Beck settled into the corner table by the window, his coffee in one hand, the light slanting across the wooden top in quiet gold. Hazel stayed where she was for another second, still gripping the edge of the counter, her pulse just starting to level out. She exhaled slowly, trying to shake the static from her limbs.
Behind her, Iris cleared her throat, pointed and unsubtle.
“We’re gonna head out,” she announced, drawing it out like a closing line in a play. She grabbed her drink and nudged Malcolm’s arm, her grin practically incandescent. “Thanks for the tea, Hazel. And theexperience.”
“Truly unforgettable,” Malcolm added, tossing a wink over his shoulder as he followed Iris toward the front door. “Can’t wait to see what’s in store for tomorrow.”
Hazel didn’t watch them go. Instead, she moved over to the still-warm pot of drip coffee and topped up her checkered mug. As Iris and Malcolm passed by the front of the counter, she offered a low,“Goodbye.”
But then Iris did the unthinkable. She turned to Beck, still seated at his table, and smiled like they were old friends.
“Nice to see you, Beck,” she said, voice sweet and dripping with hidden meaning. “Enjoy your coffee.”
Malcolm chimed in, perfectly pleasant, “And the view.”
Hazel made a strangled noise, her eyes pressing shut.
When her eyes reopened a moment later and darted towards Beck, he simply looked amused. There was a faint gleam in his eyes, the edges wrinkled in a warm, barely there sort of way. He gave them a nod as they reached the door.
“Take care,” he said.
The door opened before them with a soft chime from the new bell. And then, finally, as it pressed shut, it was quiet again.
5
Hazel took one long breath, gathered herself, then crossed the bakery floor and stopped beside Beck’s table, her coffee cup in one hand. He looked up at her, calm and unreadable, but with the faintest softness around his eyes. He seemed to settle into the space more, now that they were alone.
“I’m really sorry about them,” she said, breath a little uneven, heart still recovering from the ten-minute emotional whiplash Iris and Malcolm had inflicted. “They aren’t usually— well, no, that’s a lie. Theyareusually like that.”
Beck’s mouth ticked at the corner, just barely. “They’re not subtle.”
Hazel laughed— soft, breathy, and grateful for the ease in his voice. Grateful that he didn’t seem at all perturbed by her friends. “No. But they mean well.”
He gestured toward the chair next to him. “You wanna sit?”
She hesitated, then pulled the chair out, the legs scuffing lightly across the worn floorboards. When she sat, the distance between them felt both impossibly small and impossibly vast, though it was just a few inches. If Hazel were to shift wrong, their thighs would brush against each other beneath the edge of the table.
The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable. It stretched, slow and gentle, filled with the low hum of jazz. For a moment, Hazel just watched him,reallywatched him. The way he held his cup. The way his thumb traced absently along the rim. There was something aboutthe way Beck existed in a space… how he let silence stand. It intrigued her; it made her want to know more.
“So,” she said, her voice soft, fingers curling around her mug. “What does your morning usually look like? After you stop by and grab your coffee?”
Beck didn’t answer right away. His gaze drifted down to the surface of the table, to the faint ring of moisture left behind by his cup. Then back up, towards Hazel’s.
“Depends on the day,” he said.
Hazel didn’t fill the silence. She just took another sip, barely registering the warmth, the flavour. Her attention was focused on Beck, on trying to interpret each and every one of his dozens of micro expressions. He gave so little away, she felt she was always a few steps behind.
He leaned back in his chair, one arm draped along the armrest, fingers curled loosely around the end. “Usually up by five, sometimes earlier. I like the quiet before everything wakes up.”
Hazel nodded, her gaze catching on the way the morning light spilled across the sleeves of his sweatshirt, softening everything in its path. “That makes sense.”
He paused, then added, “Got a boat I’ve been fixing up.”
There was a note of casualness in his voice, like it wasn’t much, like he wasn’t inviting interest.
“She’s old and stubborn. Wood hull warped a bit from storage between maintenance cycles. Needs more work than I thought.”
“You’re doing it yourself?”
