As Corbyn explained his narrative solution, Sadie was drawn into the creative discussion. There was an ease to their back and forth now that she had truly come to enjoy. It was refreshing to feel like he spoke to her as an equal, rather than an adversary.
They continued walking as Riley darted ahead to investigate something in the underbrush. The sound of the ground crunching under his paws grew softer as he wandered away from them.
“Sisters have this way of seeing through you,” Corbyn remarked as they walked. “In fiction and in reality. My sister Ellie could always tell when I was hiding something, even as a child.”
“Brothers, too,” Sadie commented with a fond smile, seizing the opening. “What’s your sister like?”
Corbyn’s expression lightened with genuine affection, and he said, “Ellie’s a force of nature. Brilliant doctor, terrible patient. Never stops moving, talking, pushing.” He shook his head, but his tone was fond. “She’d like you.”
“Oh? Why’s that?”
“You’re both bloody stubborn,” he replied with a hint of humor. “And neither of you takes any of my nonsense.”
“High praise indeed,” Sadie laughed.
“She’s been asking to meet you,” Corbyn continued, his tone deceptively calm, but the clenching of his left hand suggested otherwise. “Quite insistent about it, actually.”
“Oh? Why the interest?”
“Apparently, anyone who can get me to leave the estate and use modern technology warrants investigation,” he said dryly.
“I bet she has more stories about you than Edie,” Sadie laughed, watching his lips twitch as he tried to not appear amused.
“That’s what concerns me,” he replied, though his eyes held a spark that caused her heart to pound in her chest. “She wants me to bring you to London for dinner, perhaps.” He kept his gaze fixed ahead as if the invitation were nothing significant and added, “After the manuscript deadline, of course.”
The invitation hung between them, casual on the surface but laden with implications. This wasn’t work-related but personal and a huge step across the carefully maintained line they’d drawn between them. It also meant he would have to leave the safety of the manor and Great Missenden to travel to London.
“I’d like that,” Sadie said softly as they stopped once more along the pond, surprising herself with how much she meant it. She bit her lip, the mention of London taking her back fifteen years, and before she could talk herself out of it, she continued, “I haven’t really visited London since I was a teenager.” She observed his face as she continued, “I was seventeen, and on a school trip during winter break.” She paused deliberately, waiting for any sort of recognition, and when there was none, she added, “We spent New Year’s Eve there.”
Something flickered in Corbyn’s expression – so brief she might have imagined it if she hadn’t been watching for it.
“New Year’s Eve,” he repeated, his voice suddenly rougher. He cleared his throat. “When was this?”
A strange tension coiled between them, and she felt her stomach clench with nervous energy when she answered, “2009.” She tilted her head slightly, studying him. “Why do you ask?”
Corbyn had gone very still, his eyes searching her face in a way that made her breath catch. For a moment, just for a heartbeat, she thought she saw recognition there, confirmation of her own half-formed suspicions.
“Nothing,” he said finally, though everything in his manner suggested it was something. “The city changes quickly, that’s all.”
But his eyes lingered on hers a moment too long, and Sadie felt sure there was more that he wasn’t saying. Riley came bounding back before Sadie could press him, a stick clutched triumphantly in his jaws.
Sadie took the soggy stick, scratching Riley’s ears before hurling it toward a distant tree. The Irish wolfhound took off like a shot, his tan form a blur against the frost-covered ground.
“Show-off,” Corbyn muttered with a smirk. “He never runs that fast for me.”
“Clearly, I’m the favorite,” Sadie replied with a grin. “Can’t blame him for having good taste.”
They started walking once more, Riley returning with the stick several times, his enthusiasm never waning. They’d nearly circled the pond when a gust of wind cut through the trees. Sadie shivered, her coat doing little to combat the chill.
“Cold?” Corbyn asked, his brow furrowing with concern.
“A little,” she admitted, blushing slightly as she realized she had brought this upon herself. “And my hair’s still damp.”
Corbyn shook his head, a mixture of exasperation and amusement. One corner of his mouth tugged into a smirk, and he reached into his pocket. He produced a soft gray knitted hat, his hand catching her elbow to stop her in her tracks. Even through the layers of clothing, that awareness she felt whenever he touched her was still there.
“Here,” he grumbled good-naturedly. “You Americans have no sense of self-preservation.”
Before Sadie could protest, he pulled the beanie over her head, his fingers carefully arranging it to cover her ears with surprising dexterity. The gesture was unexpectedly tender, and she found herself studying his face, taking in the way his expression softened as his fingers brushed against her skin.
