Page 67 of Rise
She moved farther in, letting the door sigh closed behind her.
Her footsteps softened with each step, her shoulders uncoiling from their habitual brace. The tension from brunch, the heat in her cheeks from Imogen’s smug precision, the whirlwind pull of Iris’s affection, still lingered in the edges of her awareness. But here, in the hush of the bookshop, everything slowed.
The Captain’s Rest didn’t rush you, it invited you to linger.
To touch, to browse, to forget the clock entirely.
Hazel wandered between the aisles with no particular direction. Just the soft pull of memory, the echo of younger versions of herself. Her fingertips brushed the spines as she passed, cookbooks stacked near the entrance, worn copies of classic poetry further in. A quiet little alcove held well-loved romance novels, their covers bright and defiant against the antique wood.
She paused near the contemporary fiction section, head tilted, eyes scanning titles.
A flash of movement caught her off guard.
Two children— both girls, maybe eight or nine— darted past, giggling as they wove between shelves. One brushed Hazel’s back as she passed, and she startled, her heart catching in her chest. She stepped sideways, one hand flying to her collarbone.
The second child followed close behind, strawberry blonde curls bouncing, and then both were gone, vanishing through the front door with the jangling of the bell and a gust of sharp autumn air.
Hazel exhaled and pressed a palm to her chest until she felt the edge of the tremor fade.
A third figure appeared in their wake, moving with the kind of weary grace only parents seemed to possess. Shoulder-length dark hair framed a face flushed with motion and mild exasperation, the warmth of it still clinging to her cheeks. She wore a burnt-orange sweater, oversized and cozy and a pair of loose jeans cuffed at the ankle above worn leather clogs.
“Burn off some energy!” she called after the girls, her voice a practiced mix of threat and affection, tempered with dry amusement.
The door swung shut behind the children with a soft sigh, muffling the laughter fading down the street.
Hazel turned, blinking. The woman’s face stirred something— familiar, but sideways. Like a photograph that had once been pinned to a fridge she no longer had access to.
Then the woman caught sight of her, too.
Her expression lit instantly, surprise giving way to warmth that spread across her features like sunlight through leaves. “Oh— Hazel, right?”
Hazel hesitated, nodding. “Yes. I’m—“
“Wendy’s granddaughter,” the woman said, stepping forward, eyes kind. She reached for Hazel’s hands and took them within her own, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Of course. You have her eyes.”
Hazel smiled faintly, caught off guard. “Yeah. That’s me.”
As the woman pulled her hands away, Hazel’s eyes drifted down to the point of contact between them. Her fingers were ink-stained at the knuckles, a little chalk dust beneath the nails.
“Elise March,” she introduced, her smile bright. “This place technically belongs to both me and my husband, Connor, but he mostly hides in the back with the spreadsheets when he’s not teaching. I get to do the fun part.”
“Nice to meet you. I’ve been meaning to stop in.”
Elise waved that off. “No pressure. I figured you’d find your way here when you were ready.”
“I wasn’t really planning on it today. Just…” Hazel glanced around, the calm of the bookstore settling gently against her shoulders. “Needed a quiet place.”
“Well, you found the right one.” Elise said as she glanced toward the window, where the two girls from earlier could still be seen, chasing after each other up and down the sidewalk. “Well, usually. Sorry about the chaos… one of those was mine.”
“They’re sweet.”
“They’referal,“ Elise deadpanned. “But thanks.”
Hazel smiled.
They stood there for a moment— two women in the middle of a quiet store, both slightly out of breath in different ways.
“You looking for anything in particular?” Elise asked, stepping toward the counter, gesturing for Hazel to follow. “Or just here to soak up the nostalgia?”
