Chapter 28 March 22, 2025
-Sadie-
Returning to the Roaring Stag felt like a homecoming. Sadie sat beside Corbyn at their corner table, their fingers entwined on the bench. He’d steered her to the banquette that ran along the wall, settling in close enough that their knees occasionally brushed, sending a spark through her.
In the last week, the flame that had been simmering between them had started to burn brightly, and she had been left breathless on more than one occasion when their work had ceased for a stolen kiss. All of it had led up to this—whatever this night would become.
Part of her still couldn’t believe he had suggested having dinner at the pub. During their morning walk with Riley, he had glanced over at her while they were stopped by the lake, and something in his expression had softened just before he spoke.
“Have dinner with me,” he’d said, voice low.
Sadie’s brow furrowed in confusion and she replied, “I have dinner with you every night.”
Since coming to stay at the manor, she had become a regular at the dinner table in the evenings. His answering smirk had her raising an eyebrow, her confusion only growing.
“I meant have dinner out, Reed. I’m asking you on a date.”
“Well, well, look what we have here,” Maggie’s familiar voice cut through her reverie as she approached with menus tucked under her arm, wearing a cat-who-got-the-cream smile. “Corbyn Pearce, out for dinner and with the lovely Sadie Reed, no less.”
“Good evening, Maggie,” Sadie managed, hyperaware of how Corbyn had tensed slightly beside her at being the center of attention. A flush rose at the knowing gleam in Maggie’s eyes.
“Evening, love,” Maggie replied warmly, then turned to Corbyn with her hands on her hips.
“About time you brought this one out for an actual date instead of hiding away with your manuscripts and brooding.” She gestured around the pub, adding, “Half the village has been wondering when you’d work up the nerve. ”
“Maggie,” Corbyn warned, but there was no real edge to it, more like fond exasperation, similar to the tone he took with Edie when she refused to mind her own business.
“Oh, don’t you ‘Maggie’ me,” she laughed, placing menus in front of them. “This is exactly where you belong, the pair of you. Now, what can I bring you to drink?”
Sadie felt her face burning as Maggie fussed around them, adjusting the single daffodil in its small vase as if trying to ensure that not even a petal was out of place. Glancing around, the entire pub seemed to be watching with interest, as if they’d all been waiting for this.
Once they had their wine and ordered their dinners, the other patrons at the pub seemed to settle back into their own discussions.
They fell into their usual easy conversation, but there was something charged humming beneath the surface.
Every accidental brush of their fingers, every shared laugh, every moment their eyes met and held just a beat too long, Sadie’s body buzzed with anticipation.
Something inside her reached for him, hungry and new.
“It feels like the entire village is here tonight,” Corbyn said, nodding toward the bar where Mr. Davies was holding court. “I haven’t seen Mr. Davies in years.”
“I met him when I stumbled upon his farm by mistake,” she recalled. “According to Edie, he’s the one you go to for the latest village news.”
“That’s his reputation, though he’ll deny it,” Corbyn told her with a genuine laugh that turned her smirk into a grin.
“When I was about twelve, I ordered something rather embarrassing from a catalog. I can’t even remember what now…
probably some terrible fantasy novel I was too mortified to buy in person.
For weeks afterward, Davies would give me these knowing looks whenever he saw me in the village. ”
“No,” Sadie gasped, delighted to glimpse this softer side of him.
“Oh yes. And then one day, he pulls me aside and says, very seriously, ‘Nothing wrong with a bit of escapism, lad. Though you might try Tolkien, classier than whatever rubbish you’re reading.’” Corbyn shook his head at the memory.
“Turned out he’d been a fantasy reader himself.
Used to slip me books on the sly after that. ”
Right on cue, Mr. Davies appeared beside their table, his stealthy approach causing Sadie to stifle a chuckle as she suddenly realized how he had learned so much of the village’s gossip.
“Pearce,” he said gruffly, studying Corbyn with sharp eyes. “Good to see you out and about.”
“Davies,” Corbyn acknowledged with a nod.
The older man’s gaze shifted to Sadie, and he continued, “Heard you’ve been working miracles up at the house.”
“I don’t know about miracles,” Sadie said, charmed despite his bluntness.
“Nonsense,” Mr. Davies declared. “Haven’t seen this one venture into the village in years. Must be doing something right.” He fixed Corbyn with a stern look before turning his gaze back to her. “Is he treating you well? None of that brooding nonsense?”
“I’m sitting right here,” Corbyn said dryly.
“So you are,” Davies agreed, completely unrepentant. “Which is why I’m asking. Man needs reminding sometimes.” He turned back to Sadie. “You need anything, you let me know. And mind you, if he puts a foot wrong, I’ll hear about it before the milkman.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Sadie said, fighting back a smile.
Davies gave them both a satisfied nod before returning to his spot at the bar, raising a pint to his lips.
“Subtle as always,” Corbyn muttered, but Sadie could see the warmth in his eyes, the way the tension had eased from his shoulders.
These people, his people, had accepted him back into their fold even after his years of isolation.
They had also accepted her and them as a couple without question or judgment.
“I like him,” she said simply.
“You would,” Corbyn replied, but he was smiling. “He used to let me hide in the barn with the lambs when I was avoiding my tutors. Said every boy needed a bolt-hole.”
Their food arrived, and the conversation continued. They shared stories of their childhoods, getting to know each other in a way their work hadn’t previously allowed. Occasionally, she would see him sneaking glances at her, the heat in his eyes making something low in her belly tighten.
“I sometimes forget,” Corbyn said quietly, during a lull in conversation, “what it’s like to just… be. Without feeling like everyone’s staring at the scars, wondering about the story behind them.”
Sadie shifted slightly closer on the banquette, her thigh pressing against his. “They’re not staring tonight,” she observed. “They’re just… glad to see you happy, I think.”
He was quiet for a long moment, his fingers playing with the stem of his wine glass. “You know what,” he said finally. “I think I am. For the first time in… God, years.”
The admission hung in the air between them, raw and honest in a way that made Sadie’s breath catch. She reached over, covering his restless hand with hers.
“Corbyn,” she began, not sure what she meant to say.
“Sadie, wait…” he said, taking her hand in his.
He leaned forward, voice quiet so only she would hear, and she felt his breath ghost across her skin.
“You know I’m terrified of this, of us, of letting anyone close enough to matter again, but I can’t imagine not being with you.
This thing between us… We’ve blown past every boundary we had—and I don’t regret it. ”
His honesty struck her, and her pulse spiked; her heart suddenly pounded in her chest. The realization that they had been given a second chance, whether by fate or some other unknown force, had made them both brave and led them to this moment.
Around them, the pub’s patrons carried on, unaware of the enormity of Corbyn’s admission.
She heard the laughter and conversation, the clink of glasses and scrape of chairs, but all of it felt distant.
“I suppose we have,” she said softly, giving his hand a squeeze. She turned on the banquette to face him more fully, her leg brushing against his. Leaning forward, she whispered, “I don’t know what happens next, but I think I’m done with boundaries.”
She watched Corbyn’s entire body relax as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, his eyes darkening as he took her in.
Releasing her hand, he brought his up to cup her cheek, and she leaned into the touch.
Then his lips brushed against hers. It was sure and unhurried, a quiet declaration for anyone watching.
The kind of kiss that would be village gossip by morning, discussed over garden fences and in the post office queue with delighted speculation.
When they pulled apart, the pub had fallen quiet, as if everyone were holding their breath. It broke after a moment, and the conversations resumed with renewed vigor. Someone near the bar let out a low whistle of appreciation, quickly hushed by their companion, and a smile tugged at Sadie’s lips.
They lingered over the last bites of dessert, Sadie’s fork tapping against the plate. Neither of them brought up the complications this could bring to their situation, and Sadie knew that, for her at least, she didn’t want to burst the cocoon of warmth and happiness that was surrounding them.
The drive home wound through narrow country lanes, and it seemed to take longer than usual as the anticipation built.
Corbyn reached across the console, his scarred hand covering hers.
His thumb brushed over her knuckles, and Sadie felt heat spread through her body.
She watched his profile, the strong line of his jaw working as if he were holding back words.
He parked in the circular drive but made no move to get out. Instead, he turned to her in the driver’s seat, moonlight painting his scars silver and his eyes dark with want.
When he kissed her this time, it was nothing like the sweet declaration in the pub.
This was hunger and need and weeks of careful restraint finally snapping.
Sadie found herself leaning across the center console, her hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer even though the awkward angle made her neck ache.
“Not in the car,” Corbyn breathed against her mouth, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, his arms tightened around her, one hand tangling in her hair while the other pressed against the small of her back.
“No,” Sadie agreed, even as she traced the line of his jaw with her lips. “Definitely not here.”
It took another five minutes of heated kisses and wandering hands before they finally managed to separate enough to make their way into the house. The manor was quiet, and Riley greeted them with a yawn.
At the landing, they paused. The Blue Room lay to the left, Corbyn’s suite to the right. The moment hummed between them, and she realized he was giving her one last chance to pull away and retreat to her own room.
She knew the smart choice was to go to the Blue Room alone. It meant no additional complications, no possible repercussions on their careers, and less heartache when she had to return to New York. It was the safe choice, but she had been making those for most of her life.
Letting out a slow breath, she took Corbyn’s hand in hers and turned right.
His door opened to reveal a spacious and masculine room, with dark wood furniture and windows overlooking the moonlit grounds. He led her through the threshold, closing the door behind them, leaving Riley looking forlorn in the hall.
“Are you sure?” he asked, even as his hands framed her face like she was something fragile and precious.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” Sadie whispered, and meant it.
He kissed her again, with a tenderness that undid her completely. His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer, and Sadie knew with bone-deep certainty that nothing would ever be the same. It was beautiful, irrevocable, and precisely as it was meant to be.