Page 68 of Rise
“A bit of both,” Hazel admitted. “I used to come in here all the time as a kid. My grandmother would give me a twenty and let me pick out whatever I wanted.”
Elise’s expression softened. “Wendy had good taste.”
Hazel’s throat tightened. She nodded, glancing away.
Elise let the moment hang, unrushed. Then she gestured toward the stack of new releases on the counter, still waiting to be shelved.
“We just got a few in— some contemporary fiction, some historicals. Want a recommendation?”
Hazel drifted toward the counter. She let her eyes scan the covers, fingers trailing along the raised lettering of a paperback spine.
She chose one almost at random, drawn to the cool blue of the cover, the rough edge of the pages. A quiet domestic novel. Thekind her grandmother used to pass her when she was too sad to read anything about love.
Elise rang it through, chatting absently about a local author’s event coming up in a few weeks. Then, just as Hazel reached for the little paper bag she’d slid across the counter towards her, Elise paused. Her lips pursed and she leaned back a bit, eyes searching Hazel’s face as if it might hold exactly the answer she’d been looking for.
“You ever think about catering?”
Hazel paused, tilting her head just slightly to one side. “Like, for an event?”
Elise nodded, adjusting the stack of bookmarks in the little holder beside the register. “Yeah, just something small. That book signing I mentioned is for a local poet… it’ll probably pull a modest crowd, maybe two or three dozen people, nothing too elaborate. I’ve been trying to find someone local to do pastries and coffee. We want to make it a more regular thing.”
Hazel hesitated, her fingers brushing the folded lip of the paper bag Elise had packed for her. “It’s still just me at the bakery,” she admitted, her teeth digging gently into the edge of her lower lip. “I’m not sure I’d have time to prep for something extra.”
Elise didn’t push. She just smiled, warm and patient. “Well, you’re doing too much. You should think about hiring on another set of hands.”
Hazel opened her mouth— maybe to deflect, maybe to sayI’m fine— but the words never made it out. Because she wasn’t. Not really.
The tiredness in her bones had settled weeks ago. It had a shape now, a weight, like something she’d been carrying so long it felt like part of her. This was the exact thing her grandmother had wanted her toescape—this constant state of exhaustion, of doing everything on her own.
And she still hadn’t even begun to deal with the house. The closets remained closed, the attic untouched. She hadn’t yet found the strength to brush open the bedroom door at the end of the hall— the one where the scent of lavender lingered the strongest.
Her life back in Boston sat in the same kind of limbo, too. Still waiting, still unfinished. She hadn’t decided whether to pull the plug permanently or brush aside theto be continuedsign and try again.
“I don’t even know where I’d find someone,” Hazel said after a beat.
Right then, the back door of the shop creaked open, and a man stepped into view— shorter than most, dark-haired, with wire-rimmed glasses and a button-down with wrinkles around the collar, like he’d tugged on it a few times too many. He carried a clipboard in one hand and a to-go coffee in the other, the strap of a messenger bag slung over his shoulder.
He moved straight to Elise, leaning over to press a quick kiss to her temple, one arm curling against her back.
“Heading out,” he murmured against her hair. “Meeting with my TA. Trying to scare some clarity into the midterm.”
Elise smiled without turning. Her dark eyes had warmed significantly, a soft gleam in them at her husband’s closeness. “Be kind. They’re trying.”
He gave a mock-scandalized look, then caught sight of Hazel. His smile brightened by a few degrees. “Hi there.”
Elise gestured between the two of them, nodding her head. “Hazel, this is my husband, Connor. Connor, this is Hazel— Wendy’s granddaughter. From Rise.”
Something shifted in his expression. It wasn’t dramatic, just a softening around the eyes, the kind that held more memory than words.
“Ah,” he said, and nodded once. “That makes sense. I can see the resemblance.”
Hazel smiled her gratitude, softening a bit around the edges, too.
It was the second time in just a few minutes that someone had compared her to her grandmother—seenher in that light— and it caught her off guard. Not in a jarring way, but in the way an unexpected compliment sometimes could, slipping under the surface before she had time to brace for it. It settled there like warmth spreading slowly through cold fingers. A steadying sort of comfort. Not loud, not glowing, just… sure.
For the first time in a while, it didn’t feel like she was pretending to belong here. It felt like maybe she alreadydid.Like some part of her grandmother was still walking the town through Hazel’s face, her voice, the way she moved through the space she’d been left to carry forward.
She folded that feeling away carefully, tucking it someplace safe.
