“It’s a good story, Corbyn. It deserves to be told right.”
At the door to the study, he motioned for her to lead the way, knowing if Edie saw him being anything less than a gentleman, he’d be hearing about it for the next week. As he watched her pass, he couldn’t help but muse on this new development in their relationship. They weren’t exactly friends, but they were certainly no longer adversaries. They were something undefinable, and that intrigued him more than he cared to admit.
February 25, 2025
-Sadie-
Sadie lingered in a cozy corner by the window of the Roaring Stag, enjoying the warmth of the morning sun as she continued the short story she had been working on in her journal. The memory of the brief moment on the Tube had taken on a life of its own, and it was turning into pages and pages of writing. The young man with those blue eyes had become a real character on the page, no longer just a dream.
The sound of an email notification broke the peaceful moment, and Sadie set down her pen. Her stomach tightened when Nate’s name appeared on the screen. He’d been quiet these past few days—no manipulative texts or drunken voicemails—which had been a welcome reprieve. Now, though, as she stared at the phone screen, she felt anxiety crawl under her skin.
“Just delete it,” she muttered, finger hovering over the trash icon. But curiosity won out, as it often did with Nate, and with a sigh, she opened the message.
She froze as she reread the message to be sure she wasn't seeing things. Instead of the usual vitriol, the email was surprisingly formal.
Sadie,
Hope England is treating you well. I’ve accepted an adjunct position at NYU, teaching creative writing. You always said I should consider teaching, and I’m tired of waiting for my masterpiece to come along. It’s time I prove I can contribute, rather than just talking about potential.
The apartment feels empty without your books everywhere. I was cleaning out the bedroom and found your college journals. Let me know if you want me to bring them to Jess for when you return.
Take care,
Nate
Sadie stared at the screen, so many conflicting emotions washing over her at once. This was precisely the sort of message that had worked in the past when he had felt her slipping away. She found herself unconsciously analyzing each word, searching for genuine change while still trying to guard against hope.
“Just delete it,” she whispered again, but her finger hovered over the screen. She recognized the pattern. It was what Jess had called “hoovering,” where he conceded just enough to suck her back in when she was breaking free.
“Coffee?” Maggie asked, coming up beside the table with the coffee pot in hand. She glanced at Sadie, her eyebrows knitting together in concern. “You alright, love? You’re white as a sheet.”
“Email from my ex,” Sadie said, shoving her phone into her bag. “Apparently, now that I’m finally free of him, he’s decided to act like a grown-up.”
Maggie snorted, pouring coffee into Sadie’s cup. “Blokes like him? Same old spots, just better at tucking ’em under a rug when they’re after something.”
The blunt words hit their mark, the emotional turmoil easing a bit. “Yeah. I know you’re right.”
“‘Course I am,” Maggie said, flashing a grin. “Seen too many laps around this bloody block. Now, don’t keep your grumpy writer waiting too long.”
Sadie finished her coffee before gathering her things. Over the last several weeks, Maggie had grown into the confidant Sadie had sorely needed since arriving in England. She was grateful for the straightforward wisdom and support that helped her see things more clearly.
When she arrived at the manor, Riley greeted her at the door with his usual enthusiasm. The dog’s paws landed on her shoulders, drawing a laugh from her.
“Good morning to you, too, handsome,” she said, having to brace herself so she didn’t stumble back under Riley’s weight.
“He’d greet a burglar with the same enthusiasm,” came Corbyn’s dry response from the kitchen. “Worst guard dog in England.”
There was a warmth beneath the sardonic tone that hadn’t been there when she’d first arrived, and she could almost hear the playful smirk in his voice.
“Morning,” Sadie replied, dropping her bag on the sofa on her way to the kitchen. “Sorry if I’m a bit late. Got caught up in… something.”
“Edie’s left tea and scones,” he said, his back to her as she entered. “Apparently, we’re being fattened for slaughter.”
A soft chuckle escaped her, and she immediately reached for a scone from the plate on the island. Before she could even take a bite, Corbyn placed a steaming mug of tea in front of her. For a moment, she was taken aback. He was usually already tucked away in his study, hard at work, so to have him serve her a cup of tea rendered her momentarily speechless.
“Honey’s there,” he said, nodding toward the small bottle on the island, seemingly unaware of her surprise.
“Thanks,” Sadie murmured, and she stared down at the mug on the counter.
