Page 103 of A Novel Love Story

“Of course I am!” I pulled my hands out of his. “I think I’m finallylisteningto you! You told me to not mess with anything and then I go and—”

“You brought the town back to life,” he said, desperate. “You got it moving again.”

“You told me not to!”

“And I was wrong,” he admitted.

That made me tongue-tied. He … hewhat?

“I was wrong,” he repeated, and moved the folder to the coffee table. He threaded his fingers through mine and squeezed them tightly. “I was afraid that if this story was finished, that would be it—there would be no more stories,and no more Rachel—but I was wrong about that, too. Because her stories live on in you, and your friends, and everyone else who reads her work. She’s gone, and she’s not. She’s dead, and she’ll never die, and that is the part about stories that I’d forgotten. And you helped me remember. Perhaps this ending isn’t what Rachel had in mind, but I don’t regret it.”

My throat felt tight. “Why?”

“Because in this love story,” he replied, taking my chin in his hands, angling my face up to his, “I met you.” If I let myself, I could get lost in those peridot eyes.

My heart skipped. Did he really mean that?

His thumb ran along my bottom lip, and the featherlight touch reminded me of the hours we spent at the waterfall, and later in the loft. What his hands could do. “For so long, I just …existed. I just stayed where I was, and everything stayed, too. Exactly where she left us. My life became a memorial. It wasn’t mine anymore.”

I knew that feeling—being frozen because you hurt too much to move. Life just felt easier when nothing changed, but that was only because you’d grown numb to the world around you.

“But you reminded me that things didn’t always have to be good, over and over and over, but they could be great, some days. Perfect even. I spent so long trying to blend into the background, I forgot what this feels like.”

My throat tightened. “This?”

He motioned between us. “This. When I’m around you,” he added, his tight shoulders unwinding, and turned those minty eyes back to my face to study it—my eyes, my nose, my mouth. Very much my mouth. “I feel like someone again.”

My heart thrummed, bright and loud, in my throat. “Like a main character in your own life?”

“Or … just someone important in yours,” he muttered, and as a surprise to us both,he bent close, but so did I, like two stars falling into each other’s gravity—

From the foyer, Lily shouted, “Uncle Andie! Uncle Andie! Do you have any books onbees?”

He groaned in exasperation.“Lily …”

A part of me was glad he didn’t kiss me, the other part of me bitter Lily had interrupted. He pushed himself off the couch, the moment gone, and I breathed out a sigh of—relief?Wasit relief?

I told myself it was.

“You should get dried off,” he said, “and stop tracking water through my store.”

I put on a smile. “Ah, there’s the Anders I know. I’ll get changed and be on my way.”

He looked confused. “Oh? Will I have to find another date for tomorrow?”

I sat up a little straighter. “I …”

“Unless you already have plans for the wedding.”

I had a cabin to get to and books to read and a best friend to call and apologize to and … “No plans,” I said.

“Good girl,” he replied, and left for the front of the store. “Coming, Lily,” he called, and when he was gone, I fell back against the couch and sucked in a deep breath.

Then let it out again.

My heart hammered. My head felt like it was in the clouds. Why couldn’t my mind stop spinning? Why did it remind me how green his eyes were, how soft his lips when he kissed me last night? His laugh? Hiseverything? And why did it hurt thinking about saying goodbye?

And the realization hit me like a train on a track—

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