“This section here,” she pressed on, pointing to a crossed-out chunk. “Three pages of Shaw remembering his childhood. It takes away the tension you’ve built with the warehouse discovery. Cut it, and the tension spikes.”
She flipped to her suggested restructuring, letting him read her notes.
The phone buzzed again, and her hand twitched toward her pocket despite her resolve before she caught herself.
Corbyn’s expression became pinched, eyes motioning towards her hand before he asked, “Problem?”
“No,” she said quickly. Too quickly, her voice was more of a squeak than she intended. She tapped the manuscript again, hoping to redirect the conversation. “Chapter three has a timeline hole. Shaw couldn’t have seen the fire chief at the station and then driven across town in ten minutes to meet his informant. The geography doesn’t work.”
Buzz. Another text.
Sadie clenched her jaw, but curiosity and dread won out. She pulled the phone far enough from her pocket to read what was on the screen.
Figures you’d ignore me. You always were spiteful, just like your mother.
You’re trying to punish me, aren’t you?
Never mind. I’m tossing those stupid fucking letters.
Her throat tightened. She tried to remind herself that this pattern was exactly why she had left. First came the charm, then the guilt and manipulation, and if that didn’t work, then it was anger.
Clearing her throat, her voice was a little less steady when she continued, “Fix the timeline, or the whole sequence unravels.”
Corbyn was watching her now, his gaze more intent. She folded her fingers around her phone to try to hide the slight tremor she was sure he noticed. His pen tapped a rhythm against the armrest of the sofa.
“You’re gutting it.”
“It’s surgery, not slaughter,” she shot back, meeting his glare. The words came with a heat that wasn’t purely meant for him. “Surely you’ve heard the saying ‘Kill your darlings?’ Some of these scenes are darlings, Corbyn. Beautiful but unnecessary.”
Buzz. Her phone lit up again.
You’ll be back when you’re no longer hiding behind Pearce’s words.
Her fingers twitched, and a slow breath escaped her. Nearly six weeks free of him, and still, his words could reach inside her chest and squeeze. She swiped the phone to silent before shoving it back into her pocket and turning her attention back to Corbyn.
He had leaned forward, and for the first time, his eyes remained locked with hers. He studied her, as if tracking everyflicker of hesitation, and she shifted in her seat under the weight of it.
His voice emerged gruffer than before, but with an undertone that wasn’t entirely hostile when he asked, “Your phone’s having a fit. What’s that about?”
Sadie felt heat rise to her cheeks, and she aimed for a casual dismissal when she replied, “My ex. He’s throwing a Valentine’s Day tantrum because I’m not answering him.” She tapped the page again, desperate to turn his attention away from Nate. “This subplot is pulling focus from your main narrative arc. If you tighten it, connect it more directly to Shaw…”
“Is that normal, these tantrums?” Corbyn interrupted the word hanging between them.
Sensing the shift in mood, Riley gave a soft whine, looking up at her from where his head rested against her thigh. She gratefully scratched behind his ears again, glad for a reason to look away.
“It’s nothing,” she said firmly. “Just…toxic history. Not worth discussing.”
She felt him watching her a moment longer before returning to the manuscript. Sadie waited, her chest tightening as she hoped the dismissal of Nate’s childish behavior would be enough to return them to the safety of their professional roles.
“Maybe…” he said slowly, as if the admission cost him, “that bit does drag.” He frowned at the page. “Still don’t agree with cutting the mayor’s wife entirely.”
“Not entirely,” Sadie clarified, seizing the opening as relief rose in her chest. “Just reshape her role. Make her connection to the arson cases clearer earlier. Right now, readers will forget about her between her appearances.”
He looked back up, and for the first time, he seemed to truly consider what she was saying.
“And the timeline in chapter three?”
“Easy fix,” she told him, a little smile pulling at her lips at the victory. “Extend the time frame or move the informant meeting location closer to the station.”
