Page 22 of Rise
Her fingers curled slightly against the edge of the counter and she forced herself to inhale.
Keep it together.This is fine.
Beck was just here. Again.
“Hey, Beck,” she managed, finally, the word small and round in her mouth. Not casual. Not anything close.
Beck nodded once, his own form of greeting. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
His voice was exactly the same as always— quiet, even, and slightly weathered— but it felt louder somehow, louder than the jazz playing faintly overhead, louder than the blood rushing in her ears.
“You’re not,” she said, trying once more for casual, but missing the mark again. “They’re just harassing me.”
“That’s true,” Malcolm admitted, lifting his cup like a toast. “But it’s emotionally constructive.”
“Also highly entertaining,” Iris added, already smiling like she knew something was about to happen. And like she wasreallyglad she had a front row seat to whatever it was.
Beck gave them both a polite nod, but didn’t look their way long. He turned his attention back to Hazel and held up the bag in his hand.
“I brought something,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “For the door.”
Hazel blinked, the words settling over her like mist. She searched her memory for some forgotten conversation painted with early morning light, one she might’ve moved through on autopilot, too distracted to commit it to memory.
When nothing came to her, she pursed her lips and met his dark gaze. “The door?”
He nodded, stepping closer as he unrolled the top of the bag with one hand, pulling out a small brass bell with the other. It was simple, but lovely, worn smooth with age. It was the kind of thing you’d find on the door of a lighthouse keeper’s cottage or a century-old mercantile. Its clapper had been wrapped in cloth, probably to keep it from rattling as he walked and the edges were tarnished in a way that felt deliberate. Beautiful, even.
She stared at it, then at him. The pieces of the puzzle he’d set before her still wouldn’t press into place.
“You… brought me a bell?”
He tilted his head, just slightly, like he was both charmed and faintly surprised by how long it was taking her to catch on. A flicker of amusement ghosted across his face, the barest curve at the corner of his mouth. Not a smirk, exactly, but something gentler, almostfond.His eyes stayed on hers, steady and unreadable, but softer now, like he was letting her in on a secret he didn’t mind repeating.
“For the door.”
Her eyes went wide as the pieces finally fell into place, the meaning of the gesture slotting in with a quiet, reverentthud.Her lips parted just slightly, like the breath had caught in her throat, and her gaze darted between Beck, the bell in his hand, and the bakery door behind him. Recognition bloomed across her face like sunlight breaking through cloud, soft and golden, warming her from the inside out. Of course. The bell wasn’tjusta bell. It was a welcome, a memory, a charm against silence. And Beck, of all people, had noticed the absence.
Hazel rounded the front counter without really thinking about it, her shoes soft against the hardwood, breath caught somewhere between her ribs. As she moved, she shot a sharp, imploring look over her shoulder at Iris and Malcolm who still hovered a few feet away, clearly eavesdropping. As she moved, she flicked her hand behind her back in a gesture that was half warning, half plea:Please, for the love of God, take five giant steps away.
Iris arched a brow but caught the message, her lips twitching as she fought a smile. She nudged Malcolm in the ribs and, with theatrical nonchalance, began drifting toward the archway that led to the kitchen, her drink in hand. Malcolm followed with a sigh so exaggerated it might have qualified as performance art, mouthingwe’re going, we’re goinglike a man narrating a hostage escape.
The distance wasn’t much, but it was enough. The buzz of their presence, the crackling energy they carried, softened just enough to let her center herself on the man in front of her.
Beck held the bell loosely in one hand now, the folded paper bag tucked under his arm. He looked slightly off-kilter. Not uneasy, exactly, but like someone halfway through second-guessing a decision theycouldn’t take back. His eyes swept the room once more, pausing briefly on the space where Iris and Malcolm had relocated, then back to Hazel. His expression was unreadable, as usual, but his posture had shifted just enough to make her wonder if hereallyregretted walking in.
“You jumped the first time I came in,” he said by way of explanation, his voice low. Like it was simply a fact, like this was all part of a quiet equation he’d solved in his head. “Didn’t want to keep doing that to you.”
He said it so plainly, so casually, as if he hadn’t just walked into her life with a bell wrapped in care and intention. As if he hadn’t just upended the entire gravity of her morning with a single line delivered like a shrug.
From a few paces away, Hazel heard it: a sharp sip, the creak of ice shifting in a cup, and then—
“Okay,” Iris stage whispered, just loud enough that Hazel could hear each word. “This is officially the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen involving hardware.”
“I think I might pass out,” Malcolm added, deadpan.
Hazel pressed her lips together, barely resisting a groan. Beck’s ears flushed— just the tips— betraying that he’d heard their every word, though he didn’t comment. He just shifted his weight slightly and cleared his throat, eyes darting away from hers.
Before the moment could collapse into awkwardness, Hazel stepped forward, matching his stillness with soft movement.
