Chapter 25 Sadie
TWENTY-FIVE
SADIE
They made it to the ranch in one piece, which felt like a personal victory. The drive had been slow, quiet, and blessedly free of other vehicles. Apparently everyone else had made the radical, sensible choice to stay indoors.
Sadie let out a breath and watched it fog the passenger window. She drew a heart in the condensation with her finger. “Well. If we die out here, at least the headlines will be dramatic.”
Quentin didn’t look over. “Hollywood Star and Difficult Make Up Artist Freeze to Death in Rustic Hellscape.”
She shot him a glare. “I was thinking Gorgeous and Mysterious, but sure. Slap ‘difficult’ on there. That feels personal.”
“I don’t know about mysterious,” he said, smirking as he finally glanced her way. “But gorgeous? Absolutely.”
Her neck flushed. Why did that stupid smirk make her heart do gymnastics?
She wasn’t twelve. And she definitely wasn’t charmed.
She was immune. Completely unfazed by the way his voice dipped on gorgeous or how he was casually gorgeous himself, leaning back like this whole snowstorm was an inconvenience instead of a complete shutdown of life as she knew it.
Her phone buzzed, confirming what her soul had already suspected. Avery had texted to say filming was canceled due to the weather… indefinitely.
She stared at the message a second too long before locking the screen, pretending she hadn’t felt that tiny, traitorous flutter of excitement in her chest. Stranded with Quentin until further notice. She was absolutely, definitely not smiling.
“Well?” Quentin asked, eyes still on the road.
She crossed her arms. “Looks like you’re stuck with me. Filming’s canceled for the unforeseeable future.”
“Yeah?” His voice dipped lower. “Guess there are worse fates.”
She ignored the way that tone scraped deliciously down her spine. “Don’t get too excited. I’m not here to braid friendship bracelets and sing campfire songs.”
“Noted. No kumbaya.”
The pickup rumbled down the long gated driveway, headlights sweeping over barns and outbuildings nestled under a thick blanket of snow. They passed a weathered silo and a fenced paddock before the house came fully into view.
The house was definitely not what she’d imagined.
No sprawling mansion. No private helipad.
Just a modest, weathered house tucked into a curve of snow-covered land, like it had quietly decided to exist and didn’t need anyone’s approval.
It looked like it probably smelled like cinnamon and home cooked meals.
Of course the infuriatingly handsome movie star lived in a place with actual soul. This man was a walking contradiction and it was giving her emotions vertigo.
“I thought you’d live in something… flashier,” she said, eyeing the porch skeptically. “You know. Huge gates. Gold statues. A cryotherapy chamber for your ego.”
He shrugged. “Left my villain lair in L.A.”
A soft light glowed in one of the downstairs windows, casting a warm halo over the snow like something straight off a Christmas card—complete with a big, shaggy dog pressed to the glass. That had to be Rocco.
Sadie narrowed her eyes. “Okay, this is starting to feel suspiciously Hallmark. Is a small-town festival about to pop up out of nowhere? Is your ex a wholesome baker who still makes pies ‘just in case you come back’?”
His grin spread. “No comment.”
She groaned. “You even have the tragic dog in the window. This is how it starts. One sugar cookie and suddenly I’m engaged, wearing flannel, and emotionally fulfilled.”
Quentin pulled the truck to a stop, shifting into park with one hand. “Worried?”
“Worried I’m about to be kidnapped into a snow-globe fantasy where we make cocoa and learn important lessons about love.”
He turned to her then, gaze steady.“Only if that’s your idea of torture.”
She scoffed, fingers brushing the door handle. Something about this whole thing was starting to feel dangerously close to sincere. And being sincere was not her comfort zone. Especially with him.
“You’re talking to a woman whose longest commitment is a succulent named Bob.”
“That so?” His voice softened, unhurried. “Then maybe you’re overdue for something different.”
Her stomach did a weird somersault.
“You’re barking up the wrong tree,” she said quickly.
“Maybe,” he replied easily. “But it’s a damn good-looking tree.”
That flutter again hit low, and she hated how it made her hesitate. Her hand froze on the handle, like her body had suddenly lost signal.
“Don’t read into this,” she muttered, eyes flicking to his. Her heart was pounding now, loud and traitorous. She could practically hear it echoing in the quiet truck cab.
“I’m not the one fighting it,” he said, barely above a whisper.
The words landed like a punch, not cruel, not dramatic, just true. That made it worse. Her breath caught in her throat, and she hated that too.
Quentin’s expression shifted. “My family can be a lot. Just giving you a heads-up. They—”
Something smacked against Sadie’s window hard. She yelped and whipped her head toward the sound. A pair of mittened hands were pressed against the glass, attached to a very enthusiastic face smushed up against the window. A muffled voice followed.
“COME OUT, QUENTINILLO! I HAVEN’T SEEN YOU IN MONTHS! GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE!”
Quentinillo?
More importantly… months? Quentin had been filming less than an hour from his family and hadn’t visited once?
Sure, the schedule was demanding, but he wasn’t being held hostage.
The man had weekends. Lunch breaks. The occasional Tuesday.
Either he was avoiding them or his family was genuinely terrifying.
Given she was currently being accosted by a woman in mittens, Sadie was leaning toward the latter.
Quentin let out a long-suffering sigh and reached for the door handle. “Of course,” he muttered.
The second he stepped outside, there was a dramatic gasp.
“You’re such an ASSHOLE!”
Followed by what sounded like someone being body-checked into a snowbank.
Sadie stared through the windshield at the two blurs tangling in the snow. “…Are they actually wrestling right now?”
Before she could make sense of it, her door flew open.
Quentin stood there and he looked like he’d been mugged by a snowman. Snow in his hair, down his jacket, and a perfect clump stuck to one eyebrow.
His expression was pure deadpan, the look of a man who knew his family was crazy and had simply made peace with it.
“Come on,” he said, offering his hand. “Before she starts throwing people.”
Sadie hesitated for a beat before slipping her gloved hand into his. Unfortunately, her boots had other plans. The second her boots hit the ground, she wobbled instantly, arms flailing.
Quentin caught her with a smirk, steadying her like he had expected this to happen.
“Wow,” came a bright voice. “You bring home one guest and she immediately tries to faceplant.”
Sadie looked up to see a petite woman bundled head to toe in winter gear, her grin wide and mischievous. The resemblance to Quentin was uncanny. They had the same deep brown eyes, same magnetic energy. Sadie immediately put two and two together. Carmen. His older sister.
“I’m Sadie,” she replied, offering a small wave and bracing for impact.
“Oh, the Sadie?” The woman’s grin stretched like she had just found out a juicy secret. Her eyes flicked to Quentin with barely contained delight. Wait. The Sadie?
Quentin folded his arms. “I might have mentioned how much of a menace you are.”
Sadie gasped, placing a hand over her chest. “Unbelievable. Slander. Libel."
Carmen let out a cackle, her breath puffing in the air. “A real thorn in his side.” Then, with a wink, she added, “I like you already.”
Sadie squinted at her. “Bold claim from someone who nearly scared me into an early grave.”
Carmen waved it off. “Collateral damage. Sibling rulebook says I have to terrorize him at least once per visit or I lose my card.”
“I genuinely thought I was about to be murdered in a slasher film,” Sadie muttered.
“Oh, please. If I wanted to scare you properly, I’d have brought the creepy aunties.” Carmen beamed, extending her hand. “I’m Carmen. Nice to finally meet you. I think you’ll fit right in with the Ramos women.”
Quentin groaned like a man being led to the gallows. “God help me.”
Carmen ignored him, jerking her head toward the house. “Come on, let’s get you inside before you freeze. Dinner’s waiting, and trust me, the rest of the family is dying to meet you.”
Sadie wasn’t sure if that was meant to be reassuring or a warning. Either way, it was too late to bolt.
She followed Carmen into the house, where the scent of something rich and savory filled the air, mingling with the low hum of conversation.
Behind her, Quentin trailed close, his broad frame nearly filling the doorway. When she glanced over her shoulder, he caught her eye, and the corner of his mouth twitched.
“Telling anyone who will listen how much you love me? Obsessed much?” she teased, a grin tugging at her lips.
“More like plagued by you,” he said with a dramatic sniff. “Tormented, night and day.”
“Such an affliction. You’re so strong,” Sadie murmured, her voice dripping with faux sympathy.
“Thank you,” Quentin replied solemnly. “It’s my cross to bear.”
Sadie snorted—right up until the sound died in her throat as they stepped into the kitchen.
Carmen had led them into a warm, bustling space where a pot of something delicious simmered on the stove. At the table sat an older woman with streaks of gray in her dark hair, her eyes sharp and assessing as they landed on Sadie like a laser-guided missile.
Quentin, unbothered, strolled over and bent down to kiss the woman’s cheek.
She patted his stubbled jaw in return, her expression softening just enough to suggest she might actually like him.
Then, in rapid-fire Spanish, she launched into what sounded suspiciously like an interrogation wrapped in affection.