Chapter 4
Four
He closed the laptop.
Finn lifted his head, ears perking at the sound. Huck appeared in the doorway a moment later, tail wagging hopefully, and something loosened in Nate’s chest. The dogs didn’t care about deadlines or writer’s block or the ways he kept failing everyone, including himself. They just wanted a walk.
He could do that. One thing he could actually do.
The afternoon sun slanted through the trees as they headed for the shore, warm despite the September chill. A few leaves drifted down, early casualties of the coming autumn, spinning lazy circles before they hit the water.
He walked the familiar path—dock to shoreline, shoreline to the old oak, old oak to the property line. The dogs ranged ahead, sniffing at interesting rocks, living their best uncomplicated lives.
From here, Lila’s cottage glowed through the trees.
He pulled out his phone. There was a second text from Livvie—one he hadn’t seen because he’d been ignoring his phone since reading her first text.
Livvie
Nate, it’s Livvie. I’m coming to Maple Lake tomorrow to discuss the manuscript. Please don’t ignore this.
Tomorrow.
And she’d sent this yesterday.
Which meant—
His stomach dropped.
Today. She’d said tomorrow. But that had been yesterday. Which meant she was coming today. Right now.
He checked the time. 11:12 a.m. If she’d taken a red-eye flight, she could already be in Maple Lake.
And he had nothing—no pages, no progress, no explanation that wasn’t pathetic.
He stared at the screen.
Please don’t ignore this.
His thumb hovered over the keyboard. He should respond. He should say something. He should be the kind of person who answered messages, who faced problems, who didn’t hide in his grief like it was a blanket fort.
He should be a lot of things he wasn’t.
He deleted both texts.
Then he stood there, phone in hand, looking at Lila’s cottage through the trees, wondering if it was too late to become the kind of person Livvie remembered.
Probably.
Huck nudged his hand with his cold nose, and Nate scratched behind his ears automatically, the motion hollow, distant.
The lake lapped against the shore. The leaves continued their slow spiral down. Somewhere in the distance, a loon called—that eerie, laughing-crying sound that was the unofficial anthem of everything he’d lost.
She was coming.
And he had nothing to give her.
Nothing.