And then she turned back to the conversation, that small smile still lingering, just enough to be real.
Elise stopped her husband with a hand on his arm just as he began to move past. “Hey— Hazel just mentioned she’s still running the bakery solo. You don’t know of any students who’d be looking for part-time work, do you? Someone with kitchen or café experience?”
Connor paused, thoughtful, his lips pursed. “Oh, definitely. Students are always looking for side hustles. Especially if it involves the occasional free food.”
Hazel let out a short, surprised laugh.
He nodded, already pulling a pen from the breast pocket of his button-down. “I can ask around, grab a few resumes and send them your way if anyone bites?”
Hazel looked between them— this quiet, competent couple who had appeared like a gift between book aisles and midday sunlight. The offer was so easy, so casual, but it cracked something open inside her.
She hadn’t expected this kind of help. She hadn’t even known how much she’d needed it.
“That would be amazing,” she said, her voice softer than she meant it. “Thank you.”
Connor smiled, scrawling a few lines onto the clipboard in his hand. “No problem at all.”
He leaned in for one more kiss to Elise’s cheek and murmured something about grabbing dinner from the co-op before heading home. Then he disappeared again, the door swinging shut behind him.
Hazel stood there, a little stunned, a little awed. Her paper bag felt heavier now, not with weight, but with something else. Something likepossibility.
Elise turned back to her, smile gentle, but with the tiniest hint of mischief curling at the corners. “So maybe youcouldcater the event, after all.”
Hazel let out a low laugh, her lips curving a little more. “Maybe.”
She stepped out into the afternoon light a few minutes later, the sun cutting low between the rooftops, shadows stretching across the sidewalk like dark silk. The weight of the morning still lived in her limbs, but it was quieter now. It had been tempered by books, by laughter, by kindness that asked for nothing in return.
The wind tugged at the hem of Beck’s sweater as she walked, cool and clean, brushing her cheek like a hand she didn’t have to dodge.
A few minutes later, Hazel rounded the corner onto her street, the brown paper bag from The Captain’s Rest tucked under one arm. The wind had picked up since she left the shop— cooler now, sharper, the sky beginning to shift from that pale coastal blue to something softer, dusted in pewter. The kind of afternoon light that turned every edge golden, then grey.
Her steps were slow, measured, the kind of pace that let the world hum around her. Gravel shifted underfoot and the faint scent of woodsmoke drifted in from someone’s chimney.
And then she looked up. And stopped.
Beck’s truck was parked at the top of her driveway, engine off, the bed half-unloaded.
Lumber. A power saw. Coiled cords. A red toolbox open like a mouth beside the flattened remains of the porch steps.
Hazel blinked and her heart stuttered within her chest.
He was there, too; half-shadowed beneath the frame of what used to be her front deck. Wearing that same red-and-black flannel she’d seen on his couch the night before, sleeves pushed to his elbows, jeans dusted in sawdust. His hair was damp at the edges, clinging slightly to his forehead with sweat that only came from effort. Clear safety glasses were perched on his face, catching the light.
He didn’t see her right away.
He was focused, kneeling over a new frame of supports, one gloved hand bracing a two-by-four while the other reached for a drill.
There were sawed limbs stacked neatly to the side, the remains of the fallen tree.
He hadn’t said a word, hadn’t told her he was coming. He’d just shown up.
Hazel didn’t move. For a moment, she just stood at the bottom of the drive, heart aching in a way that had nothing to do with pain.
Because this—thiswasn’t grand. It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t anything you could post about or script or chase. It was justcare.
Real and wordless. Offered without announcement, without requirement.
She watched him move in that efficient and fluid way of his, all quiet strength and grounded purpose, and felt something bloom low in her chest. A warmth. A steadiness. A longing so quiet it could be mistaken for peace.
