Page 57 of The Story Between Us

“What?”

“I think the inspiration is sitting across from me.”

She laughed. “Hardly. I just used a few hacks to get his brain working.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Please.” She got up and brought her plate to the sink. “I’m just the housekeeper and resident dog walker. And I leave in nine days.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Livvie rolled her eyes. But the truth was, she didn’t have words for what she felt. The mornings with her aunt, rain or shine. The early hours at the library, watching Emma’s vision take shape under her brush. The afternoons at Nate’s, coaxing words onto the page. The way Mandie at the coffee shop knew her order now. The way Edie or Remi waved from the bakery window. The way people said her name—her real name, spelled right, remembered.

She’d built a life here. A small one—temporary, but real.

Nine days suddenly became a noose.

“I should go,” she said, heading to her room. “The paint won’t apply itself.”

“Livvie.”

She paused.

“Whatever happens with the book, with the job”—Lila reached across and squeezed her hand—“you’re allowed to want this. You know that, right? You’re allowed to want a life that fits.”

Livvie’s throat tightened. She squeezed back. “I’ll see you for dinner,” she said, and grabbed her rain jacket from the hook by the door.

The Storybook Corner was coming alive.

Livvie stood back from the wall, brush in hand, and let herself look. Really look.

The forest spread across two walls now—trees with leaves in every shade of green, dappled light filtering through branches, hidden creatures tucked into corners for children to discover. A fox peered out from behind a toadstool. An owl dozed in a hollow. And in the roots of the largest oak, an egg waited: pale blue with gold flecks, patient.

But today, the dragon.

She’d sketched him yesterday—a friendly creature, more wise than fierce, curled protectively around the corner where the two walls met. Emma’s notes had been specific: Not scary. Welcoming. The kind of dragon who’d invite you in for tea and tell you stories.

Livvie dipped her brush into the deep violet and began.

“Oh my.”

Hazel stood in the doorway, cardigan buttoned wrong, reading glasses perched on her head. Her hand pressed to her chest.

“It’s just the outline,” Livvie said. “I still need to do the scales, and the wings, and⁠—”

“Livvie.” Hazel’s voice was soft. “It’s beautiful.”

She looked at the walls. At Emma’s dream, taking shape.

“She would have loved it,” Hazel said quietly. “She would have been so grateful.”

Something caught in Livvie’s chest. Pride. Grief. The strange, beautiful weight of finishing something someone else had started.

A small face appeared around Hazel’s hip. Addie Garrison, dark braids and serious eyes, clutching a picture book to her chest.

“Is that the dragon?” she whispered.

“That’s the dragon.”