Page 61 of The Story Between Us

Which meant clearly, he didn’t need her.

“I…” The excitement drained out of her, leaving something hollow in its place. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—I didn’t know⁠—”

He was watching her now. Really watching. The amusement had faded, replaced by something more careful.

“Livvie.” His voice was different. Gentle. “What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re shaking.”

She looked down at her hands. He was right. She was.

“It’s the cold,” she said.

“It’s not the cold.”

The rain kept falling. The dogs had lost interest in the ball and were sniffing along the retaining wall.

“My boss called,” she heard herself say. “He’s not happy with the progress.”

“Fifteen thousand words in a week isn’t nothing.”

“It’s not a book.”

“No.” He took a step closer. Water dripped from his hair onto his cheeks, ran down to his newly defined jawline. “But it’s a start. I’m finished with the first act.”

And the words just bubbled out. “You did that without me.”

He stilled, frowned. “I did it because of you.”

She looked away.

“Livvie, you found a way in when I’d given up on there being a door.”

Oh, shoot. Tears blurred her eyes.

He frowned.

“What?” she asked, blinking them away.

“You have—” He reached out, and his thumb brushed her cheek. Warm against the rain-cold of her skin. “Paint. Right here.”

She’d forgotten. The dragon. The violet. She must have touched her face at some point and⁠—

“What are you painting? Will you show me?”

She stilled. “I’m—it’s not ready.”

“Someday, will you show me?”

She nodded.

And then his thumb stopped moving, his hand still cupping her face. The rain fell around them, soft and steady, and the dogs were wrestling in the grass, and none of it mattered because Nate Rivers was touching her cheek and she had completely forgotten how to breathe.

“Purple,” he said quietly. “It suits you.”

Oh. She should say something. Something witty.