Page 74 of The Story Between Us

Blue. Gold.

“What about…this?” She pointed to a line, leaning over his shoulder. “Instead of ‘the wall pulsed with ancient power,’ what if it breathed? Like it’s been sleeping and now it’s waking up.”

“Perfect,” he said. Then he gestured to the pages from yesterday, printed, but not all read or edited.

She settled onto the couch with the manuscript pages. Drew the blanket over her lap. Tucked her feet beneath her. Started reading with a red pen.

He went back to typing. Aware of her in his peripheral vision. The way she frowned at a passage. The soft laugh at something on the page—his words. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear.

Keyboard clicking. Huck snoring on the floor. The scratch of her pen on paper. The candle flickering between them, filling the room with the smell of autumn.

This is what it could be like.

He looked up at her.

She was already looking at him.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The firelight caught the gold flecks in her hazel eyes, the auburn in her hair, the curve of her smile. She wasn’t Emma’s friend right now, not the agent from New York, not the woman who’d shown up to save his career. She was just Livvie. And she was looking at him like she actually saw him—not the fraud, not the grieving brother, not the recluse who couldn’t finish a book.

Just him.

He smiled. Maybe even winked—he wasn’t sure where that came from, it just happened.

She ducked her head, but he caught the flush on her cheeks. The pleased little turn of her mouth.

Something warm settled in his chest. Something he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

Don’t. She’s here for work. She’ll leave when it’s done.

But he looked back at the screen, and the words came easier.

The afternoon stretched on. The sun tracked across the sky, shadows shifting through the windows, the light going from pale to golden. He saved the document at some point—four thousand words, a new record—and when he looked up, Livvie had fallen asleep on the couch.

The manuscript pages were scattered around her, the red pen still in her hand, her cheek pressed against the armrest. The blanket had slipped down to her waist. The paint on her face had faded, mostly rubbed off against the fabric, but he could still see traces of blue and gold.

He should wake her up. Send her back to Lila’s cottage before it grew dark.

Instead, he got up and pulled the blanket higher. Tucked it around her shoulders. Let himself look at her for one unguarded moment—the freckles across her nose, the soft part of her lips, the way the firelight played across her features.

She shifted in her sleep. Murmured something he couldn’t quite catch.

His chest ached.

Don’t, he told himself again. She’s here for work. She’ll leave when it’s done.

But the photograph was upright on the shelf. The boy who wanted things was visible again.

And Nate was starting to want things too.

Very, very much.

Twelve

The dragon had eyes now.

Livvie stepped back from the wall, brush in hand, and something shifted in her chest. Yesterday he’d been a shape—violet curves and suggested scales, potential waiting to be realized. But this morning, with the knowing tilt of his head and the gold of his iris catching the light, he seemed almost alive. Watching her.

She’d forgotten she could do this.