Chapter 29 Sadie
TWENTY-NINE
SADIE
“I mean it, Sadie,” he said, crouching beside the couch and tucking her in like he was prepping her for a long winter. “You are not moving until you’ve had an actual nap. Like REM-cycle, drool-on-the-pillow level nap.”
“Bossy,” she muttered as he shoved yet another throw pillow behind her back.
“Efficient,” he countered. “You're one bruise away from starring in a safety PSA. Let me have this.”
Sadie huffed for dramatic effect, even though, if she was being honest, the whole situation was dangerously close to heavenly. The couch was sinfully comfortable. The blankets were ridiculously soft. And everything, including the hoodie she was now wearing, smelled like Quentin.
Every time she shifted, she was hit with another wave of it. Like being seduced by a flannel-scented campfire.
“I swear to God, if this was your evil plan to lull me into Stockholm Syndrome using soft blankets and nice-smelling laundry,” she murmured, already sinking into the cushions, “it’s working.”
“Excellent,” he said solemnly. “Phase one complete.”
She rolled her eyes, but they were already drifting closed. Somewhere between glaring at him and burrowing deeper into her Quentin-scented nest, she fell asleep.
She woke to something wet and slobbery slapping against her hand.
With a strangled yelp, she shot upright, heart racing, limbs flailing like a broken inflatable outside a used car dealership. Her eyes flew open and landed on a pair of enormous, soulful brown eyes blinking innocently back at her.
“Rocco,” she groaned, flopping against the cushions. “Ever heard of personal space?”
The dog responded by shoving his entire, oversized head straight into her lap. She scratched behind his ears, and he melted like butter in a frying pan, letting out a blissful sigh.
Sadie had always wanted a dog growing up, but her dad was allergic, so the dream died young.
And now between freelance gigs, location shoots, and an attention span that broke into hives at the thought of annual vet visits, a dog still wasn’t in the cards.
Dogs meant responsibility. Like leases over six months, relationships with emotional depth, or skincare routines with more than three steps. Firm no’s across the board.
She stretched with a groan so dramatic Rocco gave her a side-eye and trotted off. She untangled herself from the blanket, pushed herself upright, and rubbed sleep from her eyes.
She glanced down at the coffee table and froze. Lined up like an overachieving pharmacy display were multiple allergy meds. All sealed. All different brands.
Her chest did an annoying little flutter she absolutely had not approved.
This stupidly thoughtful, maddeningly observant man was doing things to her heart she had not budgeted for.
She swallowed, the lump in her throat having nothing to do with pollen, popped a pill, and muttered to the empty room, “I am not catching feelings over antihistamines. That’s where I draw the line. ”
She shuffled toward the front door, drawn to the wide pane of glass.
The plains stretched for miles, bathed in honeyed light that clung to the tall grass like it didn’t want to let go.
The mountains stood behind it all, so perfect they almost didn’t seem real.
The sky melted into deeper shades of blue, and the first stars blinked to life.
She’d never been much of a nature girl. But right now, she sort of got it. The beauty of it was almost overwhelming. The kind that made your chest ache and your eyes burn a little.
A flicker of orange caught her eye. A fire pit glowed in the distance, surrounded by silhouettes and the faint sound of laughter. She pulled on a jacket, yanked on some boots, and headed towards it.
Carmen’s voice rang out, far too gleeful.
“Hey, look! It’s Tom!”
Sadie frowned. Tom? Who the hell was Tom? She glanced over her shoulder, half-expecting some random ranch hand to be creeping up behind her.
“Nope!” Carmen crowed, her grin downright wicked. “You’re Tom now. You know, Tom and Jerry? You vs. the shovel?” She wiggled her eyebrows. “You’re a legend.”
Sadie groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “Unbelievable.”
“Oh, completely believable,” Carmen shot back. “You got taken out by yard equipment, Sadie. You went down like a cartoon character. I was expecting little birds to start circling your head.”
The whole group burst into laughter, and despite herself, Sadie felt her own lips twitch.
She flopped into an empty chair by the fire, the flames curling warmth around her and chasing away the evening chill. The faces around her glowed in the flickering light. Carmen, sipping from a steaming mug; a rugged-looking guy Carmen introduced as Piggy Pete, and an older man named José.
But no Quentin. Not that she was desperate to see him or anything.
She stared at the fire, willing her heart to behave. This was why she didn’t do crushes. They always started out all fun and heart flutters, then spiraled into overthinking, longing glances, and eventual humiliation. No, thank you.
“What’s got you all broody over there?” Carmen asked, tilting her head. “Thinking about my brother, huh?”
Sadie flinched, her cheeks heating.
“What? No. Definitely not. That’s a weird assumption. Super weird. I was actually thinking about… taxes.”
Carmen let out a sharp laugh.
“Uh-huh,” Carmen drawled. “Well, if you were wondering where he is, Quentin doesn’t really hang out much anymore. He just shows up, works himself to the bone, then locks himself away like a Victorian widow waiting for her lost love to return from sea.”
Sadie snorted. “Does he at least wear the veil?”
“Only on Sundays,” Carmen deadpanned, stirring her drink.
But Carmen’s grin dimmed, her gaze drifting back to the fire. Something softer flickered there. Something sad.
Carmen blinked and shook it off, the humor sliding back into place, though it didn’t bite quite as sharp. “Guess he’s got his reasons,” she said quietly.
And the way she said it made Sadie think there were probably a lot of them.
The conversation drifted back to lighter topics.
José’s unshakable belief was that Bigfoot was just a reclusive rancher with amazing hair, Carmen’s firm stance was that she could take on a raccoon in a fistfight and win, and Piggy Pete’s theory was that ghosts exist solely to mess with people’s Wi-Fi.
But Sadie’s gaze lingered on the fire, her thoughts drifting back to Quentin. Why was he avoiding his family, this ranch? He seemed to love it here. And from everything she’d seen, he loved them too, fiercely.
Then, as if she had willed him into existence, he appeared. Stepping out from the shadows, his figure illuminated in the orange light of the flames. His silhouette was sharp against the night, and Sadie felt her pulse do a completely unnecessary gymnastics routine.
Carmen, without missing a beat, muttered, “And lo, from the flames he rises. The chosen one.”
Quentin raised an unimpressed eyebrow at Carmen, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. But his gaze shifted, landing on Sadie. The firelight danced in his eyes, making them appear darker. He gave her that same quiet look that always threw her off balance.
“Mind if I join?” he asked, his voice low and steady as he stared at her.
Sadie’s heart thudded. “It’s a free country,” she managed, her tone flippant, though her cheeks warmed under his gaze.
“Generous of you,” Quentin replied, pulling up a chair and settling beside her. The heat of the fire wasn’t the only warmth she was suddenly aware of. “It’s not like you’re on my ranch or anything, but sure.”
“Oh, is this your ranch? I haven't seen you all day. You were probably hiding in the guest house, protecting your cuticles.”
“Big talk for someone who doesn’t know one end of a shovel from the other.” He cocked an eyebrow at her, his smirk deepening.
She huffed, arms crossing. “Low blow. I’ll have you know that shovel had it out for me from the start.”
Quentin leaned back, the firelight painting gold across his cheekbones and jaw. “You sure you’re okay? No dizziness? Amnesia? Sudden compulsion to whisper all your darkest secrets to the devastatingly attractive man sitting next to you?”
She stared at the dancing flames, refusing to look directly at him. That way lay danger and a very real possibility of forgetting how to breathe.
Around the fire, Carmen was rambling about Bigfoot’s skincare and bovine regional dialects, but all Sadie could hear was Quentin’s voice. All heat and teasing, wrapped around her like smoke.
Sadie rolled her eyes, but her lips betrayed her with a slow, reluctant smile. “I’m good. No symptoms unless you count the overwhelming urge to tell you to stop talking.”
He grinned. “So we’re back to flirting through threats. Good to know you’re feeling like yourself.”
She looked at him for a beat, that familiar ache blooming quietly in her chest. “Hey… thank you. For the allergy meds.” Her voice dipped into something softer. “You didn’t have to do all that.”
His smile turned crooked, sheepish. “Yeah, well. I went into town this afternoon. Pharmacy didn’t open till noon, but I camped out like it was a Black Friday sale. Got the full allergy aisle. The clerk called me ‘sweetheart’ and tried to give me a coupon.”
“You drove into town? In this weather?”
He shrugged, like he hadn’t risked mild frostbite and a dented bumper. “Can’t have you out here gasping for air because a daffodil made eye contact with you. I like my Sadie upright and snarky, not puffy and wheezy.”
His Sadie. The words echoed in her chest like they’d been dropped down a well. It was stupid how fast her pulse jumped.
She opened her mouth, closed it, then settled on, “I’m just impressed you survived a pharmacy run without coming back with dinosaur-shaped vitamins.”
“They were sold out. Tragic, honestly.”