Chapter 5 #3
“I told him I might not,” she whispered, her voice softer now. “Might not sell the house or go back.”
The silence that followed wasn’t heavy, it felt settled, like dust that had been waiting a long time to land.
“Did you mean it?” Beck asked, his voice low and unobtrusive. His question was prodding and curious, but in a soft way. A way that held no real pressure.
She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she let the thought stretch out, unspooling through her chest and curling into the corners of her breath.
She imagined Boston, with its sharp edges, the way her apartment caught no light in the mornings, how the air inside the kitchen at work felt more like pressure than anything else.
She thought of walking these streets, instead, breathing in this salt-heavy air and unlocking the bakery before sunrise.
She thought of the way the scent of lavender clung to every inch of her here, like a long-since faded hug from the one person she’d always known would be there, waiting for her.
It wasn’t simple, but maybe it didn’t have to be. Maybe it just had to be honest.
Hazel nodded. “Yeah, I think I did.”
Beck’s expression didn’t shift much, but his gaze softened. Something in it felt like agreement, like understanding.
She studied him now, not just the shape of him in the sunlight, the curve of his jaw, the faint mess of wind-pressed hair curling at the collar of his sweatshirt, but the way he held space.
Like he wasn’t waiting for her to snap back to normal.
Like he knew this moment mattered and was content to let it be exactly what it was.
Hazel let out a long exhale and leaned back in her chair. “Your turn. Tell me something messy about your family so I don’t feel so crazy.”
His brows lifted and a quiet breath escaped his lips, like a laugh that didn’t fully arrive. “You sure?”
She nodded, eyes wide and shining with a silent plea. “Seems fair, don’t you think?”
Beck leaned back, his hands now folded loosely in front of him. His gaze drifted away, landing on the window before them, tracing the movement that continued on outside.
“I talk to my sister,” he admitted, eventually. “Not as often as I should, but more than the rest.”
Hazel waited, knowing there was more. Knowing that he needed to take his time getting there.
“She’s older, been in my business since I was born. The kind of person who makes lists about other people’s problems and how to solve them.”
There was fondness in his voice, but also something quieter and more complicated.
“She used to call every day and show up at my house a lot, too, when we still lived in the same state. Especially when I first got back.”
Hazel tilted her head. She couldn’t help herself. “Back from where?”
He didn’t look towards her, that familiar distance he often held settling over his eyes. “The military. Overseas.”
Hazel didn’t say anything right away, but in the space between his words and the quiet that followed, something shifted in her.
A handful of small details, things she’d noticed but hadn’t quite named, started falling into place.
The way he moved, deliberate and considered, like someone who’d learned to calculate every step.
The limp he didn’t try to hide. The quiet gravity he carried with him, the way he made a space feel steadier just by standing in it.
His hands, always rough, always busy, like he needed them to be doing something.
Like stillness was something he’d had to learn to settle into again.
She thought about how he watched the world like someone who knew how fast it could change, like someone who’d once been dropped into the worst of it and had clawed his way back. And still, somehow, came here. For coffee. For quiet.
It hit her low and deep, an ache and an understanding, all at once.
“She meant well,” he continued, softer now. “But she got so focused on fixing me that she forgot how to just be my sister. Everything felt so… forced. Like I was a project.”
Hazel’s throat tightened, emotion clawing at the back of her throat. “That sounds exhausting.”
“It was. That’s why I moved out here.”
They fell quiet again. Not awkward, never awkward, but full of something just beneath the surface. Something warming, expanding.
Hazel watched him for another long moment, studying his side profile while he studied the world beyond the window.
Then, without warning, the espresso machine behind the counter let out a sharp hiss of steam— loud and sudden, cutting through the quiet.
Beck jolted.
It wasn’t big, just a flicker of movement— his shoulders going tense, his jaw clenching tight before he exhaled hard through his nose and smoothed a hand down his thigh like he could press the moment back into place.
But Hazel saw it, felt it. There was a sudden, wild spark in his eyes, barely leashed. A glimpse of something raw and distant and honed in a different world.
And just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone.
He blinked, gave a faint shake of his head, and shifted in his seat. “Well, I should probably get back—“
“Wait here,” she murmured, beating him to it. She pushed back from the table and stood in one quick, fluid motion. Her feet were already moving, carrying her away from him and towards the rounded counter at the center of the room.
Beck blinked, surprised, but went still. “Hazel—“
“Just wait. Please.”
She didn’t explain. Just settled in that familiar spot behind the counter, one hand pulling open the display cabinet with a soft click.
As she studied the remaining contents of the cabinet, she reached beneath the register and pulled out a to-go box, already lined with parchment.
Into it she placed a sticky bun, his usual, and one of her favourites, the galette.
She nudged them over a little and then, as if they were an afterthought, added two of the lavender shortbread cookies.
She tied the box with a bit of twine, tucked it against her palm, and returned to the table.
“For the road,” she offered, managing a soft, gentle smile.
He looked at the box in her hands, then up at her. “You didn’t have to.”
“I know,” she said, nodding her head. Her eyes remained locked on his, wide and open and honest, and she added, “But neither did you.”
Because he didn’t have to do it, not any of it.
Beck had remained rooted in his seat as she had settled into that uncomfortable phone call with her father.
And after, he had made space for her, without really knowing that she’d needed it.
It was as if he had a sixth sense buried within him; a sense of what people needed, and how to give it to them.
She wasn’t sure anyone had ever paid close enough attention to her to notice these things before, not since her grandmother.
And she wanted him to know that she appreciated it, even if the words didn’t come as easily as she’d hoped.
This, a quiet offering of care to take him through the rest of his day, would have to be enough. At least for now.
He took the outstretched box from her, his grip careful. His fingers brushed hers in the handoff, barely there, but still enough to raise the hairs on the back of her neck. He stood, tucking the box under one arm, and Hazel walked him to the door, though neither of them said anything.
The bell chimed overhead as he pushed it open, the sound light and new and perfect.
She hesitated, just for a breath, and then cleared her throat.
Beck turned back, his movements slow.
“See you in the morning,” she offered, the words floating between them as if the wind itself had carried them. Her lips curved at the edges, the smile gentle and warm.
“Yeah,” he said, his own lips curving to match hers. “See you then.”
Then he was gone.