Her bag slid to the floor with a soft thump as she sank onto one of the stools lined up along the kitchen island.
Edie bustled over, sliding a steaming mug of tea and a warm scone across the counter, the scent of bergamot wrapped around her.
“Thanks,” Sadie rasped, gripping the mug tight. The heat seeped into her hands, a jolt against the cold sting of Corbyn’s brush-off.
“Eat up, love,” Edie said, nodding at the scone. “Clotted cream’s better than moping over his nonsense.”
“For a moment I thought things were starting to go well,” she mumbled, taking a tentative bite. Her cheeks warmed, and she closed her eyes, savoring the flavor. The scones Maggie had served that morning had been good, but Edie had a gift.
“He’s prickly, that one.” Edie leaned against the counter, a wry smile playing at her lips as she regarded Sadie with sympathy and amusement.
The click of nails on hardwood announced a new arrival, and the estate’s Irish Wolfhound padded into the kitchen. He trotted over to Sadie, soulful eyes glinting as he nosed her hand with a soft whine. She couldn’t help but smile at the gentle giant, sure he would be her favorite manor resident.
“Well, hello there,” Sadie murmured, scratching behind his ears. The wiry fur was warm under her fingers, and the dog leaned into her touch with obvious pleasure. “At least someone’s glad I’m here.”
“That’s Riley,” Edie explained. “Corbyn’s bark might be worse than his bite, but Riley here’s all love, and no teeth.”
Sadie’s smile grew as she replied, “I think Riley and I are going to get along just fine. Any chance he’s looking for an editor?”
Edie laughed, turning to stir the stew that was simmering on the stove. The aroma evoked a sense of comfort that washed over her body.
“When he plants himself,” Edie said over her shoulder, her voice dropping like she was letting Sadie in on a hard-won trick, “you’ve got to hold your line and stare him down ’til he shifts. He’ll test you, push you to see if you’ll bend. But once he sees you’re not running, he starts to listen. Don’t let him scare you off.”
Sadie blinked, unconvinced as she replied, “I have a feeling I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t toss me out on my ear by sundown.”
“Nonsense,” Edie tutted, turning to face her. Those warm brown eyes crinkled with a knowing glint that made Sadie squirm. “You’ve got more fire in you than you let on, I’d wager. You managed to get him to hand over those pages.”
Sadie’s lips twitched, a tired half-smirk. “Guess I’ll give it a try,” she rasped, tea warming her hands. “Not much left to lose.”
Edie’s mouth curved, approval flickering in her eyes. “That’s the way, love.”
A slow tread echoed from the hall, and Riley practically pranced in place with anticipation, earning a soft chuckle from Sadie. Corbyn appeared a moment later, hair mussed from raking hands through it. He didn’t glance Sadie’s way, just jerked his chin at the dog.
“Walk, boy.”
“Mind the puddles this time, eh?” Edie called from the kitchen. “Last go nearly did me in with the scrubbing.”
“No promises,” Corbyn grunted. It was a rough huff that might’ve been amusement. His blue eyes met Edie’s for a beat, softening just enough to hint at affection before he tugged the door open and stepped out, Riley trailing into the mist.
Edie watched them go, then turned to Sadie, wiping her hands on her apron. “Make yourself at home. Kettle’s on if you need more.”
Sadie nodded, clutching the tea and the pages Corbyn had left in her care. She made her way into the living room and sank onto the comfortable sofa, fighting back a sigh. She placed the mug on a nearby table, givingEchoes of Ashher full attention—scrawled lines, crossed-out chunks, and a tangle of ink. She rubbed her eyes and flipped the first page.
“Alright, Pearce,” she muttered, her voice firm despite the jet lag dragging at her. “Let’s see what I’m dealing with.”
February 7, 2025
-Corbyn-
In the soft morning light that filtered in through the study’s ivy-covered window, Corbyn stared at the blank page like it was an old enemy. He had hoped that the words would flow magically this morning, if only to prove to everyone that he didn’t need Sadie Reed meddling in his work. Yet, here he was, still stuck, frustrated, and dreading the appearance of a certain American editor.
When Riley’s head lifted from the floor, tail thumping, he knew his solitude had ended. Her footsteps echoed down the hall a moment later, and he quickly hunched over and grabbed a half-finished page to make itseemlike he’d been writing.
In his peripheral vision, he saw her pause in the doorway. Looking up, he found Sadie standing there, his manuscript pages held tight against her chest, a tense look on her face, undoubtedly preparing herself for another round of verbal sparring. Riley’s tail thudded against the floor, breaking the silence, and Corbyn’s jaw tightened as she stepped through the door to greet the dog.
“You’re early,” he muttered, his words clipped, hoping she’d take the hint and retreat to the kitchen, where she had been talking to Edie.
“Not by much,” she replied, her voice steady and unshaken by his tone. She crossed the room, pausing before his desk, and then placed the marked-up manuscript in front of him. “I thought we could have a quick chat about the flashback scene.”
