Page 116 of The Story Between Us

He strode out of the library, into the morning light that suddenly seemed too bright, too cheerful, too much.

The dogs scrambled to follow him.

The walk to Lila’s cottage took twelve minutes.

He counted them. Counted his steps. Counted anything that wasn’t the rage building in his chest, because if he stopped counting, he’d have to feel, and he wasn’t ready to feel.

She’d had the notebook. She’d watched him grieve. She’d kept secrets.

I was trying to help, he imagined her saying.

Help. Right. Like she’d helped with the deadline, making impossible promises to Richard without consulting him. Like she’d helped with the book, becoming so essential that he couldn’t imagine writing without her.

She kept helping without asking. Kept making herself necessary. Kept taking up more and more room in his life until he couldn’t remember what it felt like to be alone.

And now this.

Emma’s notebook. Emma’s project. Emma’s legacy.

Finished without his permission.

He crossed the lawn to Lila’s cottage. Pink clapboard siding, white trim, a porch with two rocking chairs. The morning sun made everything look warm and welcoming, which was wrong. Everything about this was wrong.

He banged on the door with his fist.

No answer.

He tried the knob. It turned.

The house was small and warm. A living room with a fireplace, bookshelves everywhere. A kitchen through an archway. A hallway leading to bedrooms.

The dogs didn’t hesitate.

Huck and Finn bolted past him, nails clicking on the hardwood, heading straight for the hallway like they knew exactly where they were going. Like they’d been here a hundred times. Like this was their home now too.

“Huck! Finn!”

He chased them, hissing their names. This was insane—he’d broken into her house, his dogs were running wild, he didn’t even know what he was going to say⁠—

Huck pushed open a door with his nose. Disappeared inside.

Nate followed.

And stopped.

She was asleep.

Fully clothed—still in the rust-colored sweater from the festival, the one that made her eyes look like autumn. She’d kicked off her ankle boots, but the jeans were still on. She was curled on her side on top of the covers, her hair spread across the pillow, her face soft and unguarded.

She looked exhausted. Like she’d been up all night too. Like she’d lain awake replaying the kiss, wondering what would happen next, hoping and fearing in equal measure.

Finn was already on the bed, turning circles, settling against her legs like he belonged there. Huck claimed the foot of the bed, his tail thumping once against the quilt.

Nate stood in the doorway.

And in the space between one heartbeat and the next, he knew.

He loved her.