Chapter 631 You Really Do Know Your Tea

Tilda hadn’t expected to run into someone she knew at the abbey.

The moment Devin’s gaze landed on her, recognition flickered instantly.

“Well, look who it is. Never thought I’d see you here, Tilda.”

She arched a brow. “You know who I am?”

“Of course. Since you came to pray, why not stop by afterward? I bought a small plot here and built a cabin–it’s perfect for visitors.”

This wasn’t the broken, withdrawn figure Jude had once described. Devin didn’t look like a man who had locked himself away from the world, ignoring even his son after his wife’s death.

Standing there with a young monk’s hand in his, Devin seemed composed, his eyes calm, like the surface of a quiet lake. But there was no emptiness in them–only a gentle glimmer in the sunlight. He didn’t look like a man whose heart had turned to stone.

“I see. Lead the way, then.”

“Gladly.”

Devin led her toward the main hall.

After lighting candles and incense, Tilda sat, closed her eyes, and bowed her head before the statue of Christ.

I should have prayed sooner. I don’t know if God is real, but I do know this–I’ve been given another chance at life, and I still carry every memory of my past. That’s undeniable.

Since I’ve been granted this beginning, I won’t waste it. No matter what lies ahead, I won’t back down. Whether good or bad, right or wrong… that judgment belongs to God.

She set her candle in the center of the chapel and laid down her small prayer board. When she opened the Bible, a verse stood out at once: Trust in God’s timing. A quiet, knowing smile curved her lips.

Yes. Let things unfold as they’re meant to. Fate has its own path. As long as I stay true to myself and make the choices I believe are right, that’s enough.

Other people’s judgments don’t matter. All that matters is the faith of those I love.

After leaving her offering, Tilda stepped outside, where Devin was waiting.

“Where’s Nick?” she asked.

“The photographer just took him to get ready.”

Tilda glanced at the crew moving equipment nearby. “Make sure the parents and photographers keep a close watch on the kids. I’d hate for anything to go wrong here.”

Devin regarded her evenly. “You’re not as cold as people say.”

“And what do they say?” she asked lightly.

Normally gossip didn’t bother Tilda.

But this was Jude’s father. And even if Jude tried to hide it, Tilda could sense his real feelings–especially since she’d lived through something similar herself.

Jude still cared for his father.

And no matter how much love Devin had withheld, one day Tilda would still stand before him as his daughter–in–law.

Besides, Devin didn’t fully match either Jude’s memories or her own impression. Curiosity stirred in her chest.

“Fools waste time comparing themselves to others,” Devin said quietly. “The wise learn to focus on their own path and admire what others do well.”

Tilda blinked, surprised.

“You don’t sound at all like the man I’ve heard about. You sound more like a monk.”

A faint smile touched his lips. “I intend to become one. But the abbot says I’m not ready to let go of the world, so he won’t allow it. For now, I just come here every day and live quietly.”

With that, Devin started toward a modest wooden cabin. Tilda followed without a word.

The cabin had grown over the years into something that felt like a true home. Inside, the air was cool and fresh, carrying a trace of grass and flowers.

By the window, several pots of daffodils reached for the light. Beyond them, mountains rolled into mist beneath a bright blue sky, golden sunlight spilling over the ridges, while eagles circled overhead, searching for prey.

A small tea table sat near the window, a stove ready for water. Paintings hung on the walls, soft curtains framed the panes, and a fainting couch rested in the corner. The space radiated quiet grace, a retreat hidden from the world.

“Sit. I’ll put the kettle on. The spring water here is sweeter than anywhere else.”

Devin filled the pot, stoked the fire, and soon the kettle was singing. He poured carefully, brewed a cup, and set it before her.

Tilda lifted it, breathed in, and smiled. “Silverwood Reserve.”

Devin’s eyes lit up. “You can tell just from the aroma? You really do know tea.”

“This blend is rare–one of the finest. The leaves are pale with copper streaks, with a faint floral note, almost like lilac. The taste is smooth and rounded, with a gentle sweetness and a lingering hint of wood. The liquor glows clear, golden–green in the light.”