“That’s literally all you do,” Corbyn said dryly.
Ellie studied him through the screen, her expression turning thoughtful before she wondered aloud, “You seem different. Less… prickly.”
“I’m exactly the same level of prickly,” he countered, which earned a genuine laugh. The last thing he needed was Ellie getting any sort of ideas regarding Sadie. She would undoubtedly scheme with Edie, and he would never have a moment’s peace.
“If you say so,” she laughed and then paused, her expression turning sly. “So… what’s she like? She must be a bloody miracle worker.”
Something in her tone made Corbyn tense; she was clearly fishing for information. Leaning back in his chair, he crossed his arms over his chest, one eyebrow raising slightly as they regarded each other through their phone screens.
“She’s observant and annoyingly thorough,” he answered carefully.
“Just observant and thorough?” Ellie pressed, her eyes sparkling with mischief, and he knew he wasn’t going to get out of this with short one- or two-word answers.
Corbyn sighed, “She’s… perceptive. Doesn’t let me get away with lazy writing. Challenges the work without trying to remake it in her image. She’s good at her job.”
“I see,” Ellie said, her tone suggesting that despite the careful answer, she was already making plans he wouldn’t like. “And have you learned anything about her beyond her editorial skills? Where’s she from? What does she like? Whether she has a cat or a goldfish?”
“Why would I care about any of that?” Corbyn scoffed, though he immediately thought of all the little things he’d noticed. Her preference for tea with honey rather than sugar, how she always had a book in her bag, and the fact that she had trusted him enough to open up about her ex. The memory of her quiet voicedescribing the torn journal pages stirred a protective anger he hadn’t felt in years.
“Just curious if you’ve actually had a personal conversation,” Ellie pressed. “You know, like normal humans do.”
“She mentioned her mother had a hand injury,” he said before he could stop himself. “Similar to mine. She used to help with physical therapy.”
“Ah,” Ellie said, her eyebrows rising with interest. “So you have talked about things beyond commas and character arcs.” She leaned closer to the screen, not trying to hide her smile. “What else do you know about her? Is she married? Single? Originally from Mars? I need details, Corbie.”
“Don’t call me…” he began, but he cut himself off with a shake of his head. “Why do you care?”
“Because I haven’t heard you talk about anyone like this in… well, ever,” Ellie teased. “Not even Claire.”
The mention of his ex-fiancée’s name sent a familiar twinge through him, but it lacked the sharp sting it once carried. Claire was ancient history, and he had long ago accepted the fact that he was unlikely to find someone willing to look past the scars the car accident left behind.
“It’s not like that,” he insisted firmly.
He saw Ellie feign innocence, something she had always been good at, and she gasped, “I’m just curious about the woman who’s accomplished what an army of editors, doctors, and one particularly stubborn sister couldn’t. Getting you to try something new.”
Corbyn ran a hand through his hair, grumbling, “She’s American. Developmental editor. Early thirties. Temporary assignment. End of story.”
“Mmhmm,” Ellie hummed again. “And you’ve been working together for how long?”
“About a month.”
“A month,” Ellie repeated thoughtfully. “And in that time, she’s got you using a tablet, making progress on the book, and…” she paused, studying his face, “something else has changed. I can see it.”
“Nothing has changed,” Corbyn insisted, though the words felt hollow even to his ears.
“You know,” Ellie murmured, her voice gentling, “it’s been four years, Corbie. Four years of shutting yourself away in that house, pushing everyone away except Riley, Edie, and Paul. You don’t even take my calls half the time.”
The words landed exactly as she had intended, and Corbyn looked away from the screen. She wasn’t wrong; he had shut everyone out. It had been easier than dealing with the pity.
“I’d like to meet her,” Ellie said after a moment. “Bring her to London sometime.”
“She’s not here to socialize,” Corbyn protested, his eyes snapping back to Ellie’s on his phone. “She’s here to fix the book. Plus, you know how I feel about going into the city.”
“And yet, you’re using a tablet,” Ellie pointed out. “Miracles do happen.” She glanced at something off-screen. “I’ve got to go, I’m working the night shift. But think about it, okay?”
“You’re a menace,” Corbyn muttered.
Ellie grinned as she responded, “That’s why you love me.” Her expression softened, and she added, “I’m glad things are getting better, Corbie, and not just with the book.”
