Chapter 39 Sadie
THIRTY-NINE
SADIE
Devi was halfway through recounting her latest date when she lost it, laughing so hard she could barely get the words out. “I told him it wasn’t lip gloss,” she wheezed. “It was drool.”
Sadie pinched the bridge of her nose. “I hate everything about this already.”
“It turns out,” Devi continued, tears in her eyes, “that lip plumper and fried chicken is a highly volatile combination.”
“A rookie mistake,” Sadie said solemnly. “Grease and menthol have never been allies. History has shown us this.”
“He didn’t know,” Devi shot back, still wheezing. “He thought I was having some kind of medical emergency. I had to reassure him I wasn’t about to keel over at the dinner table.”
“Wow. Nothing screams second date material like foaming at the mouth over drumsticks.”
Devi snorted. “Which is why I’m sticking to my tried-and-true method of looking naturally gorgeous. Zero effort, maximum results.”
Sadie stared at her. “You have eyelash extensions, a gua sha routine that takes longer than my skincare, and I personally witnessed you contour your collarbones last week.”
Devi waved a dismissive hand. “Semantics.”
Sadie grinned into her coffee. Quentin had made it for her this morning, just like he had every morning that week.
Breakfast, coffee, half an orange waiting on her makeup station.
Daily emotional sabotage delivered with alarming consistency.
Somehow, he’d infiltrated her carefully constructed emotional fortress using nothing but kindness, persistence, and café-quality espresso.
It was deeply unfair but deeply effective.
Her defenses were in shambles. Her heart was compromised.
She was one hundred percent sure she’d fold for this man if he ever learned latte art.
“Anyway,” Devi continued, leaning forward like she was about to reveal some deep, dark secret. “The real tragedy of the fried chicken and lip gloss debacle wasn’t just the drool situation.”
Sadie raised a brow. “There’s more?”
“Oh yes,” Devi said gravely. “It was the fact that I had to choose between wiping my mouth or finishing the last piece of chicken. And you know I don’t leave a soldier behind.”
Sadie nearly choked on her coffee, laughing. “I respect the commitment.”
“As you should.” Devi sighed, then fixed her with a knowing look. “But enough about my tragic heroics. Let’s talk about the fact that you’re glowing and not in a new highlighter way.”
Devi wasn’t wrong. And it had everything to do with a ruggedly handsome lead actor who, at this point in the movie, was a full-blown, decaying zombie.
Did that stop her? Absolutely not. Every morning, she did his makeup, transforming him into a grotesque, undead nightmare.
And every morning, she told herself, Today, I will not kiss the zombie.
Then she’d spend the next twenty minutes smudging fake blood across his jaw and wondering if it was technically weird to be this attracted to a man with a foam eyeball and rubber maggots glued to his face.
Apparently, it wasn’t. Because when Avery wasn’t hovering, Sadie was stealing moments, tiny, scandalous, toe-tingling moments. A touch. A whisper. A kiss.
Three secret kisses in the past week.
She’d kissed him when his cheek had been half-melted off. She’d kissed him when his lips were painted with sickly blue veins. She’d kissed him when he had literal maggots sculpted into his jawline.
At this point, it was less a crush and more a full-blown descent into madness. She was a total goner. And if that wasn’t obvious before, it definitely was now, considering she was kissing him in broad daylight like workplace HR didn’t exist. She knew she was playing with fire. She just didn’t care.
Because when he looked at her like she was the only one that mattered, when he handed her a coffee, light and sweet, even though she always pretended to like it black, with that quiet, knowing smile, all she could think was, Go on then. Let me burn.
Quentin strolled past, moving to take his mark. In one smooth motion, he sipped his coffee and tossed her a wink so smooth it should’ve come with a slow-motion effect and a soundtrack.
Sadie took cover behind her to-go cup, pretending to sip while mentally screaming.
Devi’s gaze ping-ponged between Sadie’s coffee and Quentin like she was connecting the world’s most obvious dots. Slowly, her expression morphed into delighted suspicion.
“Do you have something to tell me?” she hissed, eyes gleaming.
Sadie took another sip, buying time. “Mini pickles are objectively superior to full-sized pickles?”
Devi squinted. “Correct. But not the answer I want. Are you seeing Quentin?”
Sadie nearly choked on her coffee, heat creeping up her neck. “How the hell—”
“You have the same coffee cups, dopey,” Devi snapped, crossing her arms like a tiny, fashionable detective.
“Dead giveaway. If you're gonna sneak around, at least switch up the branding. Also, you two have been suspiciously non-murdery the last few weeks. Suspiciously smiley, even. And now—oh my God.” Devi paused, her eyes wide like the realization just hit her.
“How long has this been going on? Right under my nose? Under my roof?! My little girl!"
"Relax, Mom. It’s not serious. More like... clandestinely appreciating," she said, waving a dismissive hand. But even as she said it, the words felt flimsy, like a cheap disguise for something deeper.
This thing between them wasn’t a fling anymore.
It wasn’t casual. It had teeth and heat and a heartbeat of its own, pulsing under every look, every brush of skin, every half-smile they traded when no one was watching.
It had already outgrown its box, cracked the lid, and was now thundering toward something she wasn’t sure she was ready to name.
Devi smirked, practically bouncing. “Girl. He made you coffee and winked at you like you share a mortgage and a goldendoodle. You’re an item, babe.”
“We’ll wrap soon, go our separate ways, and then awkwardly reunite at some friend gathering where we pretend we haven’t seen each other naked.
” The words tasted bitter, and with each syllable, her frown got deeper.
It sounded miserable because it was miserable.
But she was already bracing for it, the inevitable separation.
Devi let out a dramatic sigh. “There is no way to pretend you haven’t seen that specimen naked. That’s a permanent memory. Burned into your cortex. Decades from now, you’ll be on your deathbed, and boom…flashback to that.”
Sadie hummed in agreement. Devi was right. Quentin was built like some cruel experiment in perfection, and that mouth of his was filthy and skilled in equal measure. Hell, his cock could probably solve a Rubik’s Cube in five minutes flat, and she wouldn’t even question it.
And yet, somehow, that wasn’t even the best part of him.
No, the most striking thing about Quentin wasn’t his body or his face, though both were undeniably a work of art.
It was the way he gave himself. His generosity, his loyalty, and his heart.
His soul was more beautiful than his outside ever could be.
Sadie pushed the thought aside. Because the more she thought about him like that, the more she felt herself slipping. And slipping meant she was about to fall.
Quentin showed up at her cabin that night, same as always.
It was the knock she’d come to expect and the way he slipped inside without hesitation, like he belonged there.
In a way, he did now. Nights bled into mornings and then back again, until time felt less like hours on a clock and more like something measured in the warmth of him beside her.
It was a kind of routine that settled under her skin, that made her feel too much, too fast. If felt like she was borrowing a happiness she couldn’t possibly afford to keep.
“Devi knows about us,” Sadie huffed, stretching out on the couch and resting her feet in Quentin’s lap. He didn’t seem fazed, his fingers lazily tracing circles into her skin as they watched Creature from the Black Lagoon on her ancient, slightly staticky TV.
Quentin didn’t even blink. Just kept his eyes on the black-and-white chaos playing out on the screen. “Of course she does. That woman could uncover state secrets using nothing but a group chat and a latte.”
She popped a piece of popcorn into her mouth, chewed then scowled. “Ugh. I’m stressed. I need something sweet. Like, chocolate-level sweet. Emergency-grade.”
Sadie rolled off the couch, padding to the pantry. “I thought I was being subtle, though,” she called, rummaging past expired cans and at least three open chip bags.
“You wore my hoodie to breakfast,” he called. “That’s not subtle. That’s skywriting.”
“It’s beige! Beige is fashion camouflage!”
Her phone dinged from the coffee table.
“That’s probably her,” Sadie groaned, half-swallowed by the pantry. “She’s probably sending me something judgmental in meme form.”
She shoved aside a half-eaten bag of chips, looking for the M&M’s she knew she had hidden. “Can you check the message?” she called over her shoulder, her head still buried in the cabinet.
She shoved aside a stale box of graham crackers and found the bag of M&M’s, wedged under a six-pack of ramen.
“Was it Devi?” she asked as she walked back toward the couch, tearing open the bag of M&M’s.
Quentin wasn’t watching the movie anymore. He wasn’t even moving. He just stared down at her phone, face carved into something unreadable.
She dropped onto the couch beside him and shoved a rainbow fistful of chocolate into her mouth. “Oh my god. Did my shampoo get delayed again? Because my hair is going full scarecrow and the water here is basically liquid limestone.”
She leaned over his shoulder, expecting to see a tracking update or maybe even a sassy text from Devi. Instead, there was a notification from her dating app staring back at her. Her stomach plunged like she’d just been shoved off a cliff.