Chapter 31
THIRTY-ONE
SADIE
The first thing Sadie heard was the clink of glassware followed by a panicked “shitshitshit” and a thud that sounded like someone had tried to juggle and failed.
She blinked awake, lids heavy, morning light spilling through the curtains in soft, golden streaks. Half-smushed into the pillow, she turned her head toward the noise.
Quentin stood in the doorway, balancing a tray like a waiter who’d been hired as a joke. He wore a faded T-shirt and sweatpants slung low on his hips, his hair a complete disaster like it had been styled by a tornado or possibly an electric whisk.
The tray had a stack of slightly lopsided pancakes, a bowl of fresh berries, a peeled orange, and a mug of coffee doing a slow-motion wobble that screamed impending disaster.
“Breakfast in bed?” Sadie raised an eyebrow as she sat up, blankets bunching around her waist. No one had ever made her breakfast in bed before. That usually required things like sleepovers and trust, two things she wasn’t exactly fluent in.
“What’s the occasion?” she asked, eyeing the tray like it might sprout limbs and perform a musical number.
Quentin beamed. “Start of our date.”
“Our date?”
“Yep.” He made it across the room without spilling anything and gently set the tray on her lap. Then he hesitated, rubbed the back of his neck, and added, “Wait not date. I meant… super casual hangout. No pressure. Just, uh… pancakes.”
She stared at him, deadpan. “Is this the kind of hangout where you feed me carbs and then accidentally fall in love with me?”
He cleared his throat. “I’m already halfway there.”
Her breath caught, and for a second, she forgot to breathe at all. “What?”
He froze, like his mouth had gotten ahead of his brain. Then he flashed a crooked grin, all lopsided charm and too much teeth. “Kidding,” he said.
Sadie looked down at the tray, then back up at him, heart pounding like it was trying to punch its way out of her chest and say what she couldn’t. He had to be kidding. Right?
Because if he wasn’t—if he meant it, even a little—then everything she’d carefully kept in its place was about to come loose. The boundaries, the rules, the tiny emotional escape hatches she always kept ready.
She swallowed, throat suddenly tight. “Right. Obviously kidding. Because that would be… ridiculous.”
“Totally ridiculous,” he echoed, nodding a little too hard. But his eyes didn’t leave her face.
“Okay,” she said, eyeing him suspiciously as her heart did an annoying little clench. “You did all this? By yourself?”
“Well, I burnt three batches. There was smoke. Carmen threatened to revoke my ranch privileges. But technically? These”—he gestured to the stack like Vanna White presenting a prize—“are batch number four. The comeback kid.”
Sadie glanced at the tray, at the pancakes that looked like they had barely survived a natural disaster, and before she could say anything, Quentin reached into the tray and pulled out a small bouquet.
“I improvised,” he said, holding it out to her with a sheepish shrug. “Feathered reed grass, red dogwood branches, bird feathers, and some dried wildflowers. Not exactly a dozen roses, but, you know, winter in Montana.”
Sadie stared at the bouquet, she felt tears prickle her eyes.
It was beautiful in its own rugged, mismatched way.
The kind of thing no florist would ever think to arrange, but it worked.
The deep reds of the dogwood against the soft golden grass, the feathers woven between them like something the land had grown just for her.
“Quentin…” Her voice faltered. She wasn’t even sure what to say. It was the nicest thing anyone had done for her in… well, maybe ever. Which, okay, was kind of depressing when she really thought about it, but it didn’t make it any less true.
She smiled as she traced her fingers lightly over the petals of the dried flowers. “You foraged?”
He grinned, a little bashful. “I did.”
“In the cold?”
“Like a true mountain man.”
Her chest ached in a way she wasn’t ready to name.
Because this was Quentin. The same guy who annoyed the hell out of her, who flirted shamelessly, who somehow always got under her skin.
And yet… here he was, handing her a bouquet of Montana itself, like he had walked through the cold and thought, This reminds me of her.
“Thank you,” she murmured, clutching the bouquet to her chest.
His grin widened, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’re welcome.”
“Wait a minute." She tilted her head, pretending to peer under the tray. "Where’s the bad poetry? There’s breakfast and flowers, I feel entitled to a dramatic haiku at the very least.”
“The day is still young, sweetheart. Pace yourself,” he teased. “Now, dig in before it gets cold.”
He took it upon himself to feed her, offering small bites of pancake like some kind of breakfast sommelier. “Note the subtle undertones of ‘did not set off the smoke alarm this time,’” he said, nudging it toward her lips.
Sadie rolled her eyes but let him, chewing as he watched her every reaction with intense, almost scientific focus. “Mmm, yes. A delicate balance of ‘edible’ with just a touch of ‘I only cursed twice while making this.’”
“Good?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows.
She sighed, refusing to let her expression betray how annoyingly charmed she was. “Yes, Chef.”
When the tray was finally empty and the coffee mug drained, she reluctantly slid out from under the covers to get dressed.
Quentin threw on his worn-out flannel and jeans, rolling up the sleeves in that maddening way that made his forearms look even more distracting.
Seriously, was this man genetically engineered to look effortlessly good at all times?
Sadie, meanwhile, was stuck in Carmen’s borrowed clothes and boots, feeling like an imposter in someone else’s life.
The sweater was slightly too loose, the boots slightly too clunky, and the overall effect was decidedly less effortlessly hot rancher and more girl who lost a bet and had to dress from the communal lost-and-found.
Before stepping outside, she made sure to take another dose of allergy medicine. The last thing she needed was another sneezing-related injury and to be permanently branded Tom for the rest of eternity.
He reached for her hand, lacing their fingers like it was the most natural thing in the world, then gave a gentle tug to steer her toward the door.
Warmth bloomed in her chest and her stomach flipped hard.
She wasn’t used to this kind of touch, and definitely not the casual, heart-thumping kind that turned her brain into warm pudding.
Intimacy wasn’t usually this… hand-holdy and disarming.
“Come on, I’ve got something to show you.” he murmured.
Outside, the early March sun was unexpectedly warm, melting the snow from two days ago and exposing patches of grass.
A soft breeze carried the first hints of spring.
Sadie took a deep breath, trying to calm the tiny stampede happening in her chest. Whatever.
He’s just holding her hand. Extremely casual skin-to-skin contact with a devastatingly attractive man. Nothing to see here.
Quentin led her down a winding dirt path, birdsong filling the quiet between them. Their boots crunched over thawing ground until they reached a weathered building lined with fenced enclosures.
Inside, he guided her past rescue horses grazing lazily by the fence, pygmy goats ricocheting off each other like caffeinated toddlers, and sheep dozing beneath a wooden shelter, their heads resting against one another.
Sadie paused to watch the goats for a moment, a grin tugging at her lips when one of them hopped onto a stump and bleated proudly. “They’ve got more personality than half the people I know,” she said, laughing softly.
Quentin chuckled. “Just wait. The real star of the show is up ahead.”
He stopped in front of a small pen, where a single red fox lay curled up on a bed of straw. Its sleek fur gleamed like burnished copper in the sunlight filtering through the barn’s wooden slats. As they approached, the fox lifted its head, its sharp eyes locking onto Sadie’s.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “She’s beautiful.”
Quentin smiled. “They rescued her last week. Her leg was injured. They think she got caught in barbed wire. She’s healing really well, though. Once she’s strong enough, they’ll release her back into the wild.”
Sadie couldn’t take her eyes off the fox. The fox tilted its head, studying her with equal fascination, like it was trying to decide whether she was friend, foe, or snack.
Quentin leaned against the fence beside her, his shoulder brushing hers, just enough to make her painfully aware of every inch of space between them. Her gaze drifted to the small wooden sign hanging from the pen, the letters carefully etched into the wood.
ROJA.
Her heart gave an inconvenient little stumble.
Sadie looked from the sign to the sleek fox curled in the straw. Heat crept up her neck. “Her name is Roja too?”
“She reminded me of you,” Quentin said quietly.
She shot him a skeptical look, but the blush spreading across her cheeks sold her out instantly. “Why?”
“Fierce,” he said, meeting her gaze. “Independent. Sharp as hell.” His voice softened, lowering just a touch. “But also a lot gentler than you let people see. If they’re willing to look past the teeth.”
Sadie swallowed, her fingers curling tighter around the fence slats. The world quieted around them, birdsong fading, the breeze stilling, until it felt like there was nothing but him and the sound of her heartbeat thrumming in her ears.
To be seen like this, down to the tender, hidden parts she kept buried, was terrifying. But there was something warm in it too. Slow and molten and impossibly tender.
She didn’t look at him when she spoke, afraid her face would give too much away. “You think you’ve got me all figured out, huh?”
“No,” he murmured, his voice brushing over her like silk. “But I’m trying to.”