Chapter 21 March 4, 2025
-Corbyn-
Pacing his study, Corbyn could feel the tension building in his shoulders as he waited to hear the sound of tires coming down the driveway. He’d been awake since dawn, his mind too restless for sleep, knowing what today would bring.
Two nights ago, once Sadie had gone back to the inn after recovering from her migraine, he had made an online late-night purchase.
It had been an uncharacteristically impulsive move, and he told himself it was a moment of weakness brought on by the desire to avoid any more interruptions to their editing schedule.
It certainly had nothing to do with what Sadie had shared about her ex smashing her laptop or the fact that he had almost kissed her by the pond.
Now, waiting for her arrival, anxiety gnawed at his stomach.
The order showed that it had been delivered to the inn, which meant she would have received it the previous night.
He had sent it anonymously, but Sadie was smart, and she would inevitably figure it out.
Rolling his shoulders, he made another lap around the study, stepping over Riley’s massive form as he had stretched out across the width of the room.
He froze when the telltale sound of gravel under tires reached his ears.
Riley immediately stood and trotted out of the room, leaving him alone with his anxiety.
Tugging absentmindedly on the collar of his navy sweater, he forced himself to take his next breath through his nose as he sat.
Turning on the tablet, he picked up the stylus in an attempt to look casual, like he had been working all morning instead of obsessing over her reaction to the gift.
The front door opened, and the tapping of nails on the wood floor told him Riley was enthusiastically greeting his new favorite person. He held his breath, waiting to hear the sound of her steps fading as she headed toward the kitchen for tea, only that wasn’t what happened.
“Corbyn?”
Her voice rang out through the house, and he swallowed hard. When he noticed the subtle shake in his right hand, his eyes nearly rolled back into his head. He reminded himself he was in his mid-thirties, not a school lad with a crush on the girl sitting next to him.
“In here,” he called, his throat suddenly dry.
Sadie appeared in the doorway, slightly breathless, her gray eyes stormy as she met his. Her dark blonde hair was windblown, a few strands escaping from her usually neat ponytail, and there was a noticeable crease in her brow. Under her arm, she carried a sleek package.
“Can you explain this?” she asked, stepping into the study and placing the box on his desk carefully. No greeting, no small talk, just straight to the point. “It arrived at the inn last night. No card, no note, just my name on the delivery label.”
Corbyn shifted in his chair, his left hand unconsciously clenching in his lap, and he tried to sound surprised when he answered, “I’m not sure what you’re implying.”
“I’m not implying anything,” she replied, placing special emphasis on the word implying.
“I’m asking directly. Did you send this?
” She gestured to the box, continuing, “Because this is a three-thousand-dollar laptop, and frankly, you’re the only person I can think of who would both know I needed one and have the means to afford it. ”
Her gaze bored into him, unwavering, and he had to fight not to sink down in his seat. He shook his head, dropping the stylus so he could run his hand through his hair.
“What if I did?” he asked, trying to maintain a neutral tone. “Would that be so terrible?”
“Why, though?” she asked, and that crease in her brow deepened with her confusion. He gripped the armrests of his chair when he suddenly had the desire to get up and smooth it away somehow. “We’ve barely known each other for a month.”
“You’re working yourself to exhaustion with these side projects, Reed,” he reasoned, forcing himself to drop his shoulders that had been creeping up toward his ears. “You’re no good to me half-dead from migraines.”
Her eyebrows shot up at his blunt assessment. Even though she was now looking at him like she might actually throw something at him, he was relieved to see the tension in her brow had disappeared.
“It’s practical,” he continued, forcing himself to look into the storm raging in her eyes. “You were kind enough to let me make use of your tablet, but it means you’re stuck squinting at your phone screen trying to get other work done. That’s not sustainable.”
Sadie’s expression remained guarded, though something flickered in her eyes—surprise, perhaps shock that he’d been paying such close attention. “So this is… what? A bribe to keep me focused solely on your book?”
“It’s a gift to prevent a repeat of the other day,” Corbyn replied, trying to ignore the fact that he knew that was only a secondary reason. “The book needs to be finished. You need to be functioning to help me finish it.”
“I can’t accept something like this,” she insisted, but he didn’t miss the way her voice softened. Her eyes met his again, and it seemed like the storm was passing. For a moment, her eyes turned bright, and he thought she might actually cry. “It’s too much.”
“It’s not really a gift,” he insisted, even though they both knew it was.
The way she looked from him to the box on his desk, eyes wide and disbelieving, had him wondering how long it had been since anyone had done something like this simply because she deserved it.
“Consider it a business investment. A tool for work.” She started to open her mouth, and he continued on, “Before you say it, you will not be paying me back or whatever it was you were about to suggest. I want you at your best without worrying about finances or juggling late-night freelance work after our sessions.”
Sadie shook her head, and her voice was thick when she told him, “That’s not how this works. I’m your editor, not your…” She trailed off, as if uncertain how to finish the sentence. “I don’t want charity because you feel bad about what I told you regarding Nate.”
The room fell silent save for Riley’s rhythmic breathing and the distant ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall. When Corbyn’s shoulders dropped this time, it had nothing to do with trying to appear composed.
“Look,” he said finally, his voice softening as he stood from his chair, moving around the desk so he was standing in front of her, “I know it seems excessive. But you’re working yourself ragged, and you need proper equipment.
Yes,” he added, before she could interrupt, “what you told me about your ex destroying your laptop factored into it. But that’s not the main reason. ”
Something in Sadie’s expression shifted, curiosity replacing some of her wariness.
He fought the urge to shy away as she studied his face, almost as if she was looking for some sign of deception.
There was a pang in his chest at the realization that she didn’t believe him, and he reminded himself that he wasn’t the only one with a reason to have issues with trust. He realized in that moment that it was a very good thing Nate was thousands of miles away.
Every time he thought about the prat, it triggered some long-buried protective instinct.
“Then what is?”
“I’ve spent four years struggling with this book,” Corbyn replied, surprising himself with his honesty.
“You’re making it not just possible, but good.
Better than I thought it could be. You shouldn’t have to choose between your health and having the basic tools you need to do your job.
This isn’t charity or some grand gesture. It’s practical. For both of us.”
Finally, she sighed, and he saw her body relax; a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, and she chuckled. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
“So I’ve been told,” Corbyn said, relief easing the tightness in his own body, and he leaned back against the desk. “Frequently. By everyone who knows me.”
“Regardless of what you said, I will pay you back over time,” Sadie replied firmly.
“That’s not necessary…”
“It is to me,” she interrupted, her tone stopping him short. She could be nearly as intimidating as Edie when she wanted to be. “I accept the gesture, Corbyn. I appreciate it more than I can say, but I need to maintain some… boundaries.”
The word hung between them. Boundaries. Each day, they carefully navigated those invisible lines that seemed to blur and reform as she slowly broke down his walls. He was beginning to detest that word.
Corbyn nodded though, knowing he had no choice but to agree as he responded, “Alright. If that’s what you need.”
A smile bloomed across Sadie’s face, genuine and warm. “Thank you. For understanding. And, well, for this.” She gestured to the laptop box and added, “It really is thoughtful, even if it’s way over the top.”
She took a step forward and time seemed to stand still as she closed the small distance between them and brushed her lips against his cheek. His right cheek was closest to her, and she didn’t shy away from the scars that ran along his jaw.
He was acutely aware of everything about that moment.
The scent of her shampoo, the way she placed a hand on his arm to steady herself, the warmth that spread through him at the soft touch of her lips.
He found himself wishing time really had stopped when she pulled away, a shy smile tugging at her lips as she looked up at him.
“You’re welcome,” Corbyn said, his voice rough, a tingling feeling running down his spine.
A blush was creeping up her neck and blooming across her cheeks, and he was pretty sure his own were a similar shade of pink.
They stared at each other for a moment, her gray eyes searching his blue, as if looking for a sign he might react poorly to the gesture.
A few weeks ago, he would have sent her packing back to the inn, likely back to New York.
Now, though, all he could think about was that inexplicable pull between them.
He unconsciously turned so he was facing her, his right hand reaching up to brush a lock of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear.
He heard her breath catch, her pupils dilating slightly as he traced her jaw.
She bit her lip, and his eyes were immediately drawn to the action.
A little voice in the back of his mind was saying something about boundaries and how the last thing she needed was someone as damaged as he was.
Yet he still leaned in slowly, giving her time to pull away.
“I brought you two tea and pasties.” Edie’s voice called just before she appeared in the office door.
They broke apart quickly, Sadie reaching for her bag and busying herself with retrieving her red pens, her head ducked. Corbyn, his own cheeks warm once more, turned to retreat behind his desk, trying to calm his pounding heart and shaking hands.
“Thank you, Edie,” he said, clearing his throat when his voice sounded hoarse. “The pasties smell delicious.”
He risked a glance up at Edie, who was still standing in the doorway, looking between him and Sadie, a little smirk playing at her lips.
When she met his eyes, she quirked an eyebrow before moving to the coffee table to set down the tray.
Her gaze flickered to the laptop box on Corbyn’s desk, then back to them with obvious amusement as she said, “I see you’ve been having an interesting morning. ”
“Edie…” Corbyn began, a warning in his voice.
“Don’t mind me,” she chirped, heading back toward the door. “I’ll just leave you both to your work. Wouldn’t want to distract you from such an important… literary collaboration.”
The emphasis she placed on ‘collaboration’ was subtle but unmistakable.
He was all too aware of the way Sadie’s cheeks flushed again as Edie disappeared down the hallway.
The silence stretched between them, and from the corner of his eye, Corbyn saw Sadie shift in her seat, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
Riley, oblivious to the tension, stood with a resounding yawn before crossing to sit near the coffee table, eyes darting between the pasties and the two humans in the room. Corbyn cleared his throat and made his way over to the coffee table, thankful for the distraction.
“And everyone says I’m the impossible one,” he sighed, though there was fondness in his voice.
“She means well,” Sadie replied, turning to reach for one of the teacups. Neither of them seemed to be willing to address what had nearly happened directly, but for once, they weren’t pretending like it was nothing. “I’m getting used to her particular brand of… interference.”
“She has had years of practice,” Corbyn muttered, absently breaking off a piece of pasty for Riley, who accepted it and flopped to the floor once more. “Should put a bell on her apron so we can hear her coming.”
Sadie chuckled softly, adding, “Nothing gets past her.” She took a sip of her tea, and he glanced over, surprised to find her looking back at him. He had expected her to shy away as she had on the other occasions they had gotten caught up in the moment. “At least the pasties are still warm.”
Corbyn cleared his throat. Part of him was eager to move on to safer ground, his shoulders starting to ache as he realized they had once again crept up toward his ears. He forced himself to relax, to not focus too much on the disappointment he was trying very hard to ignore.
“Right, shall we?” he asked, gesturing toward the tablet sitting on his desk. “You mentioned last night you had thoughts about chapter twenty?”
“Yes,” Sadie said, and he saw the way her shoulders relaxed as well now that they were back to discussing the book. “There’s a pacing issue in the interrogation scene that I think we can fix.”
Work. That was safe territory. They could navigate it without the dangerous undercurrents that seemed to pull at them whenever they strayed too close to something personal.
He felt his chest clench when he reminded himself he needed to be careful.
Sadie was here temporarily, and she would return to New York once the book was finished.
Not to mention, what could someone like her possibly see in someone like him?
Scarred, damaged, difficult. The laptop sat in its box on the corner of his desk, a reminder that he’d already crossed lines he shouldn’t have.
But as Sadie began to speak about character motivation and scene structure, her voice steady once more, Corbyn couldn’t quite silence the part of him that had felt her breath catch when he’d touched her face, nor could he forget how she hadn’t shied away from his scars.
Behind all the walls he had erected around his heart, there was a tiny glimmer of hope that he couldn’t quite snuff out.