Page 112 of The Story Between Us

“They sound like good reasons,” she whispered.

“They weren’t.” He reached up with his free hand and touched her face—her cheek, her jaw, the line of her neck. “None of them were good enough. I should have kissed you then. I’ve thought about it for seven years. What it would have been like. Whether everything would have been different.”

“Nate—”

“The kiss after dinner last week was…amazing. But, yeah. I can do better.”

She arched an eyebrow.

He kissed her.

The kiss last week had been impulse, but this kiss was certainty. His mouth on hers, soft at first, then deeper. His hand sliding into her hair, dislodging the hat he’d bought her. Her fingers finding his collar, his jaw, the place where his pulse beat fast against her palm.

Nate.

Oh, Nate. This was the man she’d waited for, seen on the pages, and it hit her then that indeed, he was Aldric, heroic and strong and giving himself over to the woman he wanted.

And she might be Kaela, the warrior who protected, who loved from afar, only in this version, she got her man.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, molded herself to him, and he emitted a small sound, deep in his chest, and deepened his kiss.

This. This was what she wanted. To be seen. Known. Needed.

And loved.

The word exploded inside her, even as he took her face in his hands and slowed them down, then leaned away, finding her gaze with his in the dim light.

Then he kissed her again, his touch heat and possession and forever and oh, she loved Nate Rivers. Beyond the crush and the moment on the dock. She loved the way he wove his hands into his unruly hair, the way he grunted when she brought him coffee. Loved the way his eyes lit up with a new idea, and the slow smile he gave her when she came into the room. Loved his commitment to getting the story right, and how he’d loved Emma, cared for her to the end.

She wanted this man, this flannely life.

When they finally pulled apart, she was trembling. He pressed his forehead to hers, both of them breathing hard.

“Livvie,” he said. Just her name. But the way he said it—like a prayer, like a promise—made her eyes sting.

“What does this mean?” she asked, her breath almost held.

His eyes in the moonlight turned vulnerable in a way she’d never seen before.

“I think,” he said slowly, “we get to write our own story. Right?”

She thought about the manuscript waiting in his office. The one he’d finally found his way into, the one that was almost finished. She thought about the dragon on the library wall, the Storybook Corner that would open at the end of the festival, Emma’s dream finally realized. She thought about Richard’s text, sitting silenced on her phone, and Monday, looming somewhere in the distance.

She thought about all the stories she’d read, all the romances she’d loved, all the times she’d wondered if that kind of love was real or just fiction dressed up in pretty words.

And she thought about Nate’s hand in hers. His mouth on hers. The way he’d looked at her tonight, like she was someone worth looking at.

“I’d like that,” she said. “Writing our own story.”

He smiled—the real smile, the one that reached his eyes, the one she’d do almost anything to keep seeing.

“Then that’s what we’ll do.”

He kissed her again, softer this time, a seal on a promise neither of them quite knew how to keep yet.

But they’d figure it out. Together.

That’s what stories were for.