Page 38 of More than Fiction (Misty Springs #1)

Sophia

I sat in the soft glow of the morning light , the sun spilling warmth through the towering windows.

Corbin had fallen asleep with his arm draped over me, holding on like I was the last tether keeping him grounded.

When he showed up this morning, it was clear he had the weight of the world pressing down on him.

As we sat here together, he gave me piece after piece of him. Each confession felt like a revelation, another word added to the enigmatic story of who Corbin was.

Now, in the stillness of the morning—his steady breathing the only sound in this silent oasis—I was left with more questions than answers.

Where did this leave us?

Co-workers didn’t sound right. Corbin and I weren’t friends either—last night had obliterated any semblance of that boundary. And yet, we couldn’t be in a relationship. Something we both knew but neither had dared to discuss out loud yet.

I looked up at his sleeping face, peaceful in the release of the nightmares he had held inside to fight alone. The surface of the man who held me was a formidable presence—one that the world could see and knew to respect and admire.

But beneath all of it? Was someone even more astonishing, someone who captivated me more than I ever knew possible.

My phone vibrated against my leg. I had ignored its incessant buzzing until now, my mind far away from Misty Springs.

Cassie: Can we at least get a hint about where you even are? This is driving me crazy! And when will you be back? You’re on the schedule for Monday.

Trevor: Guys, it’s Landon, I’m telling you.

I quietly got up, careful not to disturb Corbin as he snoozed away on the couch. I felt a tug at my heart as I watched him.

A tug, I quickly reeled back in.

This couldn’t happen. We couldn’t happen.

There was no way any other publishing company would give me a chance without a degree or experience. This was my chance, my only chance.

And there was no way I would intertwine my life with his in hopes he would financially support me. It was a stupid mistake I already made once with Landon, and look where that got me.

I tiptoed to the kitchen and found a blank wall to stand in front of. I held up a middle finger and took a selfie.

I hit send.

Devyn: Oh that’s original, like you don’t have at least a dozen of those lewd selfies in your camera roll.

Sam: Yeah, I agree, not today Landon! Not today!

Lana: Cry laughing emoji

I giggled inside Corbin’s pristine kitchen, my voice echoing slightly in the huge space. My eyes scanned the bright white cabinets, the polished white marble countertops, and the glistening grey and white floors. Everything looked new, untouched. I wondered if Corbin had ever cooked a meal in here.

My phone vibrated again, and skin prickled when I saw Landon’s name flash across my screen.

Landon: Guess you’re too busy screwing your new boss to pick up your shit. We left it with the front desk at the hotel. Here is the location. Have a nice life .

My gut twisted.

Not because of guilt—but because a part of me worried about retaliation. If this relationship policy was as strict as Andi mentioned, would Landon somehow sabotage my chances at Buescher-Jones Publishing?

I wouldn’t put it past him—or his mother, especially after last night.

I checked the location on my phone—the hotel was only a couple of blocks away. Easily walkable.

I glanced down at what I was wearing. Definitely not street-ready. But then I remembered that some task-oriented driver had left new clothes for me downstairs.

I found a pen and notepad in a console drawer—the most organized junk drawer I’d ever seen—and wrote a note to Corbin in case he woke up. It occurred to me that I didn’t even have his phone number to text him and let him know I was leaving.

My clutch was sitting on the entry table where I’d dropped it last night. Above it, hanging on a hook, was a black hoodie of Corbin’s. I tugged it on over the tee and instantly felt less exposed.

I grabbed the wadded-up twenty-dollar bill I’d tucked into my clutch. Hopefully, it would be enough to grab a few things to eat while I was out—the food at last night’s gala seemed more about presentation than sustenance.

I shoved the bill into the hoodie’s front pocket, squared my shoulders, and headed for the door.

Watch out, New York—well, at least two blocks of you—here I come!