Chapter 22 Sadie
TWENTY-TWO
SADIE
Today was a terrible day. Sadie had woken up to snow.
Not the cute, aesthetic kind you frolic in with a coffee mug and a soft-focus filter.
This was aggressive, movie-ruining snow.
The kind that laughed in the face of production schedules and shut everything down.
Today’s shoot was canceled. Which meant she was now stuck in her dusty little cabin like a prisoner, but with worse Wi-Fi.
A knock at the door interrupted her downward spiral. She groaned, debating whether she could just pretend she wasn’t home. But the knocking persisted. Thump-thump-thump. The insistent kind that suggested the person outside had nowhere else to be.
“Come in!” she yelled, too emotionally drained to move.
The door creaked open, and familiar footsteps padded inside. She didn’t even bother looking up. She knew it was Quentin.
She sighed and propped herself up slightly, squinting at him. Maybe he was here to ravish her the way he was supposed to a few nights ago, but instead, he had delivered a foal. A foal. Romance, ruined by surprise livestock.
At least she’d gotten to name him. She went with Tony, because if her sex life was going to be hijacked by a baby horse, it was absolutely going to have a deeply unsexy, vaguely middle-management name.
“Why the long face?” he asked, kicking the door shut behind him, his hands carrying two steaming mugs.
Sadie arched a brow. “Really? Are we doing horse jokes now?”
He grinned, completely unbothered. “You look like someone just found out their favorite setting spray was discontinued.”
Sadie gasped. “Take that back.” The sight of him and the mugs made her perk up just a little. Sadie sat up slightly, peering at him with the weary expression of a woman who had truly suffered. She held out her hand, displaying the chipped nail. “My nail is chipped.”
Quentin came closer, setting the mugs down before taking her hand in his own, tilting it this way and that like he was examining evidence.
Then he let out a low whistle. “Wow. Yeah. This is bad. This might actually be the worst thing that’s ever happened to a human being.”
“Thank you,” she said, sagging. “I’m glad someone understands the gravity of the situation.”
“Of course,” he replied solemnly. “I mean, snowstorm? Canceled shoot? Minor inconveniences. This?” He gestured to her nail. “Devastating.”
“Coffee to take the edge off?” Quentin asked, holding out a mug. Sadie nodded eagerly. As he handed it to her, she cradled it between her hands, letting the warmth seep into her fingers. She took a sip, it was strong, almost bitter. It wasn’t bad, just... different.
“What kind of coffee is this?” she asked, her eyebrows raising slightly.
“Torrefacto coffee,” Quentin replied, taking a sip from his own mug. “It’s the only coffee I’ll drink. I grew up with it. My family in Spain sends it in bulk to my mom.”
“It’s strong, just how I like my coffee,” she said, smiling over the rim of her mug.
“I knew you had good taste.”
He set his mug down and reached for her hand, cradling it like something delicate. His thumb brushed lightly against her fingers as he lifted it to inspect the chipped nail. It didn’t feel like concern. It felt like an excuse.
“So, what are we going to do with this nail?”
“I don’t know. The only nail salon is an hour away,” she groaned. “And I have no way to get there."
“Well, let’s go, then,” he said with that shrug, like driving an hour for a chipped nail was no big deal.
“You’re joking, right?”
“Nope. I’ve got a truck,” he replied, as if that explained everything.
“You have a truck?” She raised an eyebrow. “Since when?”
Quentin smirked, leaning back against the couch. “You realize I live part-time in Montana, right?”
“What? No, I didn’t know that.”
“I thought I told you.” He shook his head with a small smile. “My family’s ranch isn’t too far from here.”
Her mouth dropped open a little. “Wait, you mean they still have the ranch? And you actually… work there?”
“Yeah, I help out between jobs when I can,” he explained, running a hand through his hair. “Montana has always been home. I’d pick wide-open fields and starry skies over the chaos of L.A. any day. But, you know... work sometimes pulls me back there.”
Sadie stared at him, momentarily thrown. It was hard to picture the smooth-talking, Hollywood heartthrob mucking stalls and wrangling cattle.
“So, let me get this straight,” she said slowly, trying to keep the disbelief out of her voice. “You’re a part-time cowboy who occasionally goes to Hollywood to be famous.”
Quentin’s grin widened, that mischievous glint back in his eyes. “Something like that. Now, are you coming or should I let that nail live in misery?”
Sadie let out a dramatic sigh, shaking her head. “All right, cowboy. Let’s go.”
“Good choice,” he said with a wink. “And hey, maybe I’ll even teach you how to rope a calf on the way back.”
She snorted. “One crisis at a time. Let’s start with my nail and work our way up to your delusions.”
She bundled herself in her parka, jeans, and boots and followed Quentin out to the parking lot.
And then she saw it. His truck waited at the edge of the lot like some mechanical beast. It was a monstrosity, jet black and lifted so high it looked less like a vehicle and more like it was preparing to storm a medieval castle.
The tires alone were large enough to flatten a sedan without so much as a hiccup.
She stopped dead, eyes narrowing. “What. The. Hell. Is. That.”
Quentin leaned against the hood, smirking with zero shame. “What?”
She turned to him, arms crossed. “Are you compensating for something?”
Quentin grinned. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“I feel like I do know,” she shot back. “And I’m deeply concerned.” She pointed accusingly at the truck. “Why is it so… aggressive?”
He patted the hood affectionately, like it was a loyal dog instead of a vehicular war crime. “She’s not aggressive. She’s just built different.”
“She’s built like an insecure Transformer,” she muttered, walking around the vehicle with growing horror. "What does she run on? Diesel? The souls of compact cars?”
She tilted her head, squinting at the absurdly large tires. “I bet you have a private jet too.”
“Please,” he said, offended. “I rent one.”
She rolled her eyes as he flashed a dazzling smile, the kind that probably got him out of speeding tickets. Quentin, looking way too pleased with himself, opened the passenger door for her and gestured grandly.
“I could always boost you up,” Quentin teased, his grin widening into a full-blown smirk.
She took a slow, threatening step closer. “Try it, and I will personally dismantle the monstrosity piece by piece and sell it for scrap.”
Quentin gasped in horror. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.” She crossed her arms, unimpressed. Determined not to give him the satisfaction, she pushed up her sleeves like she was about to go into battle and attempted to hoist herself up. The truck was so absurdly tall she felt like she needed a running start just to attempt entry.
Bracing herself, she grabbed the side mirror for leverage and hoisted herself up—only for her boots to betray her, immediately slipping on the icy step of the truck. It was less of a climb and more of a flailing, full-body struggle.
Before she could face-plant into the door, strong hands caught her waist, steadying her like she weighed nothing.
“You’re kind of a klutz,” Quentin murmured from behind her, his breath warm against her ear. The contrast against the cold sent an involuntary shiver down her spine.
Sadie scowled, mostly to cover the fact that her face was now on fire. “Not all of us are built like a 300 foot redwood tree,” she muttered, gripping the door handle for balance.
“Six-foot-three, actually, but who’s counting?” he said, as he helped her the rest of the way in.
Once safely inside, she adjusted her coat and glanced down at him through the open door. “Next time, bring a step stool.”
“Or,” he said thoughtfully, “install a rope ladder.”
She rolled her eyes as he shut the door and climbed in on the driver’s side, the truck dipping like it acknowledged him as its rightful master.
“Or,” she said, arms crossed, “drive a normal car like the rest of us mortals.”
The engine roared to life, loud and unnecessary. Quentin flashed that maddening grin. “Where’s the fun in that?”