He’d muttered some noncommittal answer about a miscommunication and felt the weight of Maggie’s stare on his back as he walked out the door.
He chose to check the hiking path Edie had mentioned before he left. Apparently, it had become Sadie’s favorite place to go when she wasn’t at the manor working.
Now, slogging through the damp trails of the Chilterns, Corbyn second-guessed his decision to come here. Sadie’s phone was going straight to voicemail, which only spiked his worry. She could be anywhere, including halfway to London to catch a flight back to New York.
Riley paused ahead, nose twitching as he sniffed the damp air. The path forked here, one trail leading deeper into the woods, the other climbing toward the hills that overlooked Great Missenden.
He’d walked these trails more times than he could remember as a boy, escaping his parents’ empty house and hiding from his little sister. Later, as a teenager, he’d come here with books tucked under his arm, seeking solitude to read and eventually to write. His first short story had been scrawled in a notebook while sitting on a bench overlooking the Misbourne Valley, the words pouring out of him with an urgency he’d never experienced before.
After university, he’d returned to these hills whenever London’s frenetic pace became too much. Even as success found him, as his books climbed bestseller lists and his name became recognizable, he’d retreated here to think, to plot, to breathe.
Then the accident happened. Fire and glass and screaming metal. Months of surgeries, of physical therapy, of looking in mirrors and not recognizing the patchwork person staring back. He hadn’t walked these trails since. The pain became an excuse to never even try. Until today. Until Sadie.
His breath came harder as the path steepened, a testament to how much his fitness had declined since the accident. Before, he’d have bounded up this incline without a second thought. But he pressed on, following the trail as it curved around a massive oak tree as he approached the final bend that would lead to the familiar bench and overlook.
He stopped, unease pooling low in his stomach.
A solitary figure sat on that bench, her back to him. The wind tugged at her dark blonde hair, wisps of it blowing gently around her face and neck. She was hunched slightly, writing in a notebook. Her pen moved steadily across the page, completely unaware of his presence.
Relief surged through him, so sudden it disoriented him. She was still here. She hadn’t fled Great Missenden and abandoned the book.
Hadn’t abandoned him.
That thought came unbidden, and he shoved it aside. She was here to help him finish the book, nothing more.
Before he could move, Riley’s ears perked up. The dog had spotted Sadie, too, his wiry body starting to wiggle as his tail whipped from side to side. Corbyn reached for his collar, but it was too late.
“Riley, no,” he hissed, trying to keep his voice low, but the hound was already bounding forward, an unstoppable streak of tan fur.
Sadie turned at the sound of approaching paws, her surprise brightening into delight as Riley reached her.
“Well, hello there, handsome,” she laughed as he licked her face, and the sound caused a weird tingling sensation in Corbyn's chest. “What are you doing here?”
Her gaze lifted, searching, until it landed on Corbyn. The smile faded from her face, replaced by something more guarded. She said something else to Riley that he couldn’t hear, herhand absently scratching the dog behind his ears, but her eyes remained fixed on Corbyn’s approaching figure.
He made his way over slowly, suddenly acutely aware of how he must look, disheveled from the climb, cheeks flushed with exertion, the scars on his face standing out more sharply in the cold air. He swallowed, mouth dry.
“Sorry about him,” he said gruffly, gesturing to Riley. “No manners.”
“Better than most,” Sadie said, leaning into Riley’s enthusiastic greeting. Her gloves lay beside her on the bench, her bare fingers still buried in Riley’s fur. “No ‘get out and don’t come back’ from him. He’s just genuinely happy to see me. It’s a refreshing change.”
Her words landed like a direct hit, making him wince. The accusation wasn’t subtle, and he knew he deserved her ire.
Corbyn shifted his weight, hyperaware of how exposed he felt here, away from the familiar shelter of his study. No desk to put between them. No manuscripts to focus on. Only her steady, steel-eyed gaze.
“What are you doing up here?” Sadie asked finally.
“Needed air,” he replied, the half-truth slipping out easily. He glanced at the notebook now closed on her lap, a pen marking her place. “You’re writing.”
She nodded, one hand still absently stroking Riley’s head. “Just thoughts. Nothing important.”
“You left,” he said, not quite a question.
“You told me to. Quite emphatically.”
Corbyn looked away, focusing on the view instead of her face, taking a breath before saying in a rough voice, “I thought you might be booking a flight back to New York after what happened.”
“The day is young,” she said, her tone light. “And flights run until midnight.”
