Page 130 of The Story Between Us

She hailed a cab, climbed inside with her plant and her bag, and gave the driver her address.

Then she pulled out her phone and downloaded the manuscript from her work email—while she still had access, before they cut her off.

The file was huge. Three hundred pages. Three years of grief and hope and words that had almost never been written.

She started reading.

She wasn’t at the festival.

Not that Nate expected her, but he’d checked the crowd three times. Scanned every face, every sweater, every cluster of people gathered around the bonfire and the cider booth and the library steps, where Mayor Gillson would be making his speech.

Livvie wasn’t there.

Earlier, he’d stood in his kitchen staring at two words on a laptop screen.

Message sent.

The manuscript had left his hands. Hurtling toward Richard’s inbox, cc’d to Livvie, and toward whatever came next. Three years of silence, broken. A deadline met. A promise to Emma, kept.

He should have experienced something. Triumph. Relief.

He experienced nothing. Just hollowness.

The late-afternoon sun slanting through the kitchen windows caught dust motes and turned them gold. Her mug sat in the drying rack—the blue one with the chip, the one she’d claimed as hers. Finally washed. Evidence erased.

An envelope sat on the counter beside his laptop. White rectangle. Her handwriting—just his name, Nate, in blue ink. The loops on the N, the way the e tilted slightly right. He’d found the notebook on the porch when he’d returned from a walk with the dogs, the letter tucked inside. Carried it inside. Set it down.

His hand reached for it. Stopped. Pulled back.

Not yet.

He’d showered, the hot water stinging his tired shoulders, and put on clean clothes. The navy Henley. He caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Dark circles. Hollow cheeks. A man who’d forgotten to eat.

He’d driven to the festival with a thin, fragile hope beating in his chest.

Maybe she would be there.

He parked on a side street and walked toward the lights. The Flannel Festival’s closing ceremony had transformed the town square into something out of a storybook.

Edison bulbs crisscrossed overhead, warm golden light against the purple dusk. The temperature had dropped with the sun, and his breath fogged in the cold air. The big maple tree in the center wore flannel ribbons—red-and-black-and-blue plaid—the fabric waving in the evening breeze, lit from below by spotlights that turned the trunk to amber.

Candles ringed the empty fountain, flames dancing behind glass holders. Somewhere a fiddle played—something bright and festive, weaving through the square’s noise. Children ran through the crowd, their laughter high and clear. The smell of woodsmoke drifted from a bonfire pit nearby on the beach, mixing with hot cider and caramel apples and the sharp sweetness of maple candy.

He aimed for Maple Sweets, with its red-and-white striped awning, and went inside.

Of course, his gaze went to the chart with a fresh gold star under Last Chapter!!

He should update that with a The End.

“Nate!”

Remi appeared from behind the booth and hugged him before he could react. A smudge of icing decorated her apron—white powder against the red flannel—and her dark hair had begun to escape its ponytail. She smelled like cinnamon and maple syrup.

“So?”

“It’s finished.”

She grinned. “I knew you would. Emma—and Livvie—would be so proud.”