A Family's Blessing

The scent of polished wood and dried herbs, usually a comforting balm to Gerald’s soul, seemed to hum with a new, almost electric energy. He polished the counter of his father’s shop, his movements a little more vigorous than usual, a faint smile playing on his lips. The memory of Frasia’s laughter, a melody he’d only caught a whisper of as she passed by earlier, echoed in the quiet space. It was a laugh like the tinkling of tiny bells, a sound that seemed to weave itself into the very fabric of the afternoon, making the sunlight streaming through the dusty panes feel brighter, warmer.

His father, a man whose hands were as familiar with delicate clockwork as they were with the sturdy handles of his wares, observed him from his usual perch behind a large oak desk. A knowing glint flickered in his eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the shift he’d witnessed in his son. Gerald had been different since that morning. Preoccupied, yes, but not in a way that suggested worry or distress. No, this was a dreamy sort of preoccupation, a gentle haze that seemed to soften the edges of his usual earnestness.

“You’re polishing that counter as if it owes you money, son,” his father said, his voice a low rumble, laced with affection.