Chapter 11 Sadie
ELEVEN
SADIE
That was… not a normal night sound. Sadie froze, mid-step, every muscle locking as she listened. Another rustle followed. Closer this time. It sounded like something large and extremely unconcerned with personal boundaries was shuffling around outside.
Slowly—because horror movies had taught her nothing—she crept to the window and peeked out. Two massive brown eyes stared back at her. Not human eyes. Bear eyes.
"Oh my," she whispered, her breath catching in her throat.
Panic surged, and in a perfectly rational human response, she screamed.
The bear, however, was not a fan of the sudden high-pitched noise.
It let out a deep, agitated growl and began thrashing against the window, its claws scratching at the screen.
"Oh hell no!" Sadie bolted, her mind racing as fast as her feet. She tore through the cabin, not bothering to grab shoes. All she knew was that she wasn’t going to be stuck inside waiting for the bear to smash through the window and make her its next meal.
She burst through the front door, the cold ground biting at her bare feet as she ran, adrenaline propelling her forward. Was this smart? Absolutely not. But, like Devi said, she was a makeup artist, not a mathematician.
She ran, heart pounding, her feet pounding against the ground as she caught sight of cabin 5A. Shit, was she really going to his cabin? But at that moment, it seemed like the only option. Devi’s cabin was halfway to another zip code, and Sadie was not about to reenact The Revenant in pajama shorts.
She dashed up the steps and knocked furiously on the door, her breath coming in quick gasps as she glanced nervously over her shoulder, searching for any sign of the bear. The rustling outside only fueled her anxiety, making her knock even harder.
The door swung open, and Quentin’s voice boomed, startling her so much that she let out another scream. “What the hell—”
“GET INSIDE!” Sadie screamed, shoving both hands into his chest and physically bulldozing him backward.
She slammed the door behind her with a force that sent the walls vibrating, and then she pressed her back against it, chest heaving, heart thudding in her ears like thunder. Her breath was shallow and quick, her body buzzing from the adrenaline.
“What the hell happened? Who did this to you?” Quentin’s voice cracked with panic as he rushed toward her.
His face had gone ghost-white, eyes scanning her like he was bracing for the worst. His hands cupped her face, gentle but shaking, like he wasn’t sure if touching her would make it worse or fix everything.
“Bear,” Sadie panted, breathless. His gaze darted across her features, desperate and wild.
“A bear?” he nearly shouted, eyes wide with disbelief. “Are you serious? Where? When? Jesus, Sadie—”
She froze, momentarily stunned by the depth of his panic. And then she remembered the fake wound on her face.
Her fingers flew to the side of her face, brushing over the fake gash she'd been perfecting earlier.
“Oh,” she said, letting out a breathy, hysterical laugh. “No, no, that’s fake. I was testing SFX stuff when the bear tried to break into my cabin.”
His hands stilled. His expression morphed, panic giving way to confusion, then relief, then something warmer. He let out a shaky breath, pulling back just enough to glance at his fingers, now stained red.
“You scared the hell out of me,” he murmured, half-laughing, half-exhaling. “Thank God, I thought—”
“Thank God?” she cut in, still breathless. “I almost became a forest statistic, Quentin. This is not a ‘thank God’ situation. This is a ‘pour me something top-shelf and find me a therapist’ situation.”
“What kind of bear was it?” he asked, oddly calm now, his fingertips still resting lightly on her jaw.
“Black fur. Big. Teeth for days,” she muttered, shivering, though she wasn’t sure if it was from the memory or the way his thumb was absently stroking her skin.
“If you see a black bear, don’t panic. Don’t run. Make yourself big,” Quentin recited solemnly, like he was narrating a very serious wilderness documentary.
Sadie blinked at him. “Did you just quote a park ranger at me?”
“Only the greatest hits,” he said. Then his voice dipped into something low and teasing. “But honestly, black bears aren’t that dangerous. They’re scared of everything. He probably took one look at your face and ran screaming.”
Sadie snorted, but the sound caught halfway when he smiled. That damn smile.
The kind that didn’t just sit on his mouth but spread everywhere, softening his eyes, rearranging the atmosphere, possibly altering weather patterns. The air between them stretched tight. Every nerve in her body felt tuned to the space between their mouths.
She suddenly remembered kissing him. The taste of cinnamon gum. The press of his mouth, soft and sure and devastating.
He was still holding her like he hadn't forgotten that kiss either. Like part of him was ready to finish what they'd started. Her skin prickled under his touch, every breath shallow. His thumbs moved in slow, lazy circles across her cheeks like he couldn’t help himself.
So, because she was an absolute coward, she stepped back. Gently peeled his hands from her face, her fingers clumsy.
But his touch stayed with her anyway like the ghost of a sunburn she hadn’t noticed until it was too late. Her breath caught, chest rising too fast, heat rushing to places she couldn’t control.
“Sorry,” she muttered, trying to sound normal even as her voice wobbled. “I just barged in like a maniac. Full panic mode. Arms flailing, brain fried. I basically went full Muppet.”
“So,” he said slowly, watching her like she was a very interesting math problem, “you’ve been avoiding me like I’m cursed. But the second you’re terrified, you end up here.”
She crossed her arms, pulse still hammering.
“It’s not that deep. You’re two cabins away.
I panicked. Proximity won." She started rambling, trying to cover the way her pulse was still racing." It’s not like I wandered the forest barefoot, whispering your name into the mist like some tragic ghost bride.”
He huffed a laugh, but didn’t look away. “Sure. Totally random. Cabin roulette.”
“I’m serious,” she said, though her voice shook. “It’s not like I had a list of safe, emotionally neutral options.”
“And yet,” he said, eyes locked on hers, “you didn’t go to anyone else.”
She hated how steady he sounded. How much truth was packed into something so soft.
“It’s not like I trust you,” she snapped, too quickly. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
His mouth twitched, something like a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. No. That’d be crazy, right? You trusting me.”
Something in his eyes made her stomach twist like maybe he wasn’t entirely joking, like maybe she’d actually managed to hurt his feelings.
She opened her mouth to say something but the words got stuck. She felt awkward. She seemed to have forgotten how to be a normal human being and now she was just standing there in a pit of poorly timed feelings.
“Glad we’re on the same page,” she sniffed, trying to shake off the tension, but it clung to the air between them. Quentin just raised an eyebrow.
“Go sit down,” he said, shaking his head, voice rough but warm. “I’ll make you some food.” Why was he being so nice? She’d been dodging him like he was a venereal disease, and now he was offering to cook for her?
“You cook?”
He smirked. “I can toast things with intention.”
“Wow,” she said. “I feel safer already.”
Sadie sat on the couch mostly because the alternative was wandering outside and offering herself up to the local bear population.
As she sank into the cushions, guilt pricked at her.
This version of Quentin did not match the asshole she remembered from years ago.
That guy had been smug and dismissive and vaguely allergic to people without IMDb pages.
But now he seemed nice? It made her wonder if she had misjudged him all this time.
She doubted it. He probably just had a really good PR team that taught him how to interact with the commoners.
She sat there exactly thirty seconds before the guilt became unbearable and the stove burner made a clicking sound that somehow felt passive-aggressive.
So she got up and there he was. Cooking like a functioning adult. Not microwaving soup or burning toast. Actually cooking.
She leaned in closer, watching, and the scent hit her hard—garlic, onion, something heavenly. Her stomach growled loudly.
“What is that?” she asked suspiciously.
“Food,” he said.
She gave him a look. “Okay, Chef.”
He didn’t look at her, just stirred the pan. “You flail into my cabin like it’s a horror movie and now you’re questioning my menu?”
“Obviously,” she said, watching the way his hands moved. “It’s called maintaining boundaries. Don’t ruin it by being competent.”
He finally glanced over at her, and the corner of his mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile. “You’re welcome to go back outside and bond with the bear.”
She paused. “...What kind of food?”
“Patatas bravas. My Abuelita’s recipe,” he said, adding a red sauce to the pan.
The rich scent of tomatoes, spices, and something else she couldn’t quite place filled the air.
Sadie raised her eyebrows, impressed by the fact he was cooking something so elaborate. “It’s fried potatoes in a spicy sauce.”
“Wow,” she said, genuinely taken aback. “My grandparents were from Ireland, but the food... let's just say there aren’t many recipes I’d make by heart.” She hesitated for a moment before adding, “Mostly boiled stuff.”
“Not to out myself, but it's basically the only thing I know how to cook,” he admitted with a self-deprecating laugh. “But I like making it. It reminds me of home.”
“Well, it smells delicious,” she said, glancing at him. “Can I help?”
“Yeah, can you grab the paprika from the cabinet?” he asked, pointing toward a small wooden cabinet near the stove.