Page 104 of The Story Between Us

The corkboard caught his eye.

Behind a photo, half hidden, a piece of paper he’d never noticed before.

He stood. Crossed to the board. Unpinned the photo—him and Emma and Livvie, all of them tanned and smiling on the dock that last summer.

He stared at it.

He was writing the wrong ending.

Because Aldric wasn’t in love with Elara. He just thought he was supposed to be.

He nearly ran to his office.

The Post-it wall glowed in the morning light.

Yellow squares covered the surface—fifty of them, maybe more. Livvie’s handwriting on each one, neat and efficient, with little stars next to the scenes she was most excited about. Her questions in the margins: What does he feel here? and Does she know yet? and THIS IS SO GOOD.

She’d seen patterns he’d missed, asked questions that had unlocked doors he didn’t know were closed.

She was the answer.

The realization hit him like cold water. A truth he’d been avoiding for three days. For two weeks. For his whole creative life.

He’d been stuck. And God had sent him the answer.

The front door opened.

The dogs scrambled past him, racing to greet whoever had arrived. He heard her voice in the hallway, talking to them: “Yes, hello, I know, I missed you too, it’s been twelve whole hours, you’re very dramatic⁠—”

He walked out of the office.

Livvie stood in the kitchen.

A white bakery box sat on the counter—maple-glazed doughnuts, the same ones she’d been bringing every morning, and the smell hit him before he fully registered anything else. Sweet, caramelized, like autumn distilled into pastry. She’d already started the coffee; the machine was gurgling and hissing, that familiar sound that had become the soundtrack to his mornings.

Her back was to him as she reached for mugs. Her hair was still sleep tousled—she hadn’t brushed it yet, hadn’t done any of the things that made her look polished and professional. Just Livvie in jeans and the cream sweater, in her stocking feet because she’d kicked off her shoes at the door.

She turned when she heard him.

“You’re up early,” she said. And then, looking at him more closely, “Or did you never go to sleep?”

“I slept.”

“Liar.” But she was smiling. “You’ve got that look. The I’ve been staring at a screen for six hours and forgot how blinking works look.”

“I blinked. A few times.”

“Groundbreaking.” She pulled a mug from the cabinet, set it on the counter beside his usual one—the gray one Emma had made in pottery class years ago. “Coffee’s almost ready. Doughnuts are fresh. Edie said to tell you she’s rooting for you.”

“Edie knows?”

“The chapter tracker at the bakery. Remember? She’s like the NSA but with better pastries.”

He moved into the kitchen. Leaned against the counter beside her, close enough to smell her shampoo—that same floral, summer note he kept catching on her—mixed with the coffee and the maple glaze. The morning light came through the window over the sink and caught her profile, and he thought about the way she’d looked on the lake. Not Livvie. Emma. The ghost who wasn’t a ghost.

You have everything you need. You just have to be brave enough to see it.

He did. Oh, he did. “The festival starts tonight,” he said.