Page 99 of The Story Between Us

“Of course you do.” Aunt Lila winked. “I’ll help you clean up.”

They walked through town as the afternoon sun slanted gold across Main Street. Preparations for the Flannel Festival were in full swing—vendor tents clustered in the square, the smell of cider and cinnamon rolls drifting from the bakery, children running between booths with maple sugar candies and balloon animals. Bunting fluttered from lampposts. A folk band played something cheerful near the fountain.

Maple Lake had worked its way under Livvie’s skin. Two weeks ago, she’d arrived here desperate and alone, convinced this town was just a stopover on the way back to her real life in New York.

Now it felt more real than anything she’d left behind.

“So,” Lila said as they passed the Brew. “Is he going to finish?”

“Maybe.” Livvie waved at Mandie through the window. “He’s been ferocious in there. I think he might actually do it.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“It is.” Livvie shoved her hands in her cardigan pockets. “It’s amazing. He’s amazing. The pages he’s shown me are—they’re his, Aunt Lila. Not Emma’s story. His. And it’s beautiful.”

“So why do you sound sad?”

Right. They walked past Maple Reads, where Maren was setting up a display of autumn-themed books in the window. Past Pies ’n’ Cream, where a family sat at an outdoor table sharing a slice of apple pie. Past the General Store with its hand-painted sign and cheerful window boxes.

“Because when he finishes,” Livvie said finally, “I go back to New York.”

“Do you?”

“I have a job. A life.” Even as she said it, the words felt hollow. “I mean, if I still have a job. Richard has been calling. Leaving voicemails. I haven’t listened to them.”

“Mmm.”

“And even if I don’t—even if he fires me—I’ll find something else. Another agency. Maybe at a small press, doing some editing. I’m good at what I do, even if no one notices.” She was talking faster now, the way she always did when she was trying to convince herself of something. “I love publishing. I love finding stories and helping authors and⁠—”

“Livvie.”

She stopped. Looked at her aunt.

Lila’s expression was soft. Knowing. The expression that always made Livvie feel like she was twelve years old again, sitting in that tiny NYC apartment, trying to explain why her parents’ approval mattered so much.

“What do you want?” Lila asked.

“I just said⁠—”

“No, sweetheart. What do you want? Not what makes sense. Not what your parents would approve of. Not what your career plan says you should do next.” Lila took her hands. “If you could have anything—any life, any work, any place—what would you choose?”

Livvie opened her mouth. Closed it.

The truth sat in her chest like a stone, too heavy to hold and too honest to speak.

“I want to stay,” she whispered. There. She’d said it. She drew in a breath. “I want to stay here. In Maple Lake. I want to paint more murals. I want to help Hazel with the children’s programming. I want to run story hour like Emma used to. I want—” Her voice cracked. “I want to have coffee at the Brew every morning and know everyone’s name. I want to walk to the library instead of taking the subway. I want to stop trying to be important and just…be.”

Lila squeezed her hands. “That sounds lovely.”

“It sounds crazy.”

“Maybe.” Lila smiled. “Or maybe it sounds like you’re finally listening to the right voice.”

They started walking again, slower now, past the town square where children were playing tag around the fountain. The water sparkled in the afternoon light, sending rainbows across the cobblestones.

“I kissed him,” Livvie blurted.

Lila didn’t even blink. “Of course you did.”