Before he could dwell on this realization, a blur of tan fur ran across the lawn. Riley charged toward Sadie, tail wagging wildly as he nearly crashed into her. Instead of her taking a step back, as Corbyn expected, she opened her arms to the dog, who stood on his hind legs to put his front paws on her shoulders. He was prepared to correct Riley when he heard Sadie’s laugh.
“Well, good morning to you, too, you big goofball,” she exclaimed, a grin spreading across her face.
Corbyn leaned forward slightly in the chair, caught by the transformation. Without her usual calm, professional mask, her face was softer and more expressive. She roughed up the fur behind Riley’s ears before giving him a gentle push so he stood on all fours once more.
“Alright, alright,” she laughed as Riley nudged insistently at her hand. “Let’s find you a stick, shall we?”
He watched as she scanned the frost-covered grass, spotting a branch nearby that she quickly retrieved before the hound could grab it. With an exaggerated wind-up that had Riley practically bouncing with anticipation, she tossed the stick in a high arc over the dog’s head.
“Go get it, boy!”
Riley launched himself skyward, a graceful leap despite his lanky build. His powerful jaws snapped shut around the stick mid-air, and he landed with a triumphant huff that made Sadie clap her hands in delight.
“Good boy! That was impressive!”
Corbyn couldn’t tear his eyes away from the scene. This version of Sadie Reed, playful, animated, and genuinely joyful, was miles from the woman who sat across from him in his study each day. Something about seeing her like this, with her hair slightly disheveled and her professional guard completely lowered, pulled at a forgotten part of him.
The game continued, Riley returning the stick for several rounds before deciding to change the rules. Instead of bringing it back, he planted his rear in the air, head lowered in a comical play bow, the stick firmly clenched in his jaws.
“Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be?” Sadie called, placing her hands on her hips in mock indignation. “You think you can out-stubborn me, huh?”
Riley’s tail swished back and forth, stick clenched firmly in his mouth as if to say,Bring it on, human.
“Alright, you adorable menace,” Sadie declared, crouching and taking a fake step toward the dog so he would spring backwards in excitement. “Let’s see who wins this standoff. My money’s on the one with opposable thumbs!”
Riley danced away as she playfully lunged for the stick, his body swaying gleefully. The standoff continued, Sadie laughing as she made increasingly theatrical attempts to retrieve the prize. They engaged in this light-hearted battle of wills for several minutes, with Riley always staying just out of reach.
As if sensing his gaze, Sadie glanced up suddenly, their eyes meeting across the lawn. Instead of immediately looking away, she held his gaze, her grin turning into a soft smile. For a moment, they simply looked at each other, neither moving nor speaking. The unexpected connection made Corbyn’s pulse quicken, something it seemed to be doing around her more often lately.
“Enjoying the show?” she called, aiming for lightness but not entirely hiding a hint of something else in her tone. It wasn’t quite embarrassment, but perhaps a bit of self-consciousness.
“It’s not often I see Riley bested at his own game,” he replied, surprising himself with the ease in his voice.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say I’ve bested him yet,” Sadie laughed, gesturing to the stick firmly clamped in Riley’s jaws. “We’re in a bit of a standoff.”
Something in her relaxed posture and the way her smile remained when she looked at him felt like an invitation to join them. Before he could overthink it, Corbyn rose from the wicker chair and descended the porch steps.
“Then allow me to be the tiebreaker,” he said, whistling once, sharp and clear. Riley’s ears perked up immediately. “Drop it.”
The stick fell to the ground as Riley bounded over, his loyalty shifting seamlessly. The Irish Wolfhound’s tail wagged furiously as Corbyn scratched behind his ears.
“And here I thought we had a special bond,” Sadie muttered with a chuckle as she approached them.
“He’s fickle,” Corbyn replied, surprising himself again with this easy banter. “Hard-won loyalty through years of table scraps and belly rubs.”
Sadie’s smile widened, and she laughed as she said, “A strategy I’ll have to remember.”
A rare, companionable quiet settled between them, so different from the tense quiet that usually filled his study. There was something striking about her features when animated by genuine emotion rather than careful professionalism.
“We should get started,” Corbyn said, suddenly aware of how long he’d studied her face. “I made some progress on the warehouse scene last night.”
“Lead the way,” Sadie replied, bending to retrieve her bag from where she’d dropped it during the game with Riley.
As she straightened, Riley circled behind her and bumped against the backs of her knees. Sadie stumbled forward with a surprised “Oh!” as her balance failed her. Corbyn moved instinctively, closing the distance between them in two quick strides. His hands found her waist, steadying her before she could fall.
“Riley,” he admonished, wincing a bit at the sudden movement. “Manners.”
His attention, though, wasn’t on the dog. It was on the warmth beneath his fingers where they gripped Sadie’s sides, on the subtle citrus scent that reached him as she turned her face in surprise. His left hand, usually so stiff and uncooperative, seemed to have forgotten its limitations and curved perfectly against the soft fabric of her coat.
