Page 69 of The Story Between Us

Aunt Lila sat on the couch, glasses perched on her nose, book in her lap, wearing an expression of elaborate innocence.

“Good dinner?”

“Fine.” Livvie’s voice came out strangled. “Great.”

Lila’s eyes dropped to the jacket wrapped around Livvie’s shoulders.

“Looks like it.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Mm-hmm.” But she was smiling. That knowing smile that said she knew exactly what was happening and found it thoroughly entertaining. “Sleep well, sweetheart.”

Livvie escaped upstairs.

The bedroom was quiet. Moonlight spilled through the window, painting silver stripes across the quilted bed.

She changed into pajamas. Washed her face. Brushed her teeth.

Looked at the jacket for approximately half a second before putting it back on.

And then she lay down and stared at the ceiling.

I like you.

Three simple words. So why did they feel like a bomb going off in her chest?

She pressed her hands to her face. Groaned into her palms.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

She was supposed to come here, fix the manuscript problem, go back to New York. She was supposed to prove to Richard that she was capable, competent, worth keeping around. She was supposed to save her career, not sabotage it by developing feelings for a client.

And yet.

She could still feel Nate’s hand in her hair. His thumb on her mouth. His breath against her lips in the moment before her phone rang.

What would have happened if Richard hadn’t called?

She knew. Oh, she knew. She would have kissed him. Would have pressed herself against him and thrown to the wind any professional goals, maybe even the firm (okay, not so firm anymore) hold on her heart.

The worst part? She still wanted to.

She wanted to march back to that lake house and finish what they’d started seven years ago. Wanted to climb into his lap and kiss him until neither of them could remember their own names. Wanted⁠—

She burrowed deeper into his jacket and breathed in the scent of him.

Oh, she was in over her head.

No. That wasn’t strong enough.

She was drowning. Sinking under the charisma of Nate Rivers.

A week ago, she’d had a plan. A goal. A clear sense of what she was doing and why.

Now she had a jacket that smelled like cedar, a mouth that still tingled from an almost-kiss, and the absolute certainty that she was falling for someone she had no business falling for.

She stared at the ceiling until the moon moved past her window, wrapped in his jacket, and tried very hard not to think about what tomorrow would bring.