She blinked at one post in particular, a recent one. It was a wide shot of the counter, golden light pouring through the front window. Beck stood near the edge of the frame, holding a cup of coffee, looking off to the side, a soft sort of fondness in his dark eyes. The caption read:
Rise regulars. Local legends. #QuietMorningsInBarHarbor
Her chest tugged unexpectedly. She knew where his eyes had been focused, in that moment— onher.
He had come back eventually. A week after that night on the porch, he’d returned. That first morning, the air between them had been taut and uneasy, their words clipped and cautious. Beck had ordered his coffee and a muffin without quite meeting her eyes, then left without sitting, the bell above the door the only thing that lingered after he’d gone.
But the days that followed had softened, slowly. Their rhythm found its way back— gentle nods, the occasional smile, a low laugh shared over something small. He started staying again, claiming the corner tablenear the front and lingering just long enough to finish his drink while Hazel moved through her morning routine. He never demanded more of her than she could give, and she did the same.
Still, the silence around the almost-kiss stretched, unspoken but as thick as fog. A single misstep, one wrong word, and they might both trip the wire.
She stared at the photo, her chest tight. A part of her wanted to save it. Another part wanted to scroll past and forget it had ever made her feel anything at all.
“Three thousand followers,” Malcolm said, tapping the screen, drawing her back to the moment. “In under a week.”
Hazel stared. Then looked back at the front counter.
Juno was handing Leigh a to-go cup with practiced ease, already wrapped in a kraft sleeve. Leigh turned, her eyes flickering towards Hazel, her smile widening.
“Hey, Hazel— when’s the article coming out, again?” Leigh called over the counter, weaving between two customers just stepping inside with practiced ease.
“Tomorrow,” Hazel called back, catching her eye with a grateful smile. “Thanks again for the connection.”
Leigh gave a small wave, her voice already fading into motion. “Of course. See you at class later?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
The yoga classes had started as a whim, an answer to Iris’s suggestion, her grandmother’s pestering gift left behind, and the ache in Hazel’s hips that wouldn’t quite fade. But over time, they had begun to chip away at her tension. Not all at once, but slowly. The same way sourdough rose. The same way trust returned to a room.
The stretches were still hard sometimes and her hamstrings still screamed some evenings on the walk home, but she found herself looking forward to the space and the way the music sank beneath the rhythm of breath. The way her body settled, inch by inch, into itself.
Before almost every class, she passed Sylvia at the front desk, quiet and observant in her layers of wool and linen, always wrapped in some shade of heathered grey or warm rust. They rarely spoke beyond agreeting but there was something solid between them, a gentle kinship built on silence and shared understanding, on grief that wasn’t quite the same, but settled in from a familiar place.
Hazel pulled herself back to the moment just as Juno rounded the counter with Malcolm’s drink in hand.
“Extra hot, two pumps of vanilla, made with oat milk,” she said, presenting it like a gift.
Malcolm accepted it with a smirk. “Show-off.”
Juno just grinned. Hazel wasn’t sure she’d ever seen the girl without a smile on her face.
Then she caught sight of the phone in Malcolm’s other hand.
“Oh my god,” she said, pressing her palms to her cheeks, her eyes flickering towards Hazel and flaring wide. “You finally saw it? I was gonna show you, Hazel, but I didn’t want to make it, like, athing.”
Hazel blinked at her, still half-stunned. “You did all that?”
Juno shrugged one shoulder, her grin somehow both bashful and proud. “Just snapped some photos during slow hours, wrote some copy on my breaks, it’s nothing too crazy.”
Hazel looked again at the screen, then back at Juno.
And something inside her settled, like dough falling into place after the final knead.
Because it wasn’t just the number of followers, it was the mood, the warmth, the way every post looked like how Hazel wanted Rise to feel— intentional, beautiful, and safe.
Like home.
It was then that the front door creaked open. Beck’s bell gave a quick, cheerful chime, and Juno glanced up, her whole face brightening.
