Page 77 of The Story Between Us

Dear Ms. Fox,

I can’t tell you what your notes meant to me. I’ve been trying to write this book for three years, and everyone keeps telling me it’s not commercial enough, not high-concept enough, not SOMETHING enough. But your notes—they made me feel seen. Like you actually understood what I was trying to say.

With your suggestions, I really think I could finish this. You helped me see what the story was actually about.

I know this is probably inappropriate to ask, but—are you an agent? Would you consider representing me? I feel like you GET my work in a way no one else has.

Either way, thank you. You’ve given me hope when I was ready to give up.

Sincerely, Nora Whitcomb

Livvie read it twice, and warmth bloomed in her chest.

Except right after it, a cold brick of dread. This girl thought Livvie was someone. Someone with the power to help her, to champion her work, to make things happen.

She wasn’t. She was a junior agent who couldn’t even get her own boss to read her recommendations. She was nobody.

But maybe she could still help.

She typed a response right there on the sidewalk.

Dear Nora,

I’m so glad the notes were helpful. Your writing has real heart—don’t let anyone tell you that’s not enough.

I’m not an agent (not yet, anyway). I’m an editorial assistant. But here’s what I’d suggest: Focus on strengthening the middle section where Cara’s motivation gets muddy. Think about her wound—what happened to make her afraid of connection? Once that’s clear, the ending will land harder.

Also, consider your platform. Publishers want to know you can reach readers. Do you have a social media presence? A newsletter? A community that cares about your story?

If you revise based on these suggestions, send it back to me. I’ll give it another look and see if there’s anyone at the agency who might be a good fit.

Don’t give up. The right story finds its way.

Best, Livvie

She hit Send before she could second-guess herself.

It probably wasn’t smart. Richard would be furious if he found out she was corresponding with a writer he’d rejected. But he had told her that he expected her to find the gems, right? And the girl had sounded so much like Livvie had felt at twenty-three—hopeful and terrified and desperate for someone to believe in her.

Livvie pocketed her phone and continued down the street toward Maple Sweets.

The bakery was warm but quiet, the windows fogged with condensation and the smell of cinnamon rolls thick in the air. Livvie pushed through the door—no line, just Edie adding cookies to the display with the efficiency of someone who’d been doing this for decades. Red cheeks, graying hair pulled back in a neat bun, and the brightest blue eyes Livvie had ever seen. She’d been running Maple Sweets since before Livvie was born, and she seemed to know every person who walked through the door. Her daughter Remi, who was a few years younger than Livvie, was at the counter counting out change. Her brown hair was tied up in a loose bun, and by the look on her face, the girl seemed not to have any interest in baking.

The familiar details greeted Livvie one by one—the dusty chalkboard menu, the cloudy glass of the small, faded display cases, the framed 1987 newspaper clipping of former Vice President Walter Mondale sipping coffee from one of the maroon mugs they still served almost forty years later.

“There she is!” Edie’s face lit up when Livvie reached the counter. “Our dragon painter. How’s it coming along?”

“Almost done. Four more days.”

“The kids can’t stop talking about it. Addie Garrison told everyone at school there’s an egg that’s going to hatch.” Edie was already reaching for a coffee cup. “The usual? And something for that handsome author of yours?”

That handsome author of yours. Livvie felt heat creep up her neck. “He’s not—yes. The usual. And maybe a maple scone for him?”

“Good choice. That man needs some sweetness in his life.” Edie winked and turned to the espresso machine.

While she waited, Livvie’s eyes drifted to the wall beside the register. She’d noticed the chalkboard before, the one with daily specials and pie announcements, but today there was something new next to it.

A hand-painted sign. Nate’s Book: Chapter Tracker