Page 105 of Rise
Silence stretched between them for a few more moments, stretched thin in the small space that separated them. With each step, their arms would brush, but neither of them seemed bothered by the brief beats of connection. They made their way down the street where Hazel’s grandmother’s house sat at the very end, the snow continuing to fall and press tiny, cool pinpricks to Hazel’s exposed skin.
“You think you’ll ever tell me more about it?”
The words left Hazel before she could second-guess them. They came quiet and careful, offered like a match held to the dark, not demanding light, but hoping for it.
Beside her, Beck slowed just a fraction. He didn’t stop walking, but something in his shoulders shifted. The set of them grew tighter for half a heartbeat, like the question had landed somewhere tender, somewhere still healing. He didn’t answer right away.
Hazel looked over, her chest tightening. Maybe it was too much, too soon. Her fingers fidgeted inside her coat pocket, picking at the frayed edge of a seam she hadn’t stitched up. She suddenly felt the weight of it, that fragile balance between closeness and overreach, between witnessing and asking to know more.
And just when she opened her mouth to sayNever mind,orYou don’t have to,he spoke.
“I will,” Beck said, voice low and level.
Hazel stilled, her own footsteps slowing.
He turned his head just enough that their eyes met. His profile was half-illuminated and half-shrouded in shadows, the porch light from the top of the drivewayjustbarely reaching this far. His gaze didn’t dart away, didn’t dodge. It simply held, locked onto hers.
“I want to.”
There was a beat of silence, and then Beck exhaled slow through his nose, and lifted a hand to the back of his neck. His fingers raked through the ends of his hair, tugging at the loose curls that had formedthere. It was a gesture she’d seen before, usually when something in him twisted tight, or when he was holding something in, trying to keep it from slipping out too soon.
“Just not tonight.”
His hand dropped but their eyes hadn’t broken.
Hazel gave a slow nod. She felt it in her throat first, then in the soft part of her chest. “Okay.”
And it was. It really was.
Because what he gave her in that moment wasn’t just permission to ask, it was the promise of an answer, eventually, when it could be given with both hands. When he was ready. And that was all she could hope for.
When they reached the house just a minute later, Beck stepped forward first. Without speaking, he moved to the porch stairs and tested the railing, his hand curling around the wood, giving it a slight, thoughtful shake.
Hazel smiled as she watched him from a few paces behind, her cheeks straining with the effort.
Still bent over the banister, Beck looked back at her, brows raised, seemingly perplexed by her amusement.
“This version’s better than the last one,” she said, voice dry but warm.
He huffed a low laugh, straightening. “Didn’t take much.”
She stepped up beside him, her boots quiet on the wood, and turned to face him fully in the porch light. She gave her head a shake, meeting his eyes.
The glow caught the edge of his jaw, his brow, and the tips of his lashes, which were dusted faintly with snow. His hair curled slightly at the edges, wind-tossed and damp, and his mouth— soft and unsmiling— was parted just enough that she could see the quick, shallow draw of his breath as she neared.
He looked at her like he didn’t know what to say. Or maybe like he did, but didn’t trust himself to say it out loud.
Hazel’s heart knocked against her ribs.
And then, with slow and purposeful deliberation, she closed the space between them.
Her fingers reached for the lapel of his coat, tugging gently, just enough to tilt his mouth toward hers. His hands came up— one to her waist, the other to her cheek— and in the next breath, he kissed her again.
But this time, it wasn’t tentative.
This time, it was full. Heated.
She exhaled against his mouth as he guided her up the remainder of the stairs and shifted their positions. He pressed her back against the soft yellow of the front door, the wood cool through her coat, his body warm and solid in front of her. His fingers found the knotted belt at her waist, tugging it loose until the material gaped around her. He slipped his hands beneath the coat, palms skating over the velvet along the curve of her waist, her hip, the warmth of his touch sinking through to her skin. The sensation made her stomach flutter. Her hands found his shoulders, then slid up, curling into the damp hair at the nape of his neck.
