Chapter 25 Sadie #2
Sadie stood awkwardly near the doorway. Before she could make a move, the big shaggy dog trotted over. She crouched down to meet him, their faces just inches apart as they sized each other up.
Big brown eyes blinked at her. His tail gave a lazy thump against the floor, like he was still deciding if she was cool or not.
“Hey, Rocco,” Sadie said quietly, giving him a respectful nod. “Heard you’re the real alpha around here.”
His tail thumped enthusiastically. Official approval granted. She grinned and scratched behind his ears, then glanced up and immediately regretted it.
Quentin was still talking to his grandmother, voice low and gentle, shoulders relaxed, his usual edge completely gone. He looked normal. Like someone’s favorite grandson instead of a walking problem with good cheekbones.
And dammit. It did something to her.
She mentally scolded herself, trying to stomp out the warm flutter in her chest. She did not have a thing for men being sweet with their families.
Except maybe she did. She’d never dated anyone long enough to meet their relatives anyway.
The last time had been Brian in college, and she was fairly sure his mom still thought her name was Sandy.
“This is Lucía, our abuelita,” Quentin said, his soft smile brimming with affection.
Her mind drifted back to memories of her own grandfather, with his twinkling eyes and mischievous grin. He had a knack for pulling Irish sayings out of nowhere, perfectly timed to fit any situation. The thought brought an ache she didn’t expect, she really needed to call him and catch up.
Lucía turned to Sadie with a kind smile. “Hola,” she greeted before launching into a long, rapid string of Spanish.
She turned to Quentin, her brain buffering.
Quentin, of course, grinned like a man enjoying himself far too much. “She said, ‘Get your ass over here and help roll out empanadas.’”
Sadie chuckled, shaking her head as she moved to the table. “A woman who knows what she wants. I respect that,” she said, settling into the seat across from Lucía.
Lucía wasted no time, sliding a ball of dough toward Sadie and demonstrating with the ease of someone who had probably been rolling out empanadas since birth.
Sadie mimicked her movements as best she could.
The result was… unfortunate. Her empanada looked less like food and more like a sad, deflated football.
Lucía chuckled, shaking her head, and said something else in Spanish, her tone unmistakably encouraging.
“You can call her abuelita,” Carmen translated, watching with a wicked grin. “Even though you’re absolute shit at this.”
Sadie snorted. “Wow. I’ll have you know I’m creating a deconstructed culinary experience.”
Carmen snorted. “You mean a mess.”
Quentin chimed in. “If we’re grading on creativity, you’re definitely… present.”
Sadie rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the grin tugging at her lips. She grabbed another piece of dough, determined to redeem herself. This one came out slightly less tragic, still lopsided, but at least it resembled food.
There was something strangely comforting about the whole scene: flour dusting her fingers, Lucía’s warm laughter filling the kitchen, the easy rhythm of a family that somehow didn’t make her want to fake an emergency and escape through a window.
It reminded her of quiet Sunday afternoons back home: her grandpa spinning the same three stories like they were brand new, her mom humming while they stirred a pot of stew.
The thought brought a bittersweet pang of homesickness, but it also filled her with an unexpected warmth.
Being here, in this kitchen, felt oddly like home.
“I leave for ten minutes and come back to forced labor?” a teasing voice called.
She turned to see a woman stepping into the kitchen, sharing the same deep brown eyes as Quentin and Carmen, along with an air of authority that made Sadie instinctively straighten her posture.
“Death by carpal tunnel,” Carmen quipped, as she joined her rolling the empanadas. “A true Ramos initiation rite.”
“She’s doing fine,” Quentin said with a smirk, leaning against the counter like this was the most entertaining thing he’d seen all week.
“Let her relax! Didn’t you say you almost died in that snowstorm?” the woman said, giving Quentin a pointed look before turning to Sadie with a warm smile. “Hi, dear. I’m Maria, these two’s mom.”
Sadie wiped her flour-dusted hands on a nearby towel and stood to shake Maria’s hand. “Hi, I’m Sadie. Nice to meet you.”
“Oh, no need for formalities.” Maria waved off the handshake and pulled Sadie into a warm hug instead. “You’ve survived weather and empanadas. You’re family now.”
“Don't worry, I'm battle-tested from my own family,” Sadie said with a grin as Maria patted her shoulder approvingly.
“Good. I’d hate for us to scare you off,” Maria said before turning to Lucía, launching into Spanish while already tidying the countertop.
Maria glanced at Quentin, who was watching the scene with an expression that was equal parts amusement and something softer, something that made Sadie momentarily forget to be annoyed with him.
“I’ll get her set up in the guest room,” Quentin said, straightening up.
“No can do. Rocco’s in there now,” Carmen replied with a shrug.
“Our dog needs an entire room to himself?”
“Yeah, we moved the furniture out, and now it’s Rocco’s domain,” Carmen said nonchalantly, brushing flour off her hands.
Quentin groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Hey, don’t look at me,” Maria chimed in, half-apologetic, half-amused. “It was either that or he kept jumping on abuelita’s bed, and we can’t have that.”
“Ridiculous,” Quentin muttered under his breath. “Fine. The guest house. It’s empty anyway.”
“The guest house?” Sadie asked, raising a brow.
“Don’t worry,” Carmen said with a wink. “It’s basically its own little cabin. No dog drama, no empanada labor, total upgrade.”
Sadie swallowed nervously, flashes of the bear incident at her set cabin creeping into her mind. Being alone in the pitch dark, surrounded by the open wilderness, sounded less like a cozy retreat and more like an opening scene in a true crime documentary.
Quentin gave her a look that was somewhere between exasperation and amusement. “I’ll get you settled after dinner.”
“Less talking, more rolling,” Carmen called from across the table. “These empanadas ain’t gonna make themselves.”
“Tyrant,” Sadie muttered under her breath.
Carmen’s head snapped up. “What was that?”
“Nothing!” Sadie replied quickly, suddenly very invested in shaping the dough.
Beside her, Quentin chuckled. Then, with a resigned sigh, he reached for some dough and started rolling. “Guess I’m in this too, huh?”
Sadie’s exhaustion momentarily faded as she grinned at him. “Welcome to the trenches, soldier.”
He shot her a dry look. “You’ve been rolling dough for ten minutes, not fighting a war.”
She groaned. “Says the man who just got here. Let’s see if you’re still talking tough after your fifth empanada.”
"I've been rolling empanadas since I was in diapers," Quentin smirked, effortlessly shaping the dough like some kind of empanada prodigy. "Not to brag, but I have been told I have excellent dexterity."
Sadie raised an eyebrow, barely suppressing a smirk. "I’m on the edge of my seat. Tell me more."
Quentin grinned. “Well, if you must know—”
"No flirting!" Carmen snipped, pointing a flour-dusted finger at them without even looking up from her own work.
"Dictator," Quentin muttered under his breath.
Sadie bit her lip, fighting back a laugh. She nudged him with her elbow. "Careful, she might throw a rolling pin at you next."
Carmen didn’t glance up. "I don’t miss."
Quentin sighed dramatically. "Well, at least I’ll die doing what I love."
Sadie smirked. "Rolling empanadas?"
He winked. "Flirting with you."
Carmen groaned loudly. "Someone pass me the rolling pin."