Page 95 of The Story Between Us

“Wait,” he said. “I have an idea.”

He stood, tugging her up with him. “Come inside. I want to try something.”

The house was cold—he’d let the fire die while he was wallowing in self-pity—but he didn’t stop to stoke it. He crossed to his desk, grabbed the pad of yellow Post-its and a pen, and thrust them at her.

“Write,” he said. “Everything I say. One scene per note.”

She took the pad, confused. “Nate⁠—”

“Trust me.” He was pacing now, the energy building in his chest. “You said you wished you could help me write the words. You can’t write them—but you can help me see them. That’s how Emma and I used to work. She’d tell the story, I’d ask the questions, and we’d come up with the answers, and by the time we were done, I’d know what the story needed.”

He stopped pacing. Looked at her.

“So ask me questions. And when I answer, write down the scenes. We’ll map the whole thing. All ten chapters. Everything that needs to happen.”

She uncapped the pen. “Okay. Where does Aldric go after the grave scene?”

“He has to reach Elara before the Blood Moon. But the forest of the Valdorians stands between him and the city of Sintra. He thinks he can’t get through—he’s been told his whole life that only masters can survive the forest. But his mentor left him something. A key. A piece of himself.”

She wrote. Slapped the note on the wall. “What’s the key?”

“I don’t know yet. But it’s connected to what Morvain taught him. Something Aldric thought was weakness—his ability to feel, to empathize—turns out to be the thing that unlocks everything.”

Another note. Another slap on the wall.

“What about Kaela? The woman who’s been helping him.”

“She has secrets of her own. Aldric doesn’t know yet that she’s—” He stopped. The story was crystallizing in his mind as he talked. “She’s working for the people who want him to fail. Or she was. She changed sides. But she hasn’t told him yet. She’s afraid he won’t forgive her.”

Slap. “Does he forgive her?”

“I don’t know.” He ran his hands through his hair. “I think so. I think he has to. The whole point of the story is that you don’t heal alone. You can’t. You need other people. Even when they disappoint you. Especially when they disappoint you.”

Livvie paused, pen hovering over the pad. Their eyes met.

“Okay,” she said softly. “Keep going.”

He kept going. The scenes poured out of him—plot threads he’d been carrying for years, character arcs he’d outlined with Emma, new ideas that sparked as he talked. Livvie wrote and listened and asked the right questions at the right moments, and the wall filled with yellow squares, a constellation of story.

The confrontation. The betrayal. The reconciliation. The final battle. The epilogue.

When he finally ran out of words, the wall was covered. Fifty Post-its, maybe more. A map. A path through the chaos.

“This was all in your head?” she asked, stepping back to look at it.

“Mostly.” He moved to stand beside her, both of them studying the yellow squares. “Emma wrote some of it down in her notebooks. Although there’s one I can’t find—the one with the finale ending. The blue one with her initials on it.” He shook his head. “But we’ll figure it out when we get there.”

She was quiet for a moment. Something flickered across her face, but it was gone before he could read it.

“This is amazing,” she said. “Ten chapters. It’s all right here.”

“Because of you.” He turned to face her. “I couldn’t have done this alone. I tried. For three years, I tried. And the only thing that worked was you showing up and refusing to let me disappear.”

She lifted her fist to bump his.

He looked at it. Then reached out and pulled her to himself instead.

And just like that, she was in his arms.