“I… I was scared,” he admitted, looking down at their joined hands. “I’m not that man anymore. But you’ve made me feel things that I haven’t felt in a very long time… you make me feel like maybe I’m not as broken as I thought.”
Sadie’s heart ached at the raw honesty in his voice. In the short amount of time they had known each other, he had come so far. Not only professionally by finding his voice once more, but in every aspect of his life. Reaching out with her free hand, she lifted his chin so he would look at her.
“You’re not broken,” she said firmly. “You’re the strongest person I know.”
“I don’t feel strong,” he admitted. “I feel terrified. We’ve both carried this memory for fifteen years, and I can’t live up to whatever version of me it is you’ve had in your mind all this time.”
“That man isn’t real. You are, and that is so much better than any fantasy I could have conjured up.”
From the way he clenched his jaw, she knew he was still struggling with the feelings of self-doubt that haunted him, especially in this apartment that was nothing but a window to the past. That familiar inner voice echoed his uncertainty.Fifteen years ago, she had been confident and fearless. Life and heartbreak had changed them both.
“I’m not some idealized version of that girl from your memories either,” Sadie told him, slowly pulling her hand away so she could stand. “I’ve spent so long believing I couldn’t trust my own feelings, couldn’t trust anyone else either. But with you…I trust you.”
She crossed to where she had left her bag, opening it and pulling out her leather journal. Taking a slow breath, she tried to calm her sudden nerves as she turned back to him. His brows were furrowed in confusion, and she could sense him tracking each movement as she opened it to a page she had previously marked.
“You know I haven’t written anything in years, and it’s been even longer since I showed my writing to anyone,” she told him, turning the journal and holding it out for him to take as she returned to her seat on the sofa. “Lately, though, I’ve been working on something that could possibly turn into a book…someday. I want you to read it.”
The way his eyes widened as he glanced down at the page and then back up at her told her he understood how important this moment was. He studied her face for a moment, and she gave him a small smile, trying to hide fear. Every anxious instinct screamed at her to snatch the journal back from his hands and hide it away again, but she refused to obey her own insecurities.
“Are you certain?” he asked, his voice rougher than usual.
She gave a small nod, and as he began to read, she mentally recited what was on the page. While the main character was fictional, the chapter he was reading told the story of the day they met. A young woman visiting a large city for the first time—alone, overwhelmed, and very aware of the blue-eyed stranger beside her. A young man with a literary background who changed her world with just a touch.
All Anna wanted was to get off the train. Sweat trickled down her back as more passengers squeezed into the already packed Northern Line train car in London’s Underground.
The Tube’s musty dampness clashed with the floral perfume wafting from a group of women nearby, ready for a night out. She clung to the cold metal pole for balance, the books in her Foyles shopping bag digging into her hip as the carriage jolted forward. Around her, she could hear her friends' chatter, their voices a low hum beneath the train’s rumble as they headed back to their hotel to celebrate New Year’s Eve.
“You wrote about us,” he breathed, his gaze meeting hers again.
“You were always meant to be a part of my story,” she replied, “both on and off the page.”
“There’s a lot of potential here,” he said after a moment, and she felt the knot in her stomach loosen. “It’s engaging, and the descriptions are vivid. Romance is far from my usual genre, but I think you’re off to a strong start.”
“Thank you, I appreciate that more than you know, but that’s not the reason I showed it to you,” she told him softly, taking the journal so she could set it on the coffee table. “I showed it to you because I want you to know how much I trust you. The real you. The man who showed up when I needed him…the one who makes me feel safe.”
“You matter to me,” Corbyn said quietly. “Even then, when I was still trying to convince myself you were just my editor. I couldn’t bear the thought of you being hurt.”
“That’s exactly my point,” Sadie replied, her fingers reaching to trace the scars on his cheek with reverence. “This is just skin. But your heart, your soul—that’s what matters. That’s what I fell for, not the fantasy.”
His hand caught hers, and he turned and pressed a kiss to her palm. His eyes remained locked on her own, burning withan intensity she had never seen before. Her breath caught, the simple action sending a tingling sensation down her spine.
“When did you know you were falling for me?” Corbyn asked, his confidence in her, in what she felt for him, noticeably growing with each passing moment.
Sadie couldn’t help but smile, telling him, “Remember that day when Riley got out and we went looking for him together? You were so worried. And when we found him at the park playing with the children, the way your whole body relaxed…” She smiled at the memory. “I think that’s when I knew you weren’t just some difficult author. You were someone with a huge capacity for love who’d been hurt badly enough to hide it away.”
“And that made you fall for me?”
“That made me want to earn your trust,” Sadie corrected. “The falling came later, gradually, and now it’s impossible to pretend otherwise. Even if this complicates things.”
“Only if we let it,” he replied, a slight smirk forming on his lips. “You don’t have to make outlines and storyboards for real life, Reed.”
“I’ll have you know that storyboard I made for you for act three was a masterpiece,” she teased back, biting her lip, enjoying this more playful side of him.
Corbyn’s gaze dropped to her mouth, his thumb brushing her lip and freeing it from her teeth. That simple action had heat spreading through her body, and when he looked back up, she thought her heart might beat right out of her chest. He leaned forward and their lips met. The kiss was soft and hesitant. It was careful, exploratory, a question posed by lips against lips and answered by the way Sadie melted into him, her free hand coming up to fist in the fabric of his shirt.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing unsteadily, Corbyn took her hands in his own. Bringing them up to his lips, he brushed a kiss across her knuckles, a grin tugging at his lips.
“I should have brought you to London sooner,” he told her, his eyes twinkling with mischief, something she had never seen before.
