Chapter 29 Sadie #2
She shook her head, prepared with a perfectly timed eye roll, but it faltered when he leaned in just a fraction. Close enough to feel his warmth. Close enough to be distracting.
“I didn’t grab the allergy meds to play the hero,” he said softly. “I got them because I knew you’d never ask. And because I didn’t want you suffering when I could fix it.”
Her throat tightened, which was extremely inconvenient and definitely not allergy-related. She stared at the fire, at the ground, at literally anything that wasn’t his face.
“You’re lucky I’m too tired to hit you with something heavy,” she said, softer now, like the threat itself had run out of energy.
His smile shifted, losing its edge, turning gentler in a way that made her chest ache.
“I’ll take my chances,” he said quietly. His eyes locked on hers, molten and intent, like he saw all the way through her.
Carmen’s voice sliced through their bubble like a bucket of ice water. “Did Q ever tell you about the goose incident?”
“Carmen. No,” he said, with the weary resignation of a man who had lost this battle many times before.
Sadie perked up. “There’s a goose incident?”
And just like that, the mood shifted. Apparently, Quentin had once been chased into a pond by a homicidal goose when he was a teenager.
Not a dramatic exaggeration. A real, feathered criminal with dead eyes and an apparent grudge.
According to Carmen, the goose had come at him “with intent,” wings out, honking like it had drafted a manifesto.
Quentin tried to deny it, but the details kept getting worse. He’d slipped. He’d screamed. He’d sacrificed his dignity to the pond gods while the goose stood at the edge, victorious, honking like it had won a land war.
From there, the stories spiraled. Runaway calves with a taste for chaos. A goat that treated the roof like a parkour course and refused to be shamed. A tractor mishap that ended with Carmen waist-deep in mud, shrieking like the earth itself had opened up and decided she was the offering.
Sadie didn’t stand a chance. The teasing was ruthless and contagious, the kind that pulled you in until you were laughing, fully absorbed, unofficially adopted into the family.
But even with everyone talking over each other, her attention kept drifting back to Quentin. He never fought for the spotlight, but it seemed to orbit him anyway. A perfectly timed one-liner. A self-deprecating shrug. The kind of warmth that made people feel included instead of entertained.
A few times, she caught him looking at her. And instead of glancing away, he held her gaze just a second too long. It was like he knew exactly where her attention kept landing or maybe his had been there first.
Eventually, the fire burned lower, the group started to drift away. Pete and Jose went back to their bedrooms. Carmen stood, stretching and yawning. “I’m going to check on Rocco,” she said with a smile, giving Sadie a wink before heading inside.
Sadie shifted in her chair and became acutely aware that the noise level had dropped to just crackling fire and her own heartbeat. Somehow, it was just her and Quentin now.
He was quiet now, his usual smirk replaced by something more thoughtful. He stared into the flames, the shifting light casting sharp shadows across his face.
“So… your family is really nice,” she said, glancing sideways at him. “Is there a reason you’ve been avoiding them?”
Quentin’s expression tightened. “Nothing they did.”
Sadie hesitated, knowing she was toeing a line. Still, she couldn’t help herself. “Well, they miss you,” she said gently. “Maybe it’s something you can talk to them about?”
He didn’t answer right away. His jaw tensed, and for a moment, it looked like he was wrestling with something he couldn’t quite say. “Yeah. I think I will,” he said quietly.
They sat in silence for a moment, the kind that wasn’t uncomfortable. Quentin turned to her, that familiar grin sliding back into place.
“So,” he said, so casually she almost missed it, “should we go on a date or what?”
Her stomach performed a violent somersault. She opened her mouth, closed it, then just stared at him, brain buffering somewhere between shock and the heat racing up her neck. Of all the things she’d expected him to say, that was absolutely not on the list. Had he completely lost his mind?
“What?” she asked, her voice coming out somewhere between a scoff and a hiccup.
“Date. You. Me.” Quentin clarified, as if she was the one being slow here.
“I don’t date.” The words tumbled out fast. “Neither do you. I never saw a—”
She stopped abruptly. The realization hit her right as the heat burned her neck and face.
“You googled me.” His voice was low and teasing, the kind of smug that made her want to throw something at him.
“No.” It was immediate and deeply unconvincing.
Quentin’s grin stretched wider. “Oh, you so did.”
She shot him a death glare but it was hard to sell outrage when she’d gone forty threads deep into a fan forum called Ramos Nation.
It had started with an innocent search about Blood on the Prairie.
Purely professional. But then came the clickbait.
Then the rabbit hole. And before she knew it, she was deep in an internet vortex—tabloids, interviews, fan forums with names like QuentinStan420, and a Wikipedia page so thoroughly updated it probably had a live feed from his sock drawer.
The “Personal Life” section read like a graveyard of red carpet arm candy and cryptic Instagram captions. No long-term commitments. No tragic heartbreak.
“Whatever,” she muttered. “The point is, I don’t do relationships. And from the looks of your Wikipedia, neither do you.”
Quentin leaned back in his chair, watching her with that maddeningly unreadable expression. “So?”
She narrowed her eyes. “So, I’m not interested in becoming the next tabloid headline, thank you very much.”
He snorted. “Relax, Sadie, I’m not asking for your hand in marriage. Just a date. No strings, no headlines, just you and me.”
Sadie exhaled, her brain still scrambling to process what was happening. Her usual approach was simple, deflect, dodge, move on. It was her holy trinity. Except Quentin wasn’t giving her an exit. He just sat there, steady and maddeningly sincere, like he actually meant it.
He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Okay,” he said, his voice softer now. “We don’t have to call it anything. Let’s just… spend time together. See what happens. If it feels right, we’ll figure out the rest.”
Sadie stared at him, her heart hammering way too hard for her liking. Spending time together. That was harmless, right? No big deal. Just two people existing in the same space. Totally not the gateway drug to emotional attachment. She sighed but then nodded. He smiled.
“But just so you know,” he said, that grin of his spreading, “I intend to court you.”
“Court me?” she repeated, nearly choking. “What are you, a duke in a Regency romance? Should I expect handwritten sonnets and a bouquet delivered by a nervous footman?”
“Obviously,” he said solemnly. “There will be brooding. Lingering stares out rain-streaked windows. Possibly a duel at dawn.”
She snorted. “That sounds exhausting.”
“For love, Sadie,” he said, pressing a hand dramatically to his chest. “One must suffer.”
“Quentin,” she sighed, shaking her head, but the corners of her mouth betrayed her amusement.
“Just let me try,” he said, the humor still in his voice, but there was something else beneath it, something annoyingly sincere. “I’ll bring you flowers, make you breakfast in bed, write you bad poetry—”
“Wait, bad poetry?”
“Oh, the worst. Full of tortured metaphors and unnecessary use of the word ‘yearn.’”
“You’re making this sound less appealing by the second.” She groaned, crossing her arms, trying to steel herself against the stupid, fluttery feeling in her chest.
“Come on,” he coaxed, leaning in just a little. “Since you don’t actively despise me anymore—”
“Strongly debatable,” she muttered.
“—let’s just see where this goes.” He smiled like he’d just checkmated her in a game she didn’t remember agreeing to play.
“I’m serious, Roja,” he added, all charm and zero shame. “I’m not giving up that easily.”
Her stomach did that little flip again, that maddening flutter she was starting to resent.
Those ridiculous nicknames he gave her were melting her brain cells, turning her into some soft, gooey version of herself.
He wasn’t supposed to be this persistent.
Or charming. Or, God help her, sincere. It would’ve been easier if he were arrogant.
But no, he had to be funny, with that damn dimple and those eyes that saw too much.
“Fine,” she breathed out, the word barely hers.
His eyes darkened, heat flashing through them like a fuse catching fire. He knew exactly what that word had led to last night, how she had gasped it with her nails biting into his skin, how after she had come apart with his mouth buried between her thighs.
She was thinking about it too, her pulse stuttering as heat coiled low and tight inside her. Maybe she shouldn’t have said it, but maybe she wanted him to make her say it again, only louder this time, until there was no mistaking what she wanted.
“Okay,” she said instead, the word slipping out in a breathless whisper before she could second-guess herself. Quentin’s smile widened.
“Okay,” he echoed softly.