Chapter 35
THIRTY-FIVE
SADIE
Sadie stirred, blinking against the light, only to realize she was completely tangled in Quentin. His arm slung over her waist, one leg hooked over hers like he was afraid she might attempt a midnight escape.
Still naked from the night before, she lay there for a moment, caught in the warmth of his body, the slow rise and fall of his chest, the steady rhythm of his breathing.
It was dangerously easy to pretend the world didn’t exist. That there wasn’t a set waiting, faces to be made up, schedules to keep.
Unfortunately, reality was persistent and had call times.
With a reluctant sigh, she began the slow, strategic art of untangling herself from him. The moment she shifted, his arm tightened.
“Don’t,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.
“I wasn’t planning on it,” she whispered, freezing. “This is just… repositioning.”
His leg hooked tighter. She stifled a laugh. After several minutes of tactical maneuvering, she finally managed to slide free. Quentin immediately rolled onto his stomach, face buried in the pillow.
“Five more minutes,” he muttered, already halfway back to sleep.
By the time she was dressed and ready, Quentin had surfaced from his sleep coma, rubbing his eyes and shooting her a lazy grin that made her heart nearly stop beating. His hair was a mess, and somehow, he looked entirely too good for someone who had just woken up.
He was holding a crumpled receipt in his hand, studying it with far too much interest.
“What?” she asked, pouncing onto the bed and making it bounce beneath them. “Are you charging me for my stay? Is there a minibar I missed?”
Quentin smirked but didn’t answer, keeping the receipt just out of reach, his fingers lazily twirling it between his thumb and forefinger. She huffed, scooting closer, her knee bumping against his thigh.
“Let’s see,” she pressed, scooting closer. “What’s the breakdown? Per eye roll? Per sarcastic comment? Is there a surcharge for stealing your pillows?”
She caught sight of his messy handwriting scrawled across the blank side of the receipt.
Sadie frowned. “Wait… what is this?”
He yawned, stretching like a cat while still holding the receipt hostage. “Oh. Just something I wrote while you were single-handedly reenacting Broadway in my bathroom.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Give.”
Quentin laughed, finally letting her snatch it away.
It was a poem. A horrendous, romantic, weirdly heartfelt poem. The kind that made you cringe and melt at the same time.
Sadie stared at it for a long moment before slowly turning to him. He was already watching her, lips curved in a hopeful, teasing half-smile, eyes warm and bright like he was bracing for either praise or complete destruction.
“What a mind,” she said solemnly. “The artistic courage. The bold commitment to the word yearn. Truly inspired.”
“I wanted to capture the full depth of my suffering,” he said gravely.
“Oh, you captured something, alright.” She shook her head, biting her lip as she skimmed another line. “Voice like a symphony of kazoos?”
“I stand by that line.”
She laughed, the sound spilling out of her before she could stop it, and then—because her heart felt too full and because Quentin was right there, looking at her like she was something worth writing terrible poetry about—she grabbed his face and kissed him.
It was messy and spontaneous and a little breathless, the kind of kiss that happened when emotion outran logic. Quentin made a surprised noise before immediately pulling her closer, his grin breaking against her mouth as he kissed her back like he’d been waiting for it.
They finally broke apart, breathless and laughing, foreheads brushing.
“The trifecta of the perfect date is complete: breakfast in bed, flowers, and bad poetry. What’s next?” Sadie asked, still breathless.
“Obviously, we get married. Duh.”
Before she could unleash a sarcastic comeback, a sharp knock interrupted them.
“It’s time!” Carmen’s voice rang out, smug enough to cut glass. “Quit swapping spit and come say goodbye like actual humans.”
Sadie groaned and flopped against Quentin’s shoulder. “Your family has the worst timing in recorded history.”
“They have a sixth sense for romance,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, “and a deep commitment to ruining it.”
Outside, the farewell parade was already in full swing. His mom had packed them breakfast for the road, shoving a foil-wrapped bundle into Sadie’s hands with a knowing smile. Everything was labeled, portioned, and stacked like she thought they’d immediately starve without adult supervision.
Carmen launched the first hug with the enthusiasm of someone trying to pop a rib. Quentin let out a wheeze that was half affection, half cry for help.
Meanwhile, Abuelita stood off to the side, arms crossed, squinting at them like she was calculating how many flat tires it would take to keep them from leaving.
Carmen pulled Sadie in, her grip firm, a smirk playing on her lips. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you soon, Tom,” she said, her sharp eyes twinkling with mischief.
“You hiring me as a ranch hand?” she joked, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear.
“Please,” Carmen snorted. “I need some feminine energy out there. It’s a sea of testosterone and tragic beards.”
Sadie burst out laughing. “Fair enough,” she said, shaking her head.
Carmen grinned but then leveled her with a more serious look. “But seriously. I could see it. You out here. And, well… I’m sure Quentin will bring you back if you want. He seems invested.”
Sadie’s smirk faltered. A flicker of something nervous crossed her face, but she quickly masked it.
“Not to scare you,” Carmen added, too casually, “but he doesn’t ever get invested.”
And just like that, Carmen casually lobbed a grenade of existential panic into Sadie’s morning.
As she climbed into the car, Carmen’s words echoed in her mind, a thought she didn’t particularly want to unpack before coffee. Quentin threw the car into drive, the ranch slowly shrinking in the rearview mirror.
She stared out the window, lost in thought, until she felt Quentin’s hand find hers on the console. He didn’t say anything, just brushed his thumb over her knuckles in a slow, absentminded motion.
And that was the problem, wasn’t it? It wasn’t just the teasing banter or the magnetic pull of their chemistry. Because yes, there were fireworks when she kissed him. Bright, consuming, impossible-to-ignore fireworks.
It was the small things. The quiet, ordinary moments that sank into her skin like seeds taking root.
The way he curled around her in sleep, arm draped over her waist like he couldn’t bear the distance, not even in dreams. The way his fingers found the small of her back without thinking, like her shape had been etched into his muscle memory.
The way his voice softened when he said her name.
Even the scent of his truck wrapped itself around her and pulled low in her stomach.
It was the slow drip. The steady build. The quiet accumulation of tenderness. How deep had she gotten?
“What’s wrong? You’re quiet,” Quentin asked, his voice low. That annoyingly perceptive gaze of his slid over to her, all steady warmth and quiet knowing.
Sadie forced a brittle laugh. “Just realized I never got the grand tour of your tractor collection.”
Quentin’s mouth tugged into a wry smile. “Sadie translation: This is a lot, and I’m overwhelmed? Did I get that right?”
Of course, he nailed it. She didn’t even bother to confirm, just grunted and sank her teeth into her breakfast burrito like it could shield her from the truth.
Quentin chuckled under his breath. “Thought so.”
His hand stayed wrapped around hers, thumb moving in slow circles against her skin. It was reassuring and highly problematic, because she wasn’t in the mood to feel reassured. She was in the mood to ignore how fast her heart was beating or how much space he’d already claimed without asking.
“I thought you weren’t the ‘serious talk over breakfast’ type,” she mumbled, eyes still on the windshield.
“I’m not,” he said, voice lighter. “But you’ve got that look like you’re two seconds away from bolting. And I figured if I pretend I don’t notice, you’ll do it.”
Sadie clenched her jaw. She should have known better. He didn’t just see her, he read her. Page after page, like he already knew the ending and still wanted to sit with it anyway.
“I know relationships aren’t really your thing,” he said. “Or… feelings.”
“I don’t avoid dating because I’m scared,” she said eventually. “It’s just… easier not to start something I already know I’ll have to leave. No one asking you to stay when every part of you is wired to go.”
When she finally turned to him, something in her chest bracing for the disappointment, confusion, maybe that soft-edged pity people thought they hid well. Quentin met her gaze head-on and he wasn’t looking at her like she was broken.
“I don’t want to be tied down,” she said, quieter now. “Not when I’d always be wondering if they were waiting or… already moving on.”
He didn’t respond right away. Just stared at her like he was considering physically reaching over and shaking that thought right out of her head.
“Your ex is a fucking idiot,” he muttered, voice low and sharp. “Cheating on you? That’s not just cruel. That’s delusional.”
Sadie paused at the sudden heat in his tone. There was protectiveness in his voice, slipping in without warning, like he couldn’t help it.
Then, as quickly as it came, the tension in his face softened. “But I get it. I get why it shook you. Why you stopped trying.”
“But,” he added, voice gentler now, “what if you met someone different? Someone you actually trusted? Someone who could hop on a plane without blinking, wherever you were in the world, just because they wanted to see you?”