Page 109 of The Story Between Us

“Was that around your birthday?” he said.

She blinked. “How did you know?”

“Emma. She was working on a watercolor that last year, said it was for your birthday. I remember sending it to you, probably in late August.”

“I framed it. It’s one of my most cherished gifts.”

He considered her. Tilted his head. “So, when is your birthday, Livvie?”

Her cheeks warmed. “It’s not important.”

“When?”

“A few days ago.”

He went still.

“You—” He stopped. Started again. “Your birthday was a few days ago? And you didn’t say anything?”

“It’s not a big deal. I don’t really celebrate⁠—”

“Not a big deal?” He stood up, a strange look on his face—determination, maybe, or tenderness, or some complicated mix of both. “Wait here.”

“Nate—”

But he was already gone, disappearing into the crowd.

She sat on the bench, watching the string lights sway in the breeze. Around her, the festival continued—families laughing, couples walking hand in hand, the distant sound of a fiddle tuning up.

She should have kept her mouth shut. Now he was going to make a fuss, and she didn’t know how to receive that kind of attention, and⁠—

“Here.”

He was back, slightly breathless, holding a paper bag in one hand and something soft and colorful in the other.

“Birthday fudge.” He pressed the bag into her hands. “Double chocolate caramel.”

“Sounds lethal.” But she took the bag.

“And this.” He held up the soft thing—a knit hat, cream-colored with a subtle pattern of rust and gold leaves. “Because it’s getting cold, and because—” He paused, looking at the hat, then at her. “Because I saw it and I thought of you.”

Before she could protest, he stepped closer and settled the hat onto her head, adjusting it gently, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers brushed her temple, and she forgot how to breathe.

“There,” he said softly. “Perfect.”

She didn’t know what to say. No one had ever—she’d never been the person who—“You didn’t have to do this.”

“I wanted to.” His eyes held hers. “You’ve spent two weeks taking care of me. Making sure I eat. Making sure I write.” He reached out and adjusted the hat again, though it didn’t need adjusting. “Let someone take care of you for once.”

The fiddle music drifted over. People were moving toward the center of the street, where a wooden platform had been set up and the band was launching into something lively and bright.

“Dance with me,” Nate said.

Livvie laughed, but it came out shaky. “I don’t dance.”

“Then just hang on.” He held out his hand again. “Please.”

She looked at his hand. Looked at the dance floor filling with couples—Jake and a woman she didn’t recognize, Harper being spun by someone who might have been her brother, Mandie and another woman leading a line dance that was mostly chaos.