Page 62 of The Story Between Us

Yeah, her heartbeat simply drowned out all thought except the crazy urge to step closer to him, to put her hands on his soggy shirt, to⁠—

He dropped his hand. Stepped back. But he was still looking at her with that expression—the one she couldn’t name, the one that made her feel seen in a way she’d never felt before.

“I have an idea,” he said.

“An idea?”

“Let’s go out for dinner.”

What? She stared at him.

Nate Rivers. The man who hadn’t left his house in three years. The man who had groceries delivered and avoided town and communicated primarily through his dogs. That Nate Rivers just asked her to dinner?

“There’s a place. Fisher’s and Kline’s. Upstairs has a bar, overlooks the lake.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, suddenly looking less sure of himself. “I haven’t been there since—anyway. I thought maybe. If you wanted.”

If she wanted?

“Yes,” she said. “Dinner. I’d like that.”

He smiled. A real smile, the kind she’d only seen glimpses of before—usually there and gone, quick as a fish in the shallows. But this one stayed. This one reached his eyes.

“Good,” he said. “Tonight. Seven o’clock. I’ll even put on a clean shirt.”

“Revolutionary.”

“I’m a changed man.” He whistled for the dogs, who came bounding over, muddy and delighted. “Now come inside before we both catch pneumonia. You can read my three thousand words and tell me if they’re terrible.”

“Probably not.”

He looked at her, and something flickered in his expression. Hope, maybe. Or fear. Or some complicated mixture of both.

“Then I guess we’ll have something to celebrate at dinner.”

Three hours ago, this had seemed like a good idea.

Nate had finished a chapter. The rain had stopped. He’d been playing fetch with his dogs, feeling something dangerously close to happy—and then Livvie had shown up with coffee she hadn’t been asked to bring, and he’d opened his mouth and said Let’s go out for dinner.

Now he was sitting across from her at Fisher’s and Kline’s, candlelight catching the green of her sweater, and wondering what exactly had possessed him.

Oh, he was in big, big trouble.

The upstairs gastropub was intimate in a way he hadn’t fully considered when he’d suggested it. Live-edge bar gleaming along one wall, the wood golden and warm in the low light. Edison bulbs strung overhead cast everything in amber, and the windows facing the lake reflected it all back—the candles, the couples leaning close at small tables, the last of the sunset bleeding rose and copper across the water. Someone had lit the fireplace on the enclosed porch, and the smell of woodsmoke drifted in, mixing with garlic and rosemary from the kitchen.

Small tables meant for two. Meant for couples.

And of course, he couldn’t stop looking at her.

She’d done something with her hair—it fell in softer waves, catching the light in shades of auburn and copper. The green of her sweater made her eyes more gold than brown, and every time she leaned forward, he caught a glimpse of the delicate chain around her neck, the pendant that dipped below her collarbone, drawing his eye to the shadowed hollow of her throat. The freckles he’d been trying not to stare at all week were dusted gold in the candlelight.

She was beautiful. She’d always been beautiful. But tonight, something about the candlelight, the intimacy of the space, the way she kept smiling at him—tonight it was hitting him like a physical force.

Lipstick—just a touch, something soft and pink that drew his eyes to her mouth.

Her mouth.

He watched her lips move as she read the menu options to herself, a silent murmur, and something tightened low in his stomach.

He looked back at his menu. Stared at words that refused to arrange themselves into meaning.