It was such a simple act—pouring a cup of tea for someone else—but it was so different from what she had grown used to over the last decade of her life. There was no angle; Corbyn wasn’t trying to use the tea to get something in return. It was just basic human decency.
Unconsciously, her thoughts drifted back to Nate’s email, specifically to her journals. The leather-bound notebooks had been her favorite, and he’d known how much they meant to her. Now she couldn’t help wondering: was his offer a genuine kindness, or just a carefully baited hook designed to draw her back into his orbit?
“Reed?”
She blinked, the kitchen coming back into focus. Corbyn was watching her, his head tilted slightly, a frown creasing his forehead.
“Sorry, what?” she asked, color blooming across her cheeks at being caught clearly lost in thought.
“I asked if you wanted milk,” he said, his expression uncharacteristically concerned. “You’ve been staring at that mug for nearly a minute.”
“Oh, I… I just… got caught in a thought,” she stammered, cheeks heating even further. Quickly, she reached for the milk, turning away enough to hide the blush. “I’m fine.”
From the corner of her eye, she could see Corbyn lean back against the counter. He was studying her, his silent observation slightly unnerving as she tried to regain her composure.
“You don’t seem fine.”
His comment stopped her hand as she stirred her tea with a spoon. The directness of the observation was new. A week ago, he wouldn’t have noticed, or if he had, he wouldn’t have said anything. Looking over, she saw his stance was less rigid, his lefthand, usually tucked away in a pocket or clenched in a fist, was relaxed at his side. He was watching her with a curious, worried focus rather than annoyance.
“My ex emailed me,” she replied, the words tumbling out before she could reconsider. “It’s… thrown me a bit, I suppose.”
Corbyn’s eyes narrowed, but his expression was carefully neutral as he asked, “Bad news?”
“No, that’s just it,” Sadie told him, trying to put her jumbled thoughts into words. “It’s sickeningly pleasant. He’s taken a teaching position, which is something I suggested years ago. He’s being thoughtful about my old journals.” She shook her head. “I’ve been down this road with him before; it’s just…”
“You’re not sure whether to believe him,” he finished for her, and she shifted under the weight of his stare.
“I know better,” Sadie said firmly, taking a sip of tea. “Logically, I know exactly what he’s doing. But there’s this tiny voice that wonders if maybe this time…”
“If he’s actually changed,” Corbyn supplied, and she looked up to meet his gaze, surprised by his perception.
“It’s stupid.”
“It’s human,” Corbyn corrected, his voice gentler than she’d ever heard it. “Hope is persistent, even when we know better.”
The understanding in his tone loosened something in Sadie’s chest. Without thinking, she pulled out her phone and opened up the email. “Here,” she said, holding it out to him. “You understand human nature better than anyone I know; it’s what makes your characters so real. Tell me what you see.”
Corbyn hesitated, his expression suggesting he recognized the significance of her request. Finally, he accepted the phone, scanning the message quickly. His jaw ticked as he read, the only outward sign of anything that might be running through his head.
“He’s positioning himself as the reformed character,” Corbyn said, returning the phone. “Taking credit for changes you suggested, implying he’s stable now. And the part about your journals…”
He hesitated, almost as if he was unsure if he should continue, and she urged, “What about them?”
“It’s a hook,” Corbyn said bluntly. “Something he knows you’ll want, something to keep you responding. And it’s a reminder of your shared history, ‘look at all we’ve been through together.’” His voice had hardened, and Sadie noticed his left hand had once more curled into a fist at his side.
“Well, I’m not planning on responding,” Sadie said, tucking the phone back into her pocket. “Not yet, anyway. Maybe not at all.”
“Good,” Corbyn said, his tone sharp enough to make Sadie’s eyebrows lift. He cleared his throat, modulating his tone when he spoke once more. “That is… You seem more focused when he’s not intruding.” The words came haltingly as if he were unused to expressing concern.
“I am,” Sadie admitted, a slight smirk on her lips. “Which is surprising, given I’m spending my days with a notoriously curmudgeonly author.”
The teasing comment broke the tension. She noticed a hint of a smile on Corbyn’s face before he retorted, “Careful, Reed. I might start thinking you actually enjoy our battles.”
“Now, let’s not get carried away,” she countered, relishing the moment of banter. “Shall we get started? I have thoughts on that scene transition in chapter fifteen you mentioned yesterday.”
Riley trailed after them as they made their way to the study, and for the next two hours, they fell into their familiar working rhythm. They smoothed out the scene transition, fixed a character inconsistency, and tightened a bit of dialogue. Working with Corbyn when he was receptive to feedbackwas surprisingly satisfying. He still pushed back when he felt strongly about something, but the defensiveness that had been present in their early sessions was gone, allowing for a more collaborative approach.
“You have a remarkable eye for structure,” Corbyn said unexpectedly as they solved a particularly thorny timeline issue.
