and Alice had retreated upstairs, I stood at the windows, watching the moonlight silver the lake. The day’s events replayed in my mind—the flooding, the rescued photographs that meant everything to my grandmother and me, and Alessandro’s fierce protectiveness.

My phone lit up one last time with a message from him. Get some rest. Tomorrow will be challenging for both of us.

I smiled at his choice of words. Challenging. Such an understated way to describe testifying against his brother or reopening a vandalized business.

Be safe, I wrote back. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, I added, I wish you were here , even though he’d said it earlier. This time, I wanted to say it first.

The response took longer this time. So do I. More than you know.

I tucked the phone away, knowing that whatever happened tomorrow—in a Manhattan courtroom or a Gloversville coffee shop—we’d face it stronger, knowing reassurance was always on the other end of a text.

The metal box still sat open on the table. Inside sat generations of my family’s history, preserved by time, luck, and one man’s determination to protect what mattered to me.

Maybe that was the real legacy worth preserving—not just the physical artifacts, but the spirit of resilience they represented. The ability to rebuild, to find hope in unexpected places. Or unexpected people.

As if reading my thoughts, Tank appeared. “Perimeter’s secure, Miss Gregory. I’m calling it a night. You should too.”

I nodded, gathering the photos. Tomorrow would come soon enough, but tonight, in this peaceful moment between what was lost and what might be found, I allowed myself to feel something dangerously close to hope.