Chapter Five: The Anonymous Gift
730 Words
The first gift showed up on a Monday morning.
Just sitting there — a small box wrapped in brown paper and tied with ribbon, like something hand-packed in a hurry but with care. Hazel stood by the counter, key still in the door, staring at it. For a second, she thought she’d walked into the wrong café.
No note. No card. Just that faint smell — cedar and rain and something warm she couldn’t place.
She hesitated before touching it, like it might vanish once she did. Inside was a tiny silver pendant shaped like a coffee bean. Simple, beautiful, quietly personal. Too personal to be from a stranger.
Hazel’s brows squeezed together. The night cleaner? A customer? Someone’s idea of a joke?
She tucked the pendant into her apron pocket and went about her morning, pretending it didn’t matter, though it followed her everywhere, that little mystery sitting warm against her hip.
By the time Javen walked in, the café already smelled of cinnamon and ground beans. Same time, same table by the window. Same smile that always looked like it had a story behind it.
“Morning,” he said, shaking rain from his jacket.
“Morning,” Hazel replied, forcing her tone to stay casual.
“You look like something surprised you,” he said, eyes scanning her face.
She laughed softly. “You could say that. Someone left me a little box on the counter before I got in.”
“A mystery admirer?” he teased, taking his cup.
“Please,” she scoffed. “If it is, he’s bad at timing.”
He smiled, slow and unreadable. “Or maybe he’s perfect at it.”
Hazel looked at him for a moment too long. The silence between them stretched — not awkward, just aware. Then a customer came in, and she turned away, grateful for the distraction.
That night, Hazel's home smelled of rain —dinner, and crayons.
“Nathan!” she called. “Dinner’s ready!”
Her son came running, barefoot and bright-eyed, holding a half-finished puzzle. “Mom, look! I did the molecule thingy!”
Hazel smiled, wiping her hands on her apron. “You finished it already?”
He nodded proudly. “Yep! Uncle Daniel said it was too hard, but I did it.”
The mention of Daniel made something flicker in her eyes. “He’ll be proud when he hears,” she said softly.
Nathan’s smile faded. “He hasn’t called.”
Hazel paused. “He’s… busy, sweetheart.”
Nathan looked down at his plate. “He’s always busy.”
Hazel reached out, brushing his hair back. “I know.” Her voice was quiet. “But you’ve got me, okay?”
He nodded, but she could tell — that wasn’t the answer he wanted.
The next morning, another box waited. Smaller this time.
A silver bracelet with a tiny star hanging from it. Still no note. Still that same careful ribbon.
When Javen came in later, he noticed immediately.
“New bracelet?” he asked.
Hazel looked down, surprised. “Oh. Yeah. It… showed up again.”
He raised a brow. “Same person?”
“I don’t know,” she said, smiling nervously. “But if it’s a prank, they’re oddly consistent.”
“Or,” he said quietly, “maybe someone just pays attention.”
She met his gaze, and for a moment, the air felt different — heavy but warm. She looked away first.
By Thursday, there was a note.
Just one line, written in careful handwriting:
“For the days that feel heavier than you admit.”
Hazel folded it and kept it in her pocket all day.
When Javen came in that afternoon, he smiled as soon as he saw her.
“You look different today,” he said.
“Do I?”
“Yeah. Like you remembered something good.”
Hazel smiled faintly. “Maybe I did.”
Later that night, when the house was quiet, she sat by the window with the pendant, the bracelet, and the note laid out before her.
Each one small, simple — but together, they felt like something larger. Something that scared her a little.
She thought of Javen — his eyes, his tone, the way he noticed things no one else did.
And though she whispered, “Don’t go there,”
her heart already had.
- Writer
