“Sorry,” she murmured, her voice oddly breathy. “He caught me off guard.”
Corbyn realized he was still holding her, though she had regained her balance. His hands lingered at her waist, the contact sending an unfamiliar warmth through his body. Time seemed to stand still as they stared at each other, until Riley’s bark startled them both back to reality.
“Happens to the best of us,” he managed, his voice rougher than he had intended, as he reluctantly released her and stepped back. “He forgets his size.”
The moment stretched between them, loaded with something neither seemed prepared to name. Sadie tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her cheeks flushed from more than just the morning chill.
Clearing his throat, Corbyn finally looked away, his attention drifting back toward the house. With an awkward sweep of his hand, he asked, “Shall we?”
Together, they walked to the house, Riley following them inside and then into the kitchen. Edie had left a pot of tea on the island with two mugs, and he watched Sadie immediately start to fix two cups of tea. Somehow, she had learned that he took his with a splash of milk, and she slid the perfectly made drink toward him on the island.
Riley sat next to her, his head leaning against her side until she reached down to stroke his fur while she poured her own tea.
“He’s shameless,” Corbyn commented, nodding toward the dog. “Always knows who to charm for attention.”
Sadie glanced over, another soft smile playing on her lips.
“I don’t mind. I miss having a dog around. My apartment in New York barely had room for my books, let alone a pet.” She scratched behind Riley’s ears, earning a contented groan from the massive hound, and added, “And my schedule was impossible when I was with Nate… it wouldn’t have been fair to any pet.”
“Nate?” Corbyn asked before he could stop himself.
A shadow flickered across her face, there and gone so quickly he almost missed it.
“My ex,” she said simply, her focus returning to Riley. “My living situation has been… in flux while I wait for my lease to end.”
Something in her tone warned against further questions, but it sparked Corbyn’s curiosity nonetheless. Aside from the brief mention of her ex on Valentine’s Day, this was the first personal detail she’d volunteered since arriving in Great Missenden. It felt a bit like venturing into uncharted waters, but something in him couldn’t bring himself to discourage the conversation.
“Riley came to me during a period of flux,” he heard himself saying, the words emerging before he’d fully decided to share them. “After the accident.”
Sadie looked up, her expression neutral, but her gray eyes were looking at him with interest. She didn’t speak, didn’t push, just waited. He realized she was offering space for him to continue or retreat as he chose, and there was something incredibly refreshing in that approach.
“Ellie brought him home,” Corbyn continued, his right hand moving to stroke Riley’s flank. “She said he was a rescue and needed someone with patience. I think it was the other way around.”
The corner of Sadie’s mouth lifted slightly, and she asked, “He needed you, or you needed him?”
“Both, maybe.” Corbyn’s gaze drifted to his mug of tea on the island. “I wasn’t in a good place. The surgeries kept failing to restore function to my hand, and the pressure started for the book I couldn’t seem to write…” He trailed off, surprised at how much he’d revealed.
“And Riley gave you something else to focus on,” Sadie finished softly.
“He needed food, walks, and attention. He didn’t care about deadlines or scars or whether I could type properly,” Corbyn explained, and he felt something tight in his chest ease as he spoke. “It’s hard to stay in bed feeling sorry for yourself when a giant dog is whining to go outside.”
Sadie smiled, and, to his relief, it wasn’t the pitying look he’d dreaded. There was understanding in her eyes, warm and genuine, without the uncomfortable fake sympathy that made his skin crawl.
“I get that,” she said. “Having something, or someone, who needs you can be grounding.” A brief shadow crossed her face again, and she paused, absently tracing a pattern on Riley’s fur. “I spent years supporting my ex’s writing, Nate’s novel drafts, his submissions, his rejections. I edited every word, managed his schedule, created space for his ‘process.’” The word carried a hint of bitterness. “Even put my own writing on hold because he said we couldn’t both be pursuing the same dream at the same time.”
She looked up, seeming surprised at her own candor. “Sorry, I don’t know why I mentioned that.”
“Because some burdens get lighter when shared,” Corbyn offered quietly, realizing how much this moment meant for both of them.
Sadie gave him a small, grateful smile, softly saying, “Maybe.”
They fell into silence for a moment, both of them sipping their tea. Neither of them seemed to feel the need to fill itwith small talk. It occurred to him then, somehow, without his noticing, Sadie Reed had coaxed him into an almost… normal conversation.
“We should probably get to work,” she said, drawing him from his musings. “Chapter sixteen won’t fix itself.”
“No, it certainly won’t,” he agreed, and they both took their mugs as they made their way toward the study. “The revisions are helping,” he added, surprised by how easy the admission was. “The book is… tighter.”
Glancing over, he saw Sadie smile, and her whole face brightened at the acknowledgment. He felt his breath catch, and he tried desperately not to wonder what exactly that meant.
