Riley, oblivious to the tension, stood with a resounding yawn before crossing to sit near the coffee table, eyes darting between the pasties and the two humans in the room. Corbyn cleared histhroat and made his way over to the coffee table, thankful for the distraction.
“And everyone says I’m the impossible one,” he sighed, though there was fondness in his voice.
“She means well,” Sadie replied, turning to reach for one of the teacups. Neither of them seemed to be willing to address what had nearly happened directly, but for once, they weren’t pretending like it was nothing. “I’m getting used to her particular brand of… interference.”
“She has had years of practice,” Corbyn muttered, absently breaking off a piece of pasty for Riley, who accepted it and flopped to the floor once more. “Should put a bell on her apron so we can hear her coming.”
Sadie chuckled softly, adding, “Nothing gets past her.” She took a sip of her tea, and he glanced over, surprised to find her looking back at him. He had expected her to shy away as she had on the other occasions they had gotten caught up in the moment. “At least the pasties are still warm.”
Corbyn cleared his throat. Part of him was eager to move on to safer ground, his shoulders starting to ache as he realized they had once again crept up toward his ears. He forced himself to relax, to not focus too much on the disappointment he was trying very hard to ignore.
“Right, shall we?” he asked, gesturing toward the tablet sitting on his desk. “You mentioned last night you had thoughts about chapter twenty?”
“Yes,” Sadie said, and he saw the way her shoulders relaxed as well now that they were back to discussing the book. “There’s a pacing issue in the interrogation scene that I think we can fix.”
Work. That was safe territory. They could navigate it without the dangerous undercurrents that seemed to pull at them whenever they strayed too close to something personal. He felt his chest clench when he reminded himself he needed to becareful. Sadie was here temporarily, and she would return to New York once the book was finished. Not to mention, what could someone like her possibly see in someone like him? Scarred, damaged, difficult. The laptop sat in its box on the corner of his desk, a reminder that he’d already crossed lines he shouldn’t have.
But as Sadie began to speak about character motivation and scene structure, her voice steady once more, Corbyn couldn’t quite silence the part of him that had felt her breath catch when he’d touched her face, nor could he forget how she hadn’t shied away from his scars. Behind all the walls he had erected around his heart, there was a tiny glimmer of hope that he couldn’t quite snuff out.
March 4, 2025
-Sadie-
The door of The Roaring Stag creaked open, and a rush of warm air chased away the chill as Sadie stepped inside. The pub hummed with the usual early evening conversations, the locals having their pints as a fire crackled in the stone hearth. Over the last several weeks, many of them had gone from glancing at her warily to giving her a friendly smile and wave as she passed.
She spotted Maggie behind the polished oak counter, phone pressed to her ear, her expression tense. The usual warmth in her eyes was gone, replaced by an unease that settled low in Sadie’s stomach. She motioned for Sadie to come over to the bar.
“She just arrived,” she said into the receiver, and Sadie felt a pit in her stomach.
“Thank goodness you’re here,” Maggie said, covering the mouthpiece briefly. “Just give me one moment, love.” Turning back to her conversation, she continued, “Yes, she’s here now. I’ll handle it… No, I think it’s better if… Alright, but give me a few minutes first.”
Sadie approached the bar, setting the laptop box down. Shrugging out of her coat, she could feel an ache forming between her shoulder blades. Maggie’s tone had set her on edge.
Maggie ended the call and immediately moved toward her, her voice strained. “I’ve been trying to reach you all afternoon.”
“Sorry.” A wave of guilt washed over her, and her shoulders dropped as she set her coat on a bar stool. “I had my phone turned off. I kept getting calls from a number I didn’t recognize. What’s going on?”
Maggie’s lips pressed into a thin line, arms crossed over her chest. “I think I know who your mystery caller is. Some bloke’s been asking for you, says he’s your fiancé. He’s been hanging about since teatime.”
The words hit Sadie like ice water. “My fiancé?” she whispered, her knees threatening to give way. Her hands felt clammy, and her eyes darted around the room, trying to find the one man who would claim such a thing.
“Dark hair, hazel eyes, glasses? Kept ordering shots of whiskey and getting tetchy when I wouldn’t tell him when you’ll be back.” Maggie shook her head as she spoke. “He seemed charming enough, but I can always tell when they’re trying too hard.”
“Where is he now?”
“Said he was going for a walk, but that was twenty minutes ago. Could be back any moment.” Maggie leaned closer, lowering her voice, adding, “I don’t like the feel of this, Sadie.”
Before Sadie could respond, the pub door opened again. The chill of the wind had her shivering, and the next sound she heard over the murmurs of the other patrons made her draw in a sharp breath.
“Sades?”
She knew that voice. It had whispered both sweet nothings and cruel barbs in her ear for years.
“Nate… what are you doing here?” she asked, turning to face the man she had hoped to never see again.
Nate stood just inside the doorway, his hazel eyes holding a softness she recognized from the times his behavior had been so atrocious that he couldn’t possibly shift the blame. The way his shoulders curved forward, hands shoved in the pockets of his charcoal pea coat. The coat had been left open to reveal the green sweater she’d given him two Christmases ago. Soft cashmere she’d saved for months to afford, all while making sure the bills got paid.
“I just want to talk,” he said, crossing to her, his voice taking on an intimate tone, one hand reaching up to cup her cheek. “To make things right between us.”
