Chapter 8 #2
“It’s surgery, not slaughter,” she shot back, meeting his glare. The words came with a heat that wasn’t purely meant for him. “Surely you’ve heard the saying ‘Kill your darlings?’ Some of these scenes are darlings, Corbyn. Beautiful but unnecessary.”
Buzz. Her phone lit up again.
You’ll be back when you’re no longer hiding behind Pearce’s words.
Her fingers twitched, and a slow breath escaped her. Nearly six weeks free of him, and still, his words could reach inside her chest and squeeze. She swiped the phone to silent before shoving it back into her pocket and turning her attention back to Corbyn.
He had leaned forward, and for the first time, his eyes remained locked with hers. He studied her, as if tracking every flicker of hesitation, and she shifted in her seat under the weight of it.
His voice emerged gruffer than before, but with an undertone that wasn’t entirely hostile when he asked, “Your phone’s having a fit. What’s that about?”
Sadie felt heat rise to her cheeks, and she aimed for a casual dismissal when she replied, “My ex. He’s throwing a Valentine’s Day tantrum because I’m not answering him.
” She tapped the page again, desperate to turn his attention away from Nate.
“This subplot is pulling focus from your main narrative arc. If you tighten it, connect it more directly to Shaw…”
“Is that normal, these tantrums?” Corbyn interrupted the word hanging between them.
Sensing the shift in mood, Riley gave a soft whine, looking up at her from where his head rested against her thigh. She gratefully scratched behind his ears again, glad for a reason to look away.
“It’s nothing,” she said firmly. “Just…toxic history. Not worth discussing.”
She felt him watching her a moment longer before returning to the manuscript. Sadie waited, her chest tightening as she hoped the dismissal of Nate’s childish behavior would be enough to return them to the safety of their professional roles.
“Maybe…” he said slowly, as if the admission cost him, “that bit does drag.” He frowned at the page. “Still don’t agree with cutting the mayor’s wife entirely.”
“Not entirely,” Sadie clarified, seizing the opening as relief rose in her chest. “Just reshape her role. Make her connection to the arson cases clearer earlier. Right now, readers will forget about her between her appearances.”
He looked back up, and for the first time, he seemed to truly consider what she was saying.
“And the timeline in chapter three?”
“Easy fix,” she told him, a little smile pulling at her lips at the victory. “Extend the time frame or move the informant meeting location closer to the station.”
He nodded slowly before leaning back on the sofa once more. Sensing the easing of the tension, Riley flopped down with his large head on Sadie’s foot, emitting a little grumble of contentment that made her chuckle.
“The core mystery is strong,” Sadie said, gentler now. “Shaw’s discovery that his brother staged his own death, that he might be behind the arsons, is compelling. All these changes do is bring that core into sharper focus.”
Corbyn’s eyes lifted from the manuscript and looked at her with an expression she had never seen before. She wasn’t sure if it was surprise or the beginnings of respect, but she didn’t question it.
“You actually read it,” he mused, and she thought she might have seen what could be the beginning of a smile tugging at his lips. “Not just skimmed, but you read it.”
“That’s my job,” she replied, slightly confused as to why that would be surprising.
“You have no idea how many don’t,” he told her, looking at her like he was seeing her for the first time. “They look for obvious errors and make generic suggestions.” His finger tapped one of her more detailed notes. “This isn’t generic.”
The compliment, backhanded as it was, caught her off guard. Warmth bloomed in her chest, and she had to fight back a grin, knowing that would certainly ruin the moment.
“I’ll think about these,” Corbyn stated, placing the pages on the table. It wasn’t an agreement, but it wasn’t dismissal either. “Your ex sounds like a git.”
The blunt assessment, and the fact that Corbyn had been the one to say it, startled a laugh from her.
“That’s… accurate.”
Riley’s tail thumped against the floor as if in agreement.
Before Sadie could respond further, Edie appeared in the doorway, a little smirk tugging at her lips as she looked between them. It was a look Sadie had learned meant the housekeeper was up to something.
“Shepherd’s pie is ready,” she announced, her knowing gaze traveling between them. “Paul set the table for four. No arguments; you both could use a good meal.”
Corbyn rolled his eyes, but there was no heat in it. Edie seemed to be one of the few who could honestly get away with bossing him around.
“Apparently, we’re eating,” he told Sadie, tucking the manuscript under his arm. “Then I have… questions. About these edits.”
Sadie hesitated, caught off guard by the unexpected invitation.
Dinner with Corbyn and his makeshift family hadn’t been part of her plan for the day.
There was something disarming about the way he was looking at her while he waited for her to follow him to the kitchen.
Corbyn wasn’t just tolerating her professional presence in this moment.
Even though it was Edie’s idea, he was including her in something more personal.
The realization sent a strange flutter through her chest.
“Okay,” she said simply, not trusting herself with more words.
As she followed Corbyn and Riley toward the kitchen, Sadie felt something shift. Somehow, she had managed to put a crack in the walls he had built around himself. He’d listened. He’d actually considered her suggestions, and that felt like winning a small but significant battle.