Page 94 of The Story Between Us

She blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.” He didn’t let her deflect, didn’t let her look away. “You see things other people miss. You know what makes a story work. You believed in this book, in me, when everyone else had written me off. So why are you letting them treat you like you’re disposable? Why are you still junior anything when you should be running the whole operation?”

She stared at him. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

“I’m serious. You keep talking about being invisible, being easy, not taking up space. But you’re not invisible to me. You’re the most—” He stopped. Swallowed. “You’re not invisible. Not even close.”

The silence stretched. Her eyes turned glossy, her cheeks flushed. She opened her mouth, paused, then closed it again.

“What?” he said.

“Nothing.” She shook her head. “Just…an email I received.”

“Your face doesn’t say ‘nothing.’” He squeezed her hand. “Show me.”

She released his hand, then pulled out her phone and tapped the screen a few times before passing it over to him. “I emailed her just before I came to Maple Lake—and maybe I shouldn’t have. But she replied yesterday.”

Nate read the email thread between Livvie and a Nora Whitcomb. Twice, scrolling slowly.

“You found this writer,” he said. Not a question.

“Well, I flagged her query letter. Richard made the call to⁠—”

“Don’t do that.”

She blinked. “Don’t do what?”

“Don’t minimize your work to make someone else comfortable.” He passed the phone back, and she turned it over in her hands, stared at it as though rotating it took all her concentration.

“You’ve been doing it since you got here. ‘Richard knows best.’ ‘I’m just a junior agent.’ You are brilliant at what you do, Livvie. Why do you keep pretending you’re not?”

She stilled.

“You told me Emma would want me to claim my own voice.” He reached for her hand again, and Livvie finally raised her eyes to meet his. “So I’m telling you the same thing. Stop waiting for permission to be who you already are.”

“It’s not that simple⁠—”

“Say it.”

“Say what?”

“You found that writer. You pulled her out of the slush pile. You saw what no one else saw. Say it.”

She swallowed and looked out at the lake. Just breathed for a moment. In, out. In, out. Then, “I found her,” she whispered.

“Louder.”

“I found Nora Whitcomb’s manuscript. I pulled it from the reject pile. I gave the notes that made it work. And I should be the one who gets the credit—” She stopped. Pressed her lips together.

Nate couldn’t have resisted the smile that broke free, even if he’d wanted to. “There it is,” he said quietly.

She laughed—a wet, wobbly sound that surprised them both. “You’re insufferable.”

“Learned from the best.”

She wiped her eyes with the back of her free hand. The lake glittered. And Nate suddenly became very conscious of the hand he still held. The soft warmth. The…connection.

Something clicked in his head. Like a key turning. Like a door opening.