Page 136 of The Story Between Us

She missed the Brew. Mandie behind the counter, already reaching for Livvie’s usual before she’d finished ordering.

She missed the bakery. Edie’s flour-dusted apron and Remi’s knowing smile, the maple apple pie that tasted like someone had figured out how to bake autumn into a pastry. The ridiculous chapter board with its gold stars, the whole town tracking Nate’s progress like he was their local sports team.

She missed the dogs. Huck’s ridiculous obsession with the same stick, day after day. Finn’s dignified concern when either of them raised their voices.

She missed⁠—

Stop it. Stop.

But the memories came anyway, unbidden, relentless.

The noises Nate made when he wrote. That little hum that came through the door when he was onto something good. The way he muttered dialogue under his breath, gesturing with one hand like the characters were right there in the room with him.

The way he smelled. Cedar and coffee, and when she brought him said coffee, the way he’d look up, distracted, lost in whatever world he was building. And then, his slow smile when he saw it was her.

And the way he looked at her. When she was reading. When he thought she wasn’t paying attention.

There was something more in that look. Something she hadn’t let herself see because seeing it meant hoping, and hoping meant risking, and risking meant⁠—

Stop!

Livvie walked faster. Almost jogging now. As if she could outrun the ache in her chest, the longing that had settled into her bones and refused to leave.

And then she saw them.

A man with graying hair, pushing a high-end stroller. A woman beside him—younger, pretty, stylish in that effortless Upper East Side way. A toddler in the stroller, bundled in a puffy jacket and a tiny hat, mittens dangling from his sleeves.

Her father.

Livvie stopped dead on the path.

She could walk past. Pretend she hadn’t seen them. Avoid the awkward encounter, the forced smiles, the reminder that he’d built a whole new life without her⁠—

No.

She was done hiding. Done pretending. Done being invisible.

She walked toward them.

“Dad?”

William Fox looked up from the stroller, and for a moment his face went through a complicated series of expressions—surprise, confusion, recognition, and then something Livvie hadn’t expected.

Joy.

“Livvie?” He straightened, stepping around the stroller, his arms already opening. “Livvie, wow—what are you doing here? I thought you were in Minnesota or—come here, let me look at you⁠—”

And then he was hugging her.

It wasn’t the stiff, obligatory embrace she remembered from graduations and holidays. This was a real hug—tight and warm and slightly desperate, like he’d been waiting for it without knowing he was waiting.

“It’s so good to see you,” he said against her hair. “I can’t believe—Katherine, look who it is.”

The woman—Katherine, the second wife, the replacement—stepped forward with a smile that seemed genuinely warm. “Livvie! We’ve heard so much about you. I’m so glad we’re finally doing this properly.”

She hugged Livvie too. It was awkward—they’d never met, after all—but it wasn’t unwelcoming. It wasn’t hostile. It was just…kind.

“And this—” William turned to the stroller, reaching down to unbuckle the toddler. “This is your brother. Livingston.”