Page 86 of The Story Between Us

What? That she mattered? That he couldn’t write without her? That somewhere between the coffee and the candles and the paint on her face, he’d started falling for her?

Aw, he’d already fallen, long ago. Had always wanted her to stay.

Now…however…the thought of her leaving could just about crumple him.

His chest knotted. She had a life in New York, a career to save, a world that didn’t include a hermit author and his dogs and a lake house full of ghosts.

He turned from the window. The photograph on his shelf caught the early-morning light—the sixteen-year-old boy, grinning, holding his certificate. Emma’s sticky note was tucked in the frame now.

The protégé has to let go.

He had.

Not of Emma. Not of the love. Not of the missing. But of the fear of losing it all. He needed to look to the other side and not let the what-ifs leave him cold. Paralyzed.

Or…he had a week to figure out how to ask her to stay.

He turned off the lamp. The room went dark except for moonlight through the window, painting silver patterns on the floor.

Tomorrow didn’t feel like something to survive anymore.

He was looking forward to it.

Thirteen

The lake was too quiet.

Livvie scanned the water as she paddled, searching for the familiar shape of Nate’s kayak cutting through the morning mist. He was always out by now—six thirty a.m., sometimes earlier, a silhouette against the pink-gold light. She’d started timing her canoe trips with Aunt Lila to catch glimpses of him, though she’d never admit it.

Today, the lake was empty.

“He’s not out,” Aunt Lila said from the bow, her paddle resting across the gunwales. “That’s unusual.”

“Maybe he’s sleeping in.” Livvie tried to keep her voice light. “He was deep in the manuscript yesterday. Could have been up late.”

“Maybe.”

But her aunt’s tone said what Livvie was already thinking. Over the past week, she’d learned Nate’s rhythms. Kayak at dawn. Coffee on the porch while the dogs ran the yard. Writing by eight. He didn’t sleep in. He barely slept at all.

“I should check on him,” she said.

Lila nodded, already turning the canoe toward shore. “I’ll make breakfast. Come find me after.”

They parted at the dock, Lila heading up the stone steps to her coral-pink cottage, Livvie cutting through the trees toward the green house next door. The grass was wet with dew, soaking through her canvas shoes. Birds sang in the birches. Everything looked peaceful, ordinary, perfectly fine.

Her stomach wouldn’t stop twisting.

She let herself in with her key.

The house was still. Silent. Until she stepped through the door and Huck and Finn came barreling down the hallway, tails wagging frantically, bodies wiggling with the desperate joy of dogs who’d been waiting too long.

“Hey, hey—okay, I’m here.” She crouched down, accepting their enthusiastic greeting, but her eyes were on the kitchen. No coffee made. No dishes in the sink from a late-night snack. The whole downstairs felt suspended, untouched.

She filled their food bowls, refreshed their water, listened to them eat while she stared at the closed office door. A thin line of light glowed underneath.

He was in there. Working, maybe. Or stuck. Or spiraling.

She should knock. She should check on him.