Chapter 42 Sadie
FORTY-TWO
SADIE
Sadie went to set like she always did, worked her magic with brushes and blending sponges, and then promptly became unnecessary. The crew was busy chasing scenic shots, which meant there was nothing for her to do except loiter like a very well-paid background extra.
So she did something wildly out of character. She went for a hike.
Past Sadie would’ve laughed herself off a cliff. Past Sadie thought “roughing it” meant a boutique hotel without room service. And yet here she was, lacing up the hiking boots Quentin had bought her after their last trail incident, which he had generously called “a learning experience.”
The trail behind the cabins curved toward a river that cut through the property. She had to admit it was beautiful. The air was crisp. Leaves whispered overhead. Small animals darted through the brush like she was merely a passing inconvenience.
She used to think hikers were unhinged. Waking up at sunrise. Paying real money for aggressively practical footwear. Walking uphill for fun. But now she found herself enjoying the solitude, the clean air, the way sunlight filtered through the trees in soft, golden patches.
This was how it started. First hiking boots. Then reusable water bottles. Next thing you knew, she’d be identifying birds by sound and saying “trailhead” without irony.
The path opened onto the river, water glinting in the light, steady and indifferent. It had probably been running like that for centuries, unbothered by film schedules, career decisions, or emotional spirals.
She stopped at the edge and folded her arms.
So much had shifted in the past few months. She’d learned to appreciate quiet. She’d made real friends—ones she didn’t want to casually phase out. And worst of all, she’d met someone who made her want to stay.
For years, she’d convinced herself she didn’t need attachment. Lose someone once and it carved out a space in your chest that never quite filled back in. The logical solution was simple: don’t anchor. Don’t invest. Don’t need.
Except now. She liked the boots. She liked the woods. She liked Montana. And she liked Quentin Ramos, which was objectively the most inconvenient development of all.
Because Quentin wasn’t just some guy. He was a capital-Q Quentin. America’s heartthrob. Magazine covers. Slow-motion talk show entrances. The kind of man who winked and probably caused minor infrastructure damage in nearby women.
Logically, this should’ve been simple. She didn’t have an apartment waiting for her. No job lined up either, unless you counted her still-pending proposal with Radiance Cosmetics. Los Angeles made sense. Her family was there. Her industry was there.
A few months ago, she would’ve found a sublet, unpacked halfway, and slipped back into what she did best—drifting.
But now she couldn’t imagine leaving. Leaving Montana. Leaving him.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out, expecting a spam alert about extended car warranties or a passive-aggressive reminder from the yoga app she’d downloaded during a brief wellness era.
Instead, it was Ronan. Which felt timely.
Her brother lived in the spotlight. He was a news correspondent, he was married to Eden—actual music royalty, complete with sold-out shows and the occasional internet conspiracy theory accusing her of being an industry plant. If anyone understood loving someone with a public life, it was him.
She stared at the river one more time, steady and relentless, then thumbed open the call before she could chicken out.
“Hey, Ro,” she greeted, trying to sound normal.
There was a thud on his end, followed by a muffled curse and what sounded suspiciously like a small avalanche of objects hitting the floor.
“Hold on,” Ronan muttered. “I think I just committed a crime against my bookshelf.”
Sadie frowned. “What?”
“I, uh… may have pulled on one book, and all the books came down.” A heavy sigh. “The top shelf was not prepared for my enthusiasm.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose. “So, you basically Jenga’d your entire library?”
“Tragic but accurate.”
“I don’t have time to process whatever mess you’re dealing with. I need your advice.”
“Oooh,” Ronan said, instantly intrigued. “Is this about Quentin?”
Her stomach flipped. “No—...Yes.”
“I knew it!” His delight was insufferable. “Go on, Sadie. Spill. Did you find out he sleeps in a hyperbaric chamber? Does he practice an Oscar speech in the mirror? Does he—”
“Ronan.”
“Fine, fine. What’s the problem?”
She sighed, shifting her phone to her other ear. “It’s about the fame thing. How do you deal with strangers thinking they know everything about your life? Having opinions about what you should do, who you should date, what brand of cereal you should buy?”
There was a beat of silence. “You’re not… actually worried about the cereal thing, right?”
“Ronan.”
“Alright, alright,” he said, though she could hear the grin in his voice. “Here’s the thing, you don’t deal with it. You just live your life, and people will talk no matter what. So you might as well make it interesting.”
Sadie chewed her lip. “And what if I can’t handle it?”
Ronan scoffed. “Sadie, you once made a grown man cry at Trader Joe’s because he tried to cut in line for the last pumpkin cheesecake sample.”
“That was different—”
“No, it wasn’t. You stood your ground. You gave an impassioned speech about justice and fairness in front of an audience of horrified suburban moms.”
She exhaled a laugh despite herself. “I was hungry.”
“My point is,” Ronan continued, “if you can fight for seasonal desserts, you can handle some basement-dwelling keyboard warriors.”
“This is different, Ronan.”
“I know.” His voice softened. “I know it is.”
She hesitated. “It’s just… he’s him, you know? And not in a bad way. He’s actually… he’s wonderful. He makes me feel like I’m the only person in the room, like I actually matter. But there’s this whole world around him that’s loud and intense and never shuts off. I’m not used to that.”
“You think Eden was born used to it?” Ronan asked gently. “You think I was?”
“You’re a reporter,” she said. “You live for chaos.”
He laughed. “Fair. But the thing about being with someone like Quentin is… yeah, it’s loud.
It’s complicated. But it’s not impossible.
It’s not all red carpets and flashing lights, Sadie.
It’s him eating cereal in sweatpants. It’s the two of you doing normal things, just with occasional camera lenses pointed your way.
The question is: does the noise outweigh the quiet parts you actually care about? ”
Sadie didn’t answer right away. Because when she thought about Quentin it wasn’t the award shows or the fan accounts that came to mind.
It was his laugh echoing off the walls of that tiny cabin.
It was the way he reached for her without thinking, like it was instinct.
It was the way his eyes lingered, like she was both the question he’d never stop asking and the answer he’d already found.
“He’s not just a fling,” she said quietly. “He’s… more.”
“I figured,” Ronan replied. “You’ve never called me to spiral over a guy. Ever.”
“It’s scary. I don’t want to lose myself in all of it. Or worse, end up not being enough for him.”
“Sadie.” His tone was suddenly razor sharp. “You are more than enough. And if you’re afraid of losing yourself, then don’t. Make space for you. The sarcasm. The bad jokes. The stubborn streak. Even those ridiculous Halloween makeup sketches you start in July.”
She smiled at that. “You remember those?”
“Of course. I still have nightmares about that glitter-blood zombie ballerina.”
There was a pause, long but not uncomfortable.
“I just don’t want to become… his story,” she murmured. “Like a side character in the Quentin Ramos Cinematic Universe.”
“You won’t,” Ronan said simply. “You are not supporting cast energy. You are aggressively main character.”
Her throat tightened.
“You don’t have to decide everything right now,” he added. “But if you love him, and I think you do, even if you’re not ready to say it out loud, don’t walk away just because it’s hard. Let it be hard. And then choose it anyway.”
Sadie was quiet, her fingers curling tighter around the phone. Let it be hard. Choose it anyway. It wasn’t a perfect answer. But maybe it didn’t need to be.
“Thanks, Ro.”
“Anytime. And if the internet turns on you, I will personally create twelve burner accounts and defend you in the comments. I will also Photoshop you into increasingly chaotic celebrity couple memes.”
She laughed through the thickness in her chest. “What a noble cause.”
“Someone’s gotta do it. Now can I tell Eden you’re in love with Quentin?”
“Don’t you dare—”
“Eden! Come here! This is historic—”
“RONAN, I swear to God—”
“Wait, wait, I need to sit down for this.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh please, you’re already sitting.”
“Okay, yes, but dramatically.”
Sadie groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t,” Ronan said smugly. “And you love Quentin.”
Her eye twitched. “I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to.” His voice practically dripped with glee. “You’re smitten. Head over heels. I bet you even do that gross little soft smile when he says your name.”
“I do not—”
“Oh, you totally do. I bet you sigh.”
Sadie opened her mouth to argue, then snapped it shut because, dammit, she had sighed like an idiot last night when Quentin tucked a blanket around her before she even realized she was cold.
Ronan gasped. “You did! Oh my God, you’re a full-blown rom-com.”
“I will end you,” she muttered.
“And I’ll die a martyr,” he said proudly.
Sadie exhaled sharply. “I swear, if you tell anyone—”
“Oh, I’m absolutely telling Eden.”
“RONAN!”
Too late. His voice was already echoing through the phone: “Babe! You’re not gonna believe this—”
Then Eden’s unmistakable shriek rang out in the background like a joyful banshee. Something about wedding plans. She could practically hear Eden pulling up her emergency “Sadie Finally Falls in Love” Pinterest board.
Nope. She was not dealing with that. She tuned them out and turned toward the river, sucking in the crisp air in an attempt to stop herself from launching her phone into the water. But there was movement in the corner of her eye.
Sadie squinted. Across the river, big, shaggy, and 100% not a hallucination, was a bear. She froze. The bear froze.
They locked eyes, and for a moment, it felt like one of those dramatic cowboy duels in old Westerns except instead of tumbleweeds, there was a lazy ripple in the river, and instead of a gun, she had absolutely nothing to defend herself with except a smart phone and her two fists.
Slowly, without breaking eye contact, Sadie hung up the phone. If she was about to get mauled, she refused to let Ronan and Eden’s wedding brainstorming be her last sound.
The bear took a step forward. Sadie’s entire soul screamed RUN.
But then she heard Quentin’s voice in her head, calm and authoritative in that annoyingly competent way of his. If you see a black bear, don’t panic. Don’t run. Make yourself big.
Big? She was 5’4” on a good day. The bear took another step. Her survival instincts were currently in a heated argument with Quentin’s logical, bear-safety lecture.
But for some reason, maybe it was adrenaline, or temporary insanity, or the sheer audacity of this bear trying to make her the main course.
Sadie straightened. She stood tall, planted her feet, and screamed.
“RAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!”
The sound that came out of her was not a majestic roar but rather something between a war cry and a goat. The bear startled then promptly turned tail and bolted back into the trees.
Sadie stood there, hands braced on her knees, heart pounding like a drum beneath her ribs. Holy hell. She had just roared at a bear and it ran.
The thrill coursing through her was lightning, raw and electric. She’d stared down fear itself, thrown her voice into the wild as if daring the world to answer, and the world had listened. It had moved.
She’d always made herself big, taken up space.
Been loud, bold, too much for some people and not sorry about it.
But Quentin never tried to tame her. Never flinched at the heat.
He didn’t try to fix or soften or mold. He just let her be, untamed when she wanted to be, soft when she chose to be.
And without ever asking, he made room for every version of her.
Matched her flame without smothering it.
Maybe that’s what this was. Not a puzzle to solve, not a storm to outrun but something to trust. Something to step into, even if it terrified her.
Because if she could stare down a wild thing and make it back away with nothing but instinct and adrenaline, then she could face this. She could face him. Let it be real. Let it be hard. Choose it anyway.
Because when she truly thought about Quentin, it wasn’t just danger she felt. It was possibility. A thousand untaken paths, glimmering like constellations just out of reach. The spark before a wildfire. It felt like a beginning. The kind of love that could change everything, because it already had.