Page 100 of Rise
15
By the time Hazel had made it halfway around the room, her cheeks were flushed with warmth, not just from the heat rising off the crowd or the cider steeped with cinnamon and cloves, but from the steady stream of drinks that kept appearing in her hand the moment she set one down.
Juno had passed her a sparkling wine first, wrapping her arms around her neck and tugging her into a hug far more delicate than she’d expected. As they chatted and Hazel lifted the drink to her lips, the taste was both sweet and sharp, ticklish on her tongue. Her eyes had wandered the room as they’d caught up, taking note of all the people in attendance— and perhaps searching for one steady, familiar face in particular. She came up short, though, on her first pass through the room.
Then came a blood-orange spritz from Malcolm, served with a wink and a twist of peel dropped into the glass like a signature. They exchanged a few words, his smile contagious as he was whisked away again, in his element, surrounded by warmth, and love, and compliments.
Hazel leaned against the far wall, taking it all in during one of her brief reprieves from warm conversation. The lights were turned low, casting soft shadows against the exposed brick. Friends curled into velvet chairs, angled toward stacked tables of sweets and strong drinks. Music floated in, brassy and soft, and conversation swelled and dipped like breath.
Then she padded across the room, smiling and murmuring softhellosto the people she recognized as she passed. Just as she’d settled at the dessert table, her eyes wandering over the selection of baked goods— not just her own, for once— she felt a hand settle at her arm.
She turned, eyes lifting, and then lowering, when they settled on a familiar, brown-haired figure. Elise wore a deep cranberry silk skirt that swayed as she moved, paired with a soft ivory blouse tucked just-so at the waist. Her hair was swept back in a loose twist that kept threatening to unravel, held together by stubborn will and two candy-cane-striped hairpins that didn’t match anything, but somehow worked.
Behind her, Connor was dressed in his usual subdued layers. His hair stuck up in the back, probably from his own fingers, and he held a bottle of wine tucked under one arm like he wasn’t sure if it was festive enough.
“The book signing was such a hit,” Elise said, her dark eyes alight with excitement and perhaps something a littlemore.As Hazel’s gaze drifted to the tall glass of wine in Elise’s hand, her smile widened, pleased by the silent confirmation. It seemed she wasn’t the only one letting loose tonight. “Honestly, we’d love to host something like that again soon. People have been asking. A spring event, maybe?”
“Maybe this time, a night of reading poems, not just selling books.” Connor added, already half-dreaming it aloud. He rocked back on the heels of his scuffed leather shoes, snow melting at the toes as if the two of them had just arrived. “Pastries and poems, people bringing their favourite lines… we’ll let them read by candlelight.”
Hazel laughed, tucking a curl behind her ear. “Only if I don’t have to go first.”
“You’ll be last,” Elise promised. “We’ll save the best for the encore.”
Hazel’s reply was half a grin and a mock groan. But inside, something quiet bloomed, like she was part of a world she hadn’t even realized she was allowed to belongto.
It reminded her, vaguely, of the porcelain town in Rise’s window— still and glowing, each figure fixed in place, safe in its loop. Maybe real life didn’t have quite the same certainty. But tonight… it felt close.
She exchanged a few more words with the March’s, a quiet discussion about a potential spring menu and the flavour profiles they could incorporate to highlight the change in season.Thiswas what Hazel loved about cooking, about baking— the warm discussions, the way she could see the light brighten in someone’s eye when a memory tugged at them, associated with a particular flavour or recipe.
A few minutes later, Hazel sank into a nest of cushions near the hearth beside Leigh and Juno. Juno handed her a ginger cookie half-bitten into the shape of a crescent moon and said, mouth full, “We’re going to have to fight off the tourists with rakes once they get wind of Rise next summer.”
Leigh snorted, one hand resting across her bent knee, the other holding a lowball glass of something amber. “Let them come. We’ll happily take their money.”
Hazel looked between them— Leigh, all composed elegance in soft slate layers and bare ankles, and Juno, curls wild, one of Iris’s silk scarves tied around her wrist like a friendship bracelet. Their shoulders pressed, their laughter overlapped, and Leigh’s fingers brushed Juno’s when she reached for her glass, neither of them pulling away.
Hazel tilted her head, something knowing and warm sparking behind her eyes.
“You two…” she began, lips twitching.
Leigh raised a brow, perfectly unreadable. “Careful.”
Hazel laughed, leaning back against the cushions, hands raising in self-defense. “Nothing. Just... I see you.”
From somewhere behind her, a hand settled over the curve of her shoulder.
She turned, surprised, and found Sylvia beside her— tall and bronze and utterly still in the sea of motion.
“I know this isn’t a good time,” she said, voice low. “But Leigh mentioned you’ve made real progress at the studio. Your grandmother would be proud.”
Hazel blinked. Sylvia’s hand squeezed, a gentle, barely there pressure, and then withdrew.
“Keep putting yourself first, Hazel,” she murmured, sharp blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “Don’t let the noise drown that out.”
And just like that, she was gone, disappearing into the crowd like smoke before Hazel could form the words to answer.
It clung to her, that sentence. Clung in the way certain kinds of truth did, like the warmth from a coat left too long on the back of a chair. She swallowed, eyes prickling, and excused herself from the weight of the moment spreading out between Leigh and Juno. She needed the time and the distance to settle herself, calm the burning behind her eyes. So she took another slow lap around the room.
Near the front, Iris waved her over, as bright and open as always. Her cheeks were flushed, tendrils of curling hair falling around her face, framing it perfectly. Beside her was her wife, a tall and lithe woman with cool, ocean blue eyes. As Hazel neared, Iris engulfed her in a rough hug, rocking her from side to side as she clung to her. Hazel let herself fall into it, fully and completely, her eyes falling shut as Iris’s scent settled over her like a familiar blanket, pulled from the dryer, still warm.
