Page 51 of The Story Between Us

“Please. You know I’ve read your books.” Livvie stopped walking, turned to face him. The afternoon light caught her freckles, the warmth in her hazel eyes. “Those words aren’t translation—they’re creation. The way you describe Thornwood at dawn, the way Aldric thinks about the heroine…that’s not transcription. That’s yours.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. No one had ever separated his words from Emma’s. Not even Emma.

They started walking again, but something had shifted. The tightness in his shoulders had eased, just slightly.

They emerged from the woods onto the boardwalk that ran along the lake’s edge, the town square visible ahead. Workers on ladders were stringing lights between the lampposts, and a banner stretched across Main Street: MAPLE LAKE FLANNEL FESTIVAL – 11 DAYS!

Eleven days. And then two more days until the deadline Livvie had given him for the manuscript.

A few people were out—a woman walking a golden retriever, an older man on a bench with a newspaper. Heads turned as they passed. He could feel their eyes on him, the weight of their curiosity.

Nate Rivers. Outside. With a woman no one recognizes.

He could practically hear the gossip forming.

“So what draws you back?” Livvie asked, steering them toward the main street. “To this world, these characters. After everything, what makes you want to keep writing about them?”

He was quiet for a long moment. They passed Lakeside Brew, the local coffee shop known to the locals just as “the Brew,” and through the window, he saw Mandie behind the counter, watching them with undisguised curiosity. She’d probably have the whole town informed by dinner.

“Aldric,” he finally said. “I know how that sounds—he’s my own character—but sometimes it feels like he’s waiting for me to finish his story so he can rest.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“I don’t know how it ends.” The words came out rough. “Emma always knew. She’d see the whole arc, beginning to end, and I’d fill in the details. But the fifth book…she died before she could tell me. And I’ve been trying to figure it out ever since.”

They turned onto Main Street, the shops of downtown Maple Lake stretching ahead. Window displays had already gone full autumn—pumpkins and gourds and arrangements of crimson leaves. A chalkboard outside the General Store advertised “Flannel Festival Supplies—Plaid Shirts 20% Off.”

Edie waved from inside Maple Sweets, where a sign in the window promised “Festival Pie Preorders Now Open.” Jake’s car was parked outside Fisher’s and Kline’s, and he gave them a thumbs-up through the window.

“Maybe you already know,” Livvie said. “Maybe you’ve been building toward it this whole time and you just can’t see it yet.”

He glanced at her—a quick, sideways look. “That’s very optimistic.”

“I’m an optimistic person.”

“I noticed.”

She smiled, and yep, he noticed that too, and the way it felt like honey poured into his soul. Oh boy. “So, I seem to remember that you used to paint,” he said.

Livvie’s stride faltered. “What?”

“That summer. The watercolors on Lila’s porch.” His voice softened. “Landscapes of the lake. The light through the trees. You were good.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“That’s not an answer.”

She was quiet for a moment. They passed the gift shop and the General Store, passed a group of kids playing on the steps of the post office. Huck stopped to investigate a fire hydrant, Finn circled back to check on them.

“It was just for fun,” Livvie finally said. “Something I did to relax. When I moved to New York, started at the agency…there wasn’t time. You know how it is. You make choices. Some things fall away.”

He did know. That was the problem.

“Do you miss it?”

Another pause. Longer this time.

“Sometimes.” Her voice was softer now. “When I see Aunt Lila working. When the light hits the lake a certain way and I think, ‘I know exactly how I’d capture that.’ But then I remember I haven’t picked up a brush in six years, and it feels like that person was someone else entirely.”