He chuckled, lips curving at the edges. “Take the hint, then.”
She shot him a look from beneath her lashes, lips twitching despite herself. “You can be very bossy, you know that?”
“I’ve been called worse.”
Their eyes held— just for a moment— and something unspoken passed between them, light but tethered with gravity. Hazel reached for her glass of water, taking a long sip to steady herself.
“You’re good at this,” Beck said, his voice dipping a bit lower.
She blinked. “At what? Cooking?”
He nodded. “Cooking. Hosting. Making someone feel like… like they’re allowed to be here.”
Hazel swallowed. The warmth that bloomed in her chest was slow and unexpected, and she didn’t know how to name it.
So instead she smiled and said, “Well, youareallowed to be here. And I’m glad you are.”
Beck didn’t answer. He just nodded once, eyes soft, then reached for another bite of his dinner.
They moved to the porch sometime after the dishes were done, the sun already dipping low behind the trees. Beck had insisted on carrying the wine and glasses while Hazel slipped away to fetch a blanket, wrapping it around her shoulders as the cool evening settled in. The air was full of soft sounds— the low hum of crickets, the occasional rustle of a breeze through the trees, the gentle creak of the new wood beneath their feet.
Hazel had her third glass of wine balanced in one hand, the other tugging the blanket closer. She could feel the alcohol blooming in her chest now, slow and golden, melting her edges. It made the world feel a little softer, a little kinder. Her cheeks were warm, her tongue a little too loose. She was leaning into Beck’s side, their bodies touching just a little, close enough that the heat of him settled against her.
They were laughing about something— Hazel couldn’t even remember what, exactly. Something about the shape of one of the screws he’d used on the railing. Or maybe it had been the way she’d almost dropped the jar of oregano while cooking. It didn’t matter. What mattered was the sound of his laugh, low and quiet, like something he hadn’t meant to let slip, like it surprised even him. She loved that sound more than she should. She wanted more of it.
“You’ve got a nice laugh, you know,” Hazel murmured, half into her wine glass, the stem cool beneath her fingers.
Beck’s mouth curved, subtle and lopsided. “Do I?”
She nodded, chin tipped toward her shoulder, like she wasn’t sure if saying it aloud would make it evaporate. “It’s rare. Feels like I’ve earned it.”
He chuckled again, slower this time, and she felt it in her chest like the flicker of a match. “Well, yours is contagious. Let’s just blame it on that.”
“I was starting to worry you only communicated in nods.”
He grinned—actuallygrinned now— and tried to hide it behind his glass, but she saw it anyway. It reminded her of the picture she’d seen the night before. This smile was different, sure, but it held the same flicker of joy that she’d so rarely seen from him in her months in Bar Harbor. From this angle, the overhead porch light caught on a faint dimple in his left cheek, one she’d never seen before. Her gaze honed in on it, captivated.
“I communicate in other ways too.”
“Oh yeah?” she asked, tipping her head, letting the wine lull her into boldness. “Like what? Morse code?”
“Tools. Wood. Duct tape,” he said evenly, without so much as a twitch of a smile. His deadpan delivery sent a flicker of amusement through her system, a quiet laugh slipping past her lips.
“How romantic,” she teased, leaning more heavily into his side, her shoulder nudging his.
Beck remained steady and upright, offering her only a shrug and an amused, sideways glance. “Fix a woman’s porch—“
”—And she feeds you chicken parmesan and lets you drink her wine,“ she finished, the smile tugging at her lips betraying how warm she felt just from looking at him. “Dangerous precedent to set.”
“I like to live on the edge.”
“Reckless,” she said, her gaze catching his now, the word heavier than it should’ve been. She could taste the wine on her tongue, heavy and floral, and her lips suddenly felttoodry.
His eyes didn’t move from hers. “You have no idea.”
Something inside her fluttered, sharp and molten, like heat rising too fast in a pot you forgot you’d left on the stove. Her breath hitched, but she smiled through it, tucking the moment away like a secret.
“I’m starting to think you’re a little cocky, Oliver Beckett.”
