Chapter 16 #2
“How did it happen?” Corbyn asked suddenly, his voice pulling her back to the present. She blinked up at him, and he added, “Your mother’s injury.”
“She was a teacher, and she was trying to rearrange her classroom on her own,” Sadie explained, looking back down at his hand.
“She was so stubborn she refused to wait for the maintenance staff. A heavy bookshelf fell, and her hand got caught underneath. She went through multiple surgeries and years of physical therapy.”
“Did it help? The physical therapy?”
“A bit,” Sadie commented, her eyes still fixed on their hands.
“She regained enough movement that she could manage basic daily activities. Typing was difficult, though, especially on days like today, and writing for longer stretches was impossible.” She glanced up briefly, his blue eyes watching her intently.
“She taught literature, and books were her life. Having to adapt how she interacted with them was… challenging.”
Corbyn was watching her face now, his usual guardedness temporarily set aside. “How did she manage?”
“She learned to write with her left hand, though it was never as fluid. Later, when technology improved, she started using voice-to-text software.” Sadie smiled slightly at the memory.
“She hated it at first. She said it made her feel like she was talking to herself, but it gave her back something she’d lost.”
“I’m impressed,” he replied. “I tried to use one of those, but the words wouldn’t come at all. I just sat there staring at a blank screen.”
He shifted in his seat, and it drew him closer. His leg brushed against her knee, and she felt her breath catch. When she looked up, their faces were only inches apart, and this time she couldn’t look away.
Something shifted in Sadie’s consciousness; that strange sense of déjà vu returned, and with it came all those memories of another pair of striking blue eyes.
Corbyn tensed suddenly, and he drew his hand back, breaking the spell.
Sadie found herself staring down at her now-empty hand, trying to calm her racing heart.
She couldn’t help but wonder if he had felt something too, and her mind was a whirlwind as she tried to figure out how to broach the subject.
His dark hair and blue eyes certainly matched her memory from all those years ago, but what were the odds?
“That should be sufficient,” he said, his voice noticeably rougher. He flexed his fingers experimentally, refusing to meet her eyes. “Thank you.”
Sadie leaned back in her chair, giving him space as she wiped the excess cream from her hands with a tissue.
“Of course. Anytime.”
Looking over, she noticed Corbyn’s expression was closed again, the momentary openness gone. But when he finally looked at her, his eyes held something new, and she wondered if it was perhaps a touch of appreciation.
“You’re the first person who’s touched my hand without… flinching,” he told her abruptly. “Besides my sister and Edie.”
The admission hung in the air between them. Something tightened in Sadie’s chest, and an ache formed at the thought that anyone would shy away from him because of his scars.
“There’s nothing to flinch from,” she answered, making herself hold his gaze, understanding the importance of this moment. She was being included in a tiny group of people he trusted, and that had her pulse quickening for an entirely different reason.
Corbyn studied her face as if searching for any sign that she might not be sincere. She knew he would find none, and he nodded once before turning back to his laptop.
Sadie watched as he positioned his hands over the keys, the left one still limited in its movement, but his fingers more relaxed than they had been earlier.
His hands hovered, and she could sense his frustration building again before he even moved.
The thought of the tediousness of the task clearly weighed on him.
“Wait,” she said, sensing an opening as she reached for her bag. “I think I have something that might help.”
She withdrew her tablet and stylus, setting them on the desk beside his laptop. His expression instantly changed, and he closed himself off, but she proceeded anyway.
“There’s an app that will convert your handwriting to text,” she explained, opening it to demonstrate. “You write with this, and it transcribes automatically. No keyboard required.”
Corbyn regarded the technology as if it were a snake in the grass waiting to strike, and he practically sneered, “You know how I feel about that thing, Reed.”
“Yes, I am well aware of your fear of living in this decade,” Sadie quipped at the expected stubbornness, earning an eye roll in response.
He made no move to take the stylus she offered, instead countering, “My way works just fine.”
“If you like redundancy,” Sadie replied, raising an eyebrow as if challenging him to disagree. “With this, you only have to write it once. You can still edit and do everything by hand, but it would save you time transcribing it.”
Corbyn’s mouth tightened, his eyes narrowing. “And where exactly do these words go once they’re transcribed? Some corporate server where anyone could access them?”
“It’s all stored locally on the device,” Sadie explained patiently. “No cloud backup unless you specifically enable it. Which you don’t have to.” Tapping the settings icon, she added, “Look, I’ve already disabled all the sharing features. Your manuscript stays right here, visible only to you.”
He raised an eyebrow skeptically. “After what happened with the last leaked manuscript, I can’t afford to take chances.”
“I understand.” She softened her voice in what she hoped would be a coaxing tone. “But technology isn’t the enemy. Sometimes, it’s just a tool that might make things easier.”
Corbyn studied the tablet for a long moment, his brow furrowing as he considered the device before him.
She could see all of the conflicting emotions playing on his face—apprehension, distrust, and even a bit of curiosity.
It was the last one that had her breaking the silence after nearly a minute of his intense staring.
“Humor me. Keep it overnight and give it a try. If you hate it, I promise never to mention it again.”
She knew this could potentially backfire, but if it ultimately helped him, then that was a risk she was willing to take. He looked up at her, his eyes holding hers for a long moment before he spoke again.
“You don’t need it?”
“I brought it specifically for this. I thought it might help with the editing process. Plus, I’ve already set up all my files on my phone anyway,” she told him with a shrug.
“This could be… useful,” he admitted, his voice tense, like it cost him to say it.
Sadie had to fight back a grin. Even that small concession from him felt like a monumental win, but celebrating that fact would only have him rejecting the idea on principle.
The next few moments were spent demonstrating the app and how it worked. He watched curiously, although he said next to nothing, which she interpreted as a sign to continue.
“You just write normally,” Sadie encouraged, writing a few lines and then angling the iPad toward him. “The app will do the rest.”
She watched his eyebrows lift slightly when the words appeared as typed text on the screen, clean and immediate. When he leaned back in his chair with a soft, “Hmm,” she hoped she had gotten through to him.
“When you’re done, you can decide where the file is saved,” she continued, encouraged by his lack of outright rejection. “It will save you hours of transcription time, and you can have complete control over the files.”
Pulling her chair back around the desk, she managed to redirect his attention back to what they had been working on before she had helped him with the arnica cream.
They spent the rest of the day planning with the sound of the rain as a peaceful backdrop.
Riley would occasionally get up and wander over to one of them for attention, breaking the monotony of the afternoon.
It was nearing five o’clock when she started gathering her things, glancing out the window. The rain was beginning to pick up, and the sky was growing darker, casting everything in a slightly ominous light.
“I should head back to the inn before this rain gets worse,” she murmured, looking over at him, and giving him a small, genuine smile.
When he returned it, she felt an ache in her chest and she quickly looked away under the pretense of focusing on packing her belongings.
“If you run into any trouble with the tablet, my phone will be on.”
“Reed…” he began, but she cut him off as gently as she could.
“Just try it, Corbyn. That’s all I ask.”
They stared at each other across the desk, and time seemed to slow.
As was happening more and more lately, she was acutely aware of her heartbeat, and she found herself unable to break the gaze.
He started to say something, but then settled for a nod, turning away.
When the moment broke, she felt slightly off balance and had to shake her head to clear her thoughts.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Sadie said, feeling the need to fill the silence as she slipped her notebook into her bag. “Same time?”
“Same time,” Corbyn confirmed. He hesitated, then, when she stood, added, “Drive carefully on the way back. The bend near Miller’s Farm floods easily in this weather.”
Sadie blinked at him before she managed, “I’ll keep an eye out. Thank you.”
Swinging her bag over her shoulder, she turned toward the door. Riley trailed at her heels for a final goodbye at the front door, which had become a bit of a tradition in the last week. Corbyn’s voice stopped her, though, and she turned back to look at him.
“Reed.” Corbyn remained seated at his desk, watching her with an expression she hadn’t seen before. It was vulnerable and almost soft. “What you did today,” he told her, his voice low, “with my hand. It helped.”
The words were simple, but his voice had roughened, his gaze had dropped to his hand rather than meeting her eyes. His scarred fingers curled slightly, and she remembered the way it had felt when she held it in her own.
“I’m glad,” she said softly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
As she made her way through the quiet house and out into the rain, the navy umbrella keeping her dry, Sadie tried to make sense of the warmth blooming in her chest. It wasn’t just the satisfaction of professional progress or the pleasure of a problem solved. It was more personal.
His eyes flashed in her mind once more. That shade of blue was so similar to the one that had lived in her memory for fifteen years.
Part of her was desperate to ask him, to find a way to bring it up in casual conversation, but that thought also terrified her.
They had managed to build a solid working relationship, which was slowly growing into a friendship.
It was fragile, though, and the thought of upending that, of ruining everything they had built, had convinced her it was best to keep those thoughts to herself.
Slipping into the car, she let out a soft sigh. For the sake of the book and their careers, she knew she had to stay focused on the professional aspect of this partnership. Starting the engine, she shoved all her questions to the back of her mind and made her way back to the safety of the inn.