Page 40 of Rise
“I know that, Hazel,” he said. “Just— look, I’ll see what I can do this week. Maybe get youseventy-five by Friday.”
Hazel pressed her hand flat to the cold metal of the fridge door. “You’re not hearing me,” she said, low and firm. “I need at least two hundred, every week, at a minimum.”
“I hear you. I do. Let me check the coop tonight and I’ll call you tomorrow.”
And then the line clicked once and went silent.
Hazel lowered the phone slowly, pulling it from her ear like it might burn her, and set it face-down on the counter next to the fridge.
She didn’t move for a long moment, just stood there, breathing. The hum of the ovens warming filled the space. The pilot lights ticked beyond their glass doors.
She hadn’t even realized her jaw was clenched until it started to ache from the pressure.
Her hand curled automatically against the edge of the counter. The silence in the bakery didn’t feel peaceful anymore, it felt held, like the entire space around her was bracing for impact.
She pressed the fridge shut and took another long, steadying breath. Then she reached over and flipped off the ovens in a sudden, shaky movement. Without even thinking, she stepped out of the kitchen and returned to the front of the bakery.
The shop was empty again. She could still smell the tea she’d made for Mr. Everett, faint beneath the more dominant layers of warm sugar and butter. She refilled her travel mug from the airpot, dark roast splashing into the vessel like it had something to prove. The cup felt heavier in her hand than it should have.
She took a slow sip and let it burn the edge of her throat. Then she reached for the black pen and the softcover notebook she kept tucked beside the register, flipping it open with a twist of her wrist.
Alt egg suppliers? Check re: bulk order rules.
She underlined it once, then twice, pressing the pen harder into the paper the second time.
She slipped her apron over her head and folded it neatly, smoothing the front with her palm before draping it across the back of the stool she’d recently pulled behind the counter, for those slow, in-between moments. The fabric of it was still warm from her body and faintlydusted with flour. A ghost of the morning clung to it— vanilla, cinnamon, the low thrum of effort.
Setting her coffee down, she reached for her cardigan instead, threading her arms into the sleeves in a slow, practiced rhythm. The knit of it was soft and familiar, the sleeves slightly stretched at the cuffs. Beneath it, she wore a plain white T-shirt and a pair of slate-colored linen pants, lightweight and slightly wrinkled from wear. Her sneakers were clean but scuffed at the toes, a quiet sign of how much ground she covered in a day without ever really leaving.
Hazel paused, fingers brushing the nape of her neck. Then, with a tug, she pulled the braid there loose. Her hair fell free over her shoulders in soft waves, ends curling from the coastal humidity and the heat of the ovens. She ran a hand through it once, then let it settle.
She picked up her travel mug again, now warm enough to feel comforting, and crossed to the front of the bakery. Her fingers hovered over the lights but she didn’t flip them off. Instead, she reached for the door and turned the hanging sign fromOpentoClosed,the wooden placard swinging once before settling into place.Just for a little while,she told herself. A short breath. Just long enough for the cool October air to settle the frustration still bubbling beneath her skin.
Her free hand slipped into the pocket of her pants and produced the key to the front door, now attached to a keychain shaped like a bright red lobster. She’d found it tucked into the back of a junk drawer at the house— a little chipped, the paint worn at the claws— and had felt an unexpected wash of warmth at the sight of it. There was something comforting about the absurdity of it.
The bell above the door jingled softly as Hazel stepped out into the dull light of late morning. Cloud cover pressed low, thick with the same promise of rain that had been hanging there since dawn. The air was cooler now, the sea breeze just sharp enough to raise the fine hairs on her arms beneath her cardigan.
The street was quieter than usual; tourist season had tapered off and locals were tucked indoors, for the most part. It was the kind of stillness that felt borrowed. She gripped her travel mug tighter and took another sip, turning towardsthe docks.
Her sneakers made soft sounds against the sidewalk, the kind that didn’t echo, just sank into the damp hush of the morning. Hazel slowed as she passed by Greyfin, peering inside for a beat. Malcolm was there in mid-conversation with someone at the cash register. He was animated in that quiet way of his; shoulders relaxed, one hand resting against the edge of the counter, head tilted just slightly as he listened. He hadn’t seen her and she didn’t linger, just watched the moment like a snapshot before continuing on.
She turned the corner onto the narrower street that led toward the waterfront, the air changing as she went. It was cooler here, the scent of brine thicker as the harbour grew closer. The buildings were more spaced out, the bustle of Main Street slipping behind her.
And then she passed it. Fork & Fable.
Even without glancing, she felt it in her periphery, like stepping into a space that didn’t want her in it.
The storefront gleamed in that deliberate,we-know-we-look-goodway. White-on-white décor, pale wood and black accents, rose-gold bar stools lined in a perfect row. The window display featured a single ceramic bowl on a floating shelf, spotlighted by a ring light like it was something holy. Even the monochromatic menu board mounted just inside looked curated to death— a minimalist serif font with a matte finish, probably printed by a graphic designer with a website and an agent.
Hazel didn’t stop, but her jaw tensed at the reminder.
As she passed the entrance, the door swung open, spilling a sharp note of citrus and espresso out onto the street. A woman stepped out, phone pressed to her ear, voice clipped and commanding.
“No—no.You need to call her back, and if she doesn’t pick up in ten, we move on. I’m not waiting around this time.”
Hazel heard her before she saw her. That voice landed like a jolt, dragging her attention sideways. She turned her head just as the woman came fully into view.
It was her.
