Page 17 of The Story Between Us

The silence rushed in.

Okay. Okay. He could do this.

He pulled his baseball cap lower, as if that had ever fooled anyone in a town this small. Tugged his sweatshirt sleeves over his hands. Took a breath that didn’t quite fill his lungs.

Twenty-two steps.

Go.

The bell above Hagen’s door jangled when he pushed through, announcing his presence to everyone inside like he was a contestant on a game show he hadn’t signed up for.

And here he is, folks—Nate Rivers! You might remember him from such accomplishments as “writing some books” and “not leaving his house for two weeks straight”! Let’s give him a hand!

The store smelled like apples and woodsmoke and clothes fresh from the dryer—probably the laundromat next door, the scent sneaking through the shared wall. It was aggressively pleasant. Like the entire building was trying to hug him without permission.

He grabbed a basket and moved.

Dog food. Aisle three. He knew this store like he knew the map of Thornwood—he’d memorized every landmark, calculated every route for efficiency. In, out, minimal human contact. The Nate Rivers grocery speedrun.

The forty-pound bag of kibble went into the basket first. Then he was off to coffee, keeping his head down, his shoulders hunched, his entire body language screaming Please don’t talk to me in fluent desperation.

He passed the cereal aisle and made the mistake of glancing left.

A kid. Maybe eight years old. Standing in front of the Lucky Charms, wearing an oversized T-shirt with a map on the front.

Not just any map.

His map. The Realm of Thornwood, printed in that particular forest green and gold the publisher had insisted on for the merchandise. Every mountain range, every river, every kingdom he and Emma had spent years building—now stretched across the narrow shoulders of a child who didn’t know Nate was standing ten feet away.

His throat closed.

The kid’s mom was saying something about sugar content, and the kid was ignoring her, tracing a finger across the Eastern Kingdoms like he was planning an adventure. Like the world on his shirt was real. Like someone was still writing its story.

Nate turned away before they saw him. Before he had to explain why he was staring. Before the kid asked for an autograph and he had to admit that the signature he wanted belonged to a person who didn’t exist anymore.

Coffee. Focus on coffee.

He rounded the corner into aisle six and nearly collided with⁠—

No.

Lila Fox stood in the middle of the coffee aisle like she’d been waiting for him, which she probably had. Because Lila had a sixth sense for people trying to avoid her, and she took it as a personal challenge.

She wore her studio sweater—the oatmeal-colored one that was more paint than wool at this point, cerulean and ocher and lake-green splattering the weave. She’d braided her silver hair over one shoulder, balanced reading glasses on her nose, and held a can of French roast like she was considering whether it met her standards.

When she looked up, her eyes—sharp and kind, an impossible combination—found him immediately.

“Nate Rivers.” Her voice was warm maple syrup. “I was wondering when you’d come out of hiding.”

He should say something. He should be normal. He should do anything other than stand there like a deer in headlights, clutching a basket with dog food and desperation.

“Hi, Lila.”

Brilliant. Pulitzer-worthy. The children’s author who’d given him—them—their start.

And Livvie’s eccentric aunt.

Lila didn’t seem to notice his eloquence failure. She just smiled—that small, knowing smile that had been cracking him open since he was eight years old—and put the coffee back on the shelf.