This moment felt precious, and she wasn’t going to ruin it by overanalyzing it to death. They could figure out the details in the coming days, but tonight, she wasn’t going to pretend she didn’t want to fall asleep in his embrace.
“This is perfect.”
That was the last thing she said before drifting off to sleep, wrapped up in Corbyn’s arms and, for the first time, completely and unquestionably at peace.
March 22, 2025
-Sadie-
Returning to the Roaring Stag felt like a homecoming. Sadie sat beside Corbyn at their corner table, their fingers entwined on the bench. He’d steered her to the banquette that ran along the wall, settling in close enough that their knees occasionally brushed, sending a spark through her.
In the last week, the flame that had been simmering between them had started to burn brightly, and she had been left breathless on more than one occasion when their work had ceased for a stolen kiss. All of it had led up to this—whatever this night would become.
Part of her still couldn’t believe he had suggested having dinner at the pub. During their morning walk with Riley, he had glanced over at her while they were stopped by the lake, and something in his expression had softened just before he spoke.
“Have dinner with me,” he’d said, voice low.
Sadie’s brow furrowed in confusion and she replied, “I have dinner with you every night.”
Since coming to stay at the manor, she had become a regular at the dinner table in the evenings. His answering smirk had her raising an eyebrow, her confusion only growing.
“I meant have dinner out, Reed. I’m asking you on a date.”
“Well, well, look what we have here,” Maggie’s familiar voice cut through her reverie as she approached with menus tucked under her arm, wearing a cat-who-got-the-cream smile. “Corbyn Pearce, out for dinner and with the lovely Sadie Reed, no less.”
“Good evening, Maggie,” Sadie managed, hyperaware of how Corbyn had tensed slightly beside her at being the center of attention. A flush rose at the knowing gleam in Maggie’s eyes.
“Evening, love,” Maggie replied warmly, then turned to Corbyn with her hands on her hips. “About time you brought this one out for an actual date instead of hiding away with your manuscripts and brooding.” She gestured around the pub, adding, “Half the village has been wondering when you’d work up the nerve.”
“Maggie,” Corbyn warned, but there was no real edge to it, more like fond exasperation, similar to the tone he took with Edie when she refused to mind her own business.
“Oh, don’t you ‘Maggie’ me,” she laughed, placing menus in front of them. “This is exactly where you belong, the pair of you. Now, what can I bring you to drink?”
Sadie felt her face burning as Maggie fussed around them, adjusting the single daffodil in its small vase as if trying to ensure that not even a petal was out of place. Glancing around, the entire pub seemed to be watching with interest, as if they’d all been waiting for this.
Once they had their wine and ordered their dinners, the other patrons at the pub seemed to settle back into their own discussions. They fell into their usual easy conversation, but there was something charged humming beneath the surface. Every accidental brush of their fingers, every shared laugh, everymoment their eyes met and held just a beat too long, Sadie’s body buzzed with anticipation. Something inside her reached for him, hungry and new.
“It feels like the entire village is here tonight,” Corbyn said, nodding toward the bar where Mr. Davies was holding court. “I haven’t seen Mr. Davies in years.”
“I met him when I stumbled upon his farm by mistake,” she recalled. “According to Edie, he’s the one you go to for the latest village news.”
“That’s his reputation, though he’ll deny it,” Corbyn told her with a genuine laugh that turned her smirk into a grin. “When I was about twelve, I ordered something rather embarrassing from a catalog. I can’t even remember what now… probably some terrible fantasy novel I was too mortified to buy in person. For weeks afterward, Davies would give me these knowing looks whenever he saw me in the village.”
“No,” Sadie gasped, delighted to glimpse this softer side of him.
“Oh yes. And then one day, he pulls me aside and says, very seriously, ‘Nothing wrong with a bit of escapism, lad. Though you might try Tolkien, classier than whatever rubbish you’re reading.’” Corbyn shook his head at the memory. “Turned out he’d been a fantasy reader himself. Used to slip me books on the sly after that.”
Right on cue, Mr. Davies appeared beside their table, his stealthy approach causing Sadie to stifle a chuckle as she suddenly realized how he had learned so much of the village’s gossip.
“Pearce,” he said gruffly, studying Corbyn with sharp eyes. “Good to see you out and about.”
“Davies,” Corbyn acknowledged with a nod.
The older man’s gaze shifted to Sadie, and he continued, “Heard you’ve been working miracles up at the house.”
“I don’t know about miracles,” Sadie said, charmed despite his bluntness.
“Nonsense,” Mr. Davies declared. “Haven’t seen this one venture into the village in years. Must be doing something right.” He fixed Corbyn with a stern look before turning his gaze back to her. “Is he treating you well? None of that brooding nonsense?”
