Chapter 14 Quentin
FOURTEEN
QUENTIN
Quentin knew two things for certain. One: Sadie Murphy tasted like strawberries. And two: he was royally, undeniably fucked.
He’d convinced himself it would fix things. One kiss to reset the system. Prove their on-set chemistry was just lighting, angles, and Otto yelling in a vaguely European accent.
Instead, the kiss had only confirmed that Sadie Murphy was now permanently installed in his system, no uninstall option available. She was under his skin. In his head. And no amount of logic was helping.
Now he was seated in her makeup chair, staring at his own reflection, trying very hard to look like a man who had not had his entire emotional ecosystem restructured by one woman’s mouth.
“Stop squinting,” Sadie murmured, dabbing at his cheekbone with a sponge. “You’re going to mess up the concealer.”
“I’m not squinting.”
“You’re doing something,” she muttered. “Your whole face is tense.”
“My face is expressive,” he said calmly. “It’s part of my job.”
She hummed, unconvinced. “If you keep that up, the concealer is going to crease and then I’ll have to start over, and then I’ll resent you.”
He immediately relaxed. Survival instincts were strong.
Across the room, Avery caught his eye and lifted one eyebrow in a silent You okay or should I call someone?
He ignored her. Clung to the armrests like they might stabilize the spiral he was free-falling into.
Sadie was completely unbothered, moving around like their kiss wasn’t still echoing in her head. She brushed on powder and chatted with Avery, all calm and functional, while Quentin sat there quietly coming apart at the seams.
“I still can’t believe Otto brought loose chicken to set,” Sadie said, swirling bronzer with a brush.
“Loose?” Avery asked.
“In a Ziploc,” Sadie clarified. “Like a treat. For himself.”
“Oh, that man definitely has a podcast no one should listen to.”
Sadie laughed. And Quentin felt it in his soul. He wanted to bottle that laugh. Wear it like cologne. Maybe baptize himself in it.
Avery’s phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen and made a face. “Ugh. I gotta take this. Don’t burn the place down while I’m gone.”
As soon as the trailer door clicked shut behind her, the room seemed to contract.
“I kissed you,” he blurted, too loud, too abrupt. He was a man jumping off a cliff and hoping for wings.
Sadie’s hand froze mid-sweep across his forehead. She didn’t look at him.
“I’m aware,” she said, in the calm, clinical tone of someone discussing a weather report.
“So… we’re just pretending it didn’t happen?”
She finally looked at him with a blank face but there was murder in her eyes. “What exactly do you want here? A debrief. A commemorative coin.”
“I mean. A thank-you card wouldn’t kill you,” he muttered. “One of those fancy ones with gold foil. Maybe a small candle.”
That got him a look. “You want a participation trophy for making bad decisions?”
“I want to do it again,” he said, more serious than he had any right to be. “Like now would be great. Preferably with tongue.”
Sadie stared at him. Then a quiet, exasperated laugh as she reached for the setting spray. “You’re a glutton for punishment.”
“I’d let you ruin my life recreationally,” he said, with the solemn desperation of a man who meant it. “Honestly. I’ve got free evenings and no dignity.”
She aimed the bottle at his face like it was mace. “Close your eyes, lover boy.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He did. It didn’t help. His whole body was wired tight, senses flooded. He could hear her breath. Smell the faint trace of strawberry. Feel the phantom weight of her lips on his. He tried not to flinch when she misted him like a houseplant she was only half-invested in keeping alive.
“Sadie,” he said, eyes fluttering open just as she clicked the cap shut, “I’m sorry I don’t remember the first time we met. I want to fix it. Just tell me how. Groveling isn’t beneath me.”
She looked up at him. Her eyes lingered, unreadable, something quiet simmering beneath the surface.
Then the trailer door burst open.
“I have returned from a conversation that made no sense,” Avery announced, stepping inside. “What’s going on? Why do you look like you just proposed and got rejected in three languages?”
Sadie, perfectly composed, grabbed a towel. “He’s done.”
Yeah, he was. Done for. Royally. Irrevocably. Fucked.
By the time he was walking back from set, he was exhausted. Mentally, emotionally, and spiritually drained from the prison that was his own damn mind. Not even the crisp night air, wrapped in a blanket of twinkling stars, could cure the existential funk weighing him down.
And, of course, they had run late on set.
So now, he was trudging back to his cabin in complete darkness, surrounded by the eerie abyss of the woods.
The thing about this particular trail was that there were no lights.
Just blackness on either side, stretching out like the opening scene of a slasher movie—where everyone at home yells at the screen because the guy is obviously about to die. At this rate, that guy was him.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, and there, glowing against the void, was the name Sadie.
His heart stuttered. Why was she calling him? Maybe she was being held hostage. Maybe she’d fallen. Maybe this was the moment she finally admitted she’d been thinking about him too.
He hit the answer button, concerned for her well-being and definitely not because he was desperate to hear her voice even though he had heard it that morning.
“What’s wrong? Miss me?” he teased, voice smooth as he held the phone to his ear.
“You wish,” she shot back without missing a beat. “It’s just…” A pause. He could hear her breathing.
“What is it?” His tone shifted before he could stop it. “Are you okay?”
“I was hoping you could talk to me until I get back to the cabin,” she muttered. “I tried Eden and Ronan, but they didn’t answer.”
“Wow. So I’m third-string? Behind the married couple who fall asleep at 9 PM?"
“I’m walking in the dark back to the cabin and… I’m scared of bears,” she whispered, the last word barely audible like saying it too loudly might manifest one out of thin air.
He stopped walking, grin spreading slow and stupid across his face.
Of all the people she could have called after Eden and Ronan, her mom, Devi, even a park ranger with a can of bear spray, she had picked him. She’d called him.
“That’s reasonable,” he said, smiling to himself. “Bears are very confident strangers.”
She snorted. And just like that, he was done for all over again.
She ran hot and cold. Kissing him one minute, acting like he didn’t exist the next, then calling him up like they were perfectly normal people who hadn’t crossed several emotional boundaries and maybe stomped on a few more for good measure.
One second she was softening, letting him glimpse something real, and the next she was back behind walls he couldn’t climb, no matter how charming or patient he tried to be.
So he took what she gave, the jokes, the late-night calls, the kisses that felt like accidents, like she didn’t mean to want him but did anyway.
“You know saying bear out loud doesn’t summon one, right?” he murmured. “This isn’t Beetlejuice. We don’t have to whisper it three times.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not taking any chances,” she whispered, dead serious. “That’s how horror movies start. Someone mocks the danger and then boom. Mauled.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “Fine. We can talk.”
Silence.
“…So go ahead,” he prompted, barely holding back a grin.
“I don’t know what to say!” she snapped. “You try being witty while imagining your obituary includes the phrase snacked on by wildlife.”
“Oh no, tragic. ‘Woman found half-eaten, but with incredible cheekbones,’” he said solemnly. “I’ll give the eulogy.”
“Wow. Thanks for the support.”
“Hey, I’m staying on the phone, aren’t I?” he said. “You can talk about anything. Childhood trauma. Favorite snacks. That time today when you nearly took out an entire lighting rig because you got tangled in a cable like a malfunctioning marionette—”
“I knew you were going to bring that up,” she groaned.
“How could I not? You flew through the air like someone hit the rewind button on evolution.”
“Do you ever shut up?”
“Not when someone’s actively fueling my material.”
She exhaled slowly. “You are the worst.”
“Yet still your chosen bear-guard. So. What’s your favorite movie? And don’t say The Revenant just to mess with me.”
She hesitated. “…Jaws.”
He went silent for a few beats.“You’re hiding from imaginary bears, but your comfort film is about a giant sea monster with a taste for limbs?”
“I’m complex.” she said sweetly. “Also, the ocean has rules. Trees are chaos.”
He laughed, shaking his head even though she couldn’t see it. “You are a deeply confusing woman, Sadie Murphy.”
“And you,” she said coolly, “are not exactly an authority on normal.”
“Touché.”
“You know what movie I hate?” she went on. “The entire Mr. America franchise. Especially the lead. Total egomaniac.”
Quentin’s laugh shot out before he could stop it. “Ugh, the worst. Can’t believe people pay money to watch that guy punch aliens and smolder at the camera.”
“Well, to be fair…” she trailed off.
He stared at the path. “To be fair, what?”
“I’ve never actually seen any of them.”
He stopped walking. “You’re joking. Not even in a humble-brag way but seven million people saw it opening weekend.”
“Nope,” she said, chipper. “Not one. Not even by accident. I avoid them the way people avoid spoilers and gluten.”
“You—” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “So let me get this straight. You’ve never seen any of the Mr. America movies, and yet you’ve decided to publicly roast the star—me, thank you—based entirely on secondhand evidence and promotional posters?”
“I’m very vibe-driven,” she said pleasantly. “And yours scream ‘punches things for fun and has a mirror above his bed.’”
“I’m being slandered by vibes.”
“Powerful, obnoxious ones,” she agreed. “But I’m sure you’re very talented at, you know, grunting and slow-walking away from explosions.”
Quentin groaned. “One day, one day, you’re gonna eat those words.”
“Unlikely,” she replied smugly. “Because I’m never watching them.”
He snorted and reached the end of the trail, the cabins coming into view. He slowed when he passed 5C, the porch light glowing.
“…Are you home?” he asked.
“No,” she said quickly, almost too quickly.
He glanced at the very much on light. “Interesting. Because your cabin appears to be lying.”
A pause. Then a sigh, long and dramatic. “Okay, fine. I got back a few minutes ago.”
He smiled. “Unbelievable. The Sadie I know would’ve fought a bear with a spatula before continuing this call from inside.”
“This Sadie was briefly disabled by fear,” she snapped. “Do not get smug.”
“Too late. This is a core memory now.”
“Erase it.”
“Never.”
“Goodbye, Quentin.”
“You hang up first,” he said immediately.
“You are insufferable.”
“No, you hang up.”
“Oh my God,” she groaned. “Are you five years old?”
“Maturity-wise? Yes.”
She snorted. “That’s the first thing you’ve said that I actually agree with.”
He grinned, heart weirdly full. “Goodnight, Sadie.”
“Night, Quentin,” she said softly.
He lingered for a beat after the call ended, staring at her window like a dork. He grinned like an idiot the whole walk home.