Chapter 27 March 15, 2025 #2
She gave a small nod, and as he began to read, she mentally recited what was on the page.
While the main character was fictional, the chapter he was reading told the story of the day they met.
A young woman visiting a large city for the first time—alone, overwhelmed, and very aware of the blue-eyed stranger beside her.
A young man with a literary background who changed her world with just a touch.
All Anna wanted was to get off the train. Sweat trickled down her back as more passengers squeezed into the already packed Northern Line train car in London’s Underground.
The Tube’s musty dampness clashed with the floral perfume wafting from a group of women nearby, ready for a night out.
She clung to the cold metal pole for balance, the books in her Foyles shopping bag digging into her hip as the carriage jolted forward.
Around her, she could hear her friends' chatter, their voices a low hum beneath the train’s rumble as they headed back to their hotel to celebrate New Year’s Eve.
“You wrote about us,” he breathed, his gaze meeting hers again.
“You were always meant to be a part of my story,” she replied, “both on and off the page.”
“There’s a lot of potential here,” he said after a moment, and she felt the knot in her stomach loosen. “It’s engaging, and the descriptions are vivid. Romance is far from my usual genre, but I think you’re off to a strong start.”
“Thank you, I appreciate that more than you know, but that’s not the reason I showed it to you,” she told him softly, taking the journal so she could set it on the coffee table.
“I showed it to you because I want you to know how much I trust you. The real you. The man who showed up when I needed him…the one who makes me feel safe.”
“You matter to me,” Corbyn said quietly. “Even then, when I was still trying to convince myself you were just my editor. I couldn’t bear the thought of you being hurt.”
“That’s exactly my point,” Sadie replied, her fingers reaching to trace the scars on his cheek with reverence. “This is just skin. But your heart, your soul—that’s what matters. That’s what I fell for, not the fantasy.”
His hand caught hers, and he turned and pressed a kiss to her palm. His eyes remained locked on her own, burning with an intensity she had never seen before. Her breath caught, the simple action sending a tingling sensation down her spine.
“When did you know you were falling for me?” Corbyn asked, his confidence in her, in what she felt for him, noticeably growing with each passing moment.
Sadie couldn’t help but smile, telling him, “Remember that day when Riley got out and we went looking for him together? You were so worried. And when we found him at the park playing with the children, the way your whole body relaxed…” She smiled at the memory.
“I think that’s when I knew you weren’t just some difficult author.
You were someone with a huge capacity for love who’d been hurt badly enough to hide it away. ”
“And that made you fall for me?”
“That made me want to earn your trust,” Sadie corrected. “The falling came later, gradually, and now it’s impossible to pretend otherwise. Even if this complicates things.”
“Only if we let it,” he replied, a slight smirk forming on his lips. “You don’t have to make outlines and storyboards for real life, Reed.”
“I’ll have you know that storyboard I made for you for act three was a masterpiece,” she teased back, biting her lip, enjoying this more playful side of him.
Corbyn’s gaze dropped to her mouth, his thumb brushing her lip and freeing it from her teeth.
That simple action had heat spreading through her body, and when he looked back up, she thought her heart might beat right out of her chest. He leaned forward and their lips met.
The kiss was soft and hesitant. It was careful, exploratory, a question posed by lips against lips and answered by the way Sadie melted into him, her free hand coming up to fist in the fabric of his shirt.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing unsteadily, Corbyn took her hands in his own. Bringing them up to his lips, he brushed a kiss across her knuckles, a grin tugging at his lips.
“I should have brought you to London sooner,” he told her, his eyes twinkling with mischief, something she had never seen before.
“Why is that?” she answered, her smirk matching his.
“There’s no Riley or Edie here to interrupt me when I’m trying to do this…”
That first kiss had been gentle, almost chaste. This kiss, however, was the opposite. His fingers curled in her hair, gently tugging her head back to give him better access, and she gave it willingly.
His lips burned against hers, stealing her breath.
She gasped, and something shifted—his hesitation vanished.
His tongue traced the seam of her lips, and she opened to him without thought.
Everything else faded away, leaving only this—his scarred palm cradling her jaw, the taste of whiskey, and the rightness of being exactly where she was.
They settled into comfortable silence after that, the whiskey forgotten on the coffee table as they held each other on the old leather sofa.
Her head rested against his shoulder, and she savored every detail.
How she seemed to fit so perfectly against him, the way the smell of his cologne had come to feel like home, how she wanted to freeze time and stay in this moment as long as it could.
“Can I ask you something?” Sadie said, her voice just above a whisper as she traced an invisible pattern on the soft fabric covering his chest.
“Anything.”
“That first day, when I arrived and you were so angry I was here… what changed? When did it shift from you wanting me gone to… this?”
Corbyn was quiet for a moment, his fingers combing gently through her hair. A sigh of contentment escaped her, and she relaxed even more into his warmth and the safety she felt in his arms.
“I think it started changing the moment you stood up to me,” he said finally.
“You didn’t back down or apologize for doing your job, you just looked me in the eye and told me exactly what you thought of my attitude and my writing.
” He smiled at the memory. “No one had done that in a very long time. You saw that I was hiding behind my pain instead of dealing with it, and you called me on it.” Corbyn’s expression grew more serious as he continued, “And then later, when you saw my scars for the first time, you didn’t flinch.
You didn’t look away or pretend they weren’t there. You just… accepted them as part of me.”
“They are part of you,” Sadie said softly, reaching up to trace the line of scars along his jaw. “But they’re not the most important part. Underneath all your brooding, you’re kind, and you care about the people in your life.”
“I don’t brood,” he insisted, although she could see the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.
“Says the man who glares out his office window for an hour whenever I win an argument,” she quipped, poking his side gently as she laughed. That elicited a chuckle from him, a smile spreading across his face and making her heart tumble in her chest.
A yawn escaped her as the emotional upheaval of the day finally began to catch up with her. The whiskey and the warmth of his embrace were making her eyelids heavy.
“I should probably find something to sleep in,” Sadie murmured, then blushed slightly. “I didn’t exactly pack for an overnight stay.”
Corbyn’s expression grew tender. “I think I can help with that.” He rose from the sofa and gestured for her to follow. “Come on.”
He led her into a large bedroom, a space that felt even more personal than the sitting room.
A large bed dominated the room, its navy duvet slightly rumpled as if he’d just been sitting on it, even though he hadn’t been here in years.
Of course books were stacked on both nightstands, and through the open wardrobe, she could see the clothes he’d left behind—expensive suits and casual shirts hanging like ghosts of his former life.
Corbyn moved to the chest of drawers and pulled out a soft gray t-shirt and a pair of navy sweatpants.
“These will be enormous on you, but they’re clean,” he said, holding them out to her.
“Thank you,” Sadie said, accepting the clothes with a grateful smile. The fabric was soft and worn from washing.
“Bathroom’s just through there,” Corbyn said, pointing to a door across the room. “Take your time.”
When she emerged a few minutes later, the clothes were indeed swimming on her; the t-shirt fell nearly to her knees, and the sweatpants were rolled up several times at the ankles.
Corbyn had changed as well, and when he looked up from where he’d been folding back the duvet on the bed, something in his expression shifted.
His eyes darkened as he took in the sight of her, and she felt heat rise in her cheeks.
“You look…” he started, then cleared his throat. “I like seeing you in my clothes,” he admitted, his voice rough. “More than I probably should.”
“They’re very comfortable,” Sadie said, heat creeping into her cheeks. “And warm.”
“Good,” Corbyn said, rubbing the back of his neck.
They stood there for a moment, the weight of everything that had happened settling between them. Sadie could see the exhaustion in his face, the emotional toll of returning to this place, of everything they’d shared.
“I should probably let you get some rest,” she said eventually, though she made no move toward the door.
“Sadie? Stay. Please.”
His voice was soft when he said it, almost unsure.
She knew he wasn’t asking for anything more than this—no expectations, no pressure—and the thought of falling asleep in his arms had her nodding and moving toward the bed.
Once they had settled, he shifted so he was behind her, his chest pressed against her back, and an arm wrapped around her waist. She could feel his breath tickling the skin of her neck, and she couldn’t stop the contented sigh that escaped her lips.
“Is this okay?” he asked, and she could hear the vulnerability in his voice.
This moment felt precious, and she wasn’t going to ruin it by overanalyzing it to death. They could figure out the details in the coming days, but tonight, she wasn’t going to pretend she didn’t want to fall asleep in his embrace.
“This is perfect.”
That was the last thing she said before drifting off to sleep, wrapped up in Corbyn’s arms and, for the first time, completely and unquestionably at peace.