Chapter 32
THIRTY-TWO
QUENTIN
Quentin watched her as Sadie dismounted the horse, his eyes tracing every movement. The breeze toyed with her hair, wild and sunlit, the strands catching gold like they were spun from it. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes, those brilliant green eyes, shimmered like sunlight on river water.
She didn’t just fit here. She was part of it.
That tumble of unruly hair, the spark in her gaze, the way she carried herself like she was stitched together by earth and wind and open sky.
She looked like the wilderness itself—untamed, breathtaking, impossible to hold.
San Diego was wasted on her. Here she burned.
Like fire against snow. Like a storm you hoped would never pass.
His throat tightened as the realization took root.
She was perfect. Not in the polished, unattainable way he’d always thought perfection might look.
No, she was perfect in the way lightning is, in the way wildflowers bloom in places no one expects.
Beautiful because she never tried to be anything other than exactly who she was.
God. He was so screwed. He shifted, trying to shake off the ache spreading through his chest like a slow burn.
“You handled that like a pro,” he said, the warmth in his voice betraying him.
Sadie looked back over her shoulder, tucking a windswept strand behind her ear. Her smile was soft, a little shy. “So I didn’t look like a city girl clinging on for dear life?”
He huffed out a quiet laugh. “Not even remotely. You looked… right. Like you belong out here.”
Her grin faltered for a moment, her eyes searching his face like the words caught her off guard. Her mouth opened then closed again. She turned back to Winnie, running her hand down the horse’s neck.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. Quentin fished it from his pocket, his fingers hovering on the screen as he read the text. They’d be back to filming tomorrow afternoon. The knot in his chest tightened immediately.
He tipped the screen toward her. “Looks like we’re being summoned back to civilization,” he said, aiming for light but missing by a mile.
Sadie read the message, then glanced up at him, something unreadable flickering in her eyes.
“I really liked having you here,” he said, quieter now.
And he had. More than liked it. Having her here had open parts of him he’d boarded up years ago.
He’d talked about Delly. He’d found that letter.
He’d felt grief without drowning in it for the first time in years.
The grief was still there, but the guilt had loosened, just enough to breathe again.
He hadn’t even realized how tightly he’d been holding himself until Sadie walked in and gently pried his fingers loose.
“Well, thank you for bringing me here,” she said softly. She glanced around, taking in the stretch of land. “I know you’re protective of this place, and with good reason. I can tell that you’re at peace here.”
“I am,” he admitted. His eyes drifted across the property, the quiet expanse of land rolling out before them in endless waves of green and gold. The air smelled like earth and cedar, like home.
“Out here, it’s simple,” he continued. “No noise, no traffic, no distractions. It’s the only place that’s ever felt steady to me.”
She leaned forward slightly, rubbing Winnie’s mane, her fingers tracing small, soothing circles as the horse nickered softly. “So how’d you end up acting? You don’t exactly scream ‘drama school.’”
He raised a brow, leaned casually against the fence. “No? What do I scream, then?”
She tapped a finger to her chin. “Hmm… ranch hand who wandered onto a film set looking for his missing cow, got mistaken for an extra, and never corrected them because they gave him a chair with his name on it.”
He chuckled. “Honestly? Not far off. Except it was a horse, and I stayed because they had catering.”
She grinned. “Figures. So if this wasn’t the dream, what was the plan?
He gestured to the land stretching out around them—the mountains, the open fields, the endless sky.
“This. The ranch. It’s what I thought I’d always do.
I was terrible at school. I was barely skating by most of the time.
I hated being stuck inside all day, locked away from this.
My brain lived out here, dreaming up chores. ”
“Chores,” she repeated.
“I was a deeply thrilling teenager.”
She laughed, soft and warm, and God help him, he wanted to memorize that sound.
“By junior year, I was about to flunk out,” he admitted. “Then my English teacher made us perform a Shakespeare monologue. For some reason, I loved it. It felt like something clicked.”
“Let me guess. Hamlet?”
He cleared his throat and launched in dramatically.“‘I loved Ophelia. Forty thousand brothers could not, with all their quantity of love, make up my sum.’”
There was a beat. Then Sadie’s mouth fell open. “Oh my God. You were that kid.”
“Theater kid?” he guessed.
“Theater kid,” she confirmed. “I bet you absolutely crushed it.”
He scratched the back of his neck. “Word got around. My English teacher basically threw confetti. Called the local theater. Next thing I know, I’m spending my summer getting yelled at by a man in a beret about ‘emotional commitment.’”
Her smile softened. “And you loved it.”
“Yeah,” he admitted, the corner of his mouth lifting.
“At first, it was just fun. A break from ranch life.” His tone shifted, growing more thoughtful.
“But then it turned into something else. One night, an agent showed up and offered to sign me on the spot. Just like that, it stopped being a hobby and became a real shot. A way to actually make money. And we needed it.”
“Because of the ranch?”
Quentin nodded, his expression dimming. “The ranch was barely scraping by. We were always one bad month away from disaster,” he said quietly.
“Most of what we had went straight toward Delly’s treatments, and even then, it only bought her subpar care.
It felt like we were constantly bracing for the next blow.
I hated it. I wanted to do more for her, for all of us.
Acting started to feel like a way out. Like maybe I could finally make a dent. ”
Sadie listened, her hand absently stroking Winnie’s mane as the horse nudged her shoulder. “That’s a lot to carry,” she said gently.
He nodded. “It was, but I didn’t see another option. It took years before anything big happened. I did movies here and there, but nothing worth mentioning. Then my agent convinced me to audition for the Mr. America. I almost didn’t go.”
“Why?” she asked, leaning slightly closer.
Quentin’s lips quirked into a rueful smile. “Because it sounded ridiculous. Me? A superhero? Spandex and cheesy one-liners? But eventually, I gave in. They were looking for a fresh face, one of their next big ‘heroes’. I guess I fit the bill.”
He paused, gesturing to himself with a smirk. “I had the look, apparently. Growing up doing manual labor on the ranch every day meant I was in shape.”
Sadie trailed her eyes down his torso before quickly looking away, cheeks pink.
Quentin caught her glance and flashed a teasing grin. “Still am.”
She rolled her eyes, but her laugh gave her away. “Don’t get cocky.”
He chuckled before his expression softened again. “When they offered me the role, I knew it would be life-changing—for better or worse. I knew the risks, though. Getting pigeonholed. Being seen as just Mr. America, spandex and a pretty smile.”
“So why’d you say yes?”
His jaw tightened slightly, his gaze flicking away to the horizon for a moment.
“The money. The check attached to the project was… huge. Like, life-changing huge. It was the kind of money that could pull my family out of the hole we were in. It could help Delly, give her the care she needed. So, of course, it was a no-brainer. I took the job.”
He exhaled deeply, his hands gripping the fence post next of him. “But before I could even negotiate the salary, Delly got worse. Fast. I was so focused on getting everything lined up so I could help her, and then…” His voice faltered. “She was gone before I ever stepped on set.”
“It took nearly a year before filming actually began,” he continued quietly. “And the first day was the one-year anniversary of her death. Some kind of cosmic joke.”
A dry, crooked smile tugged at his lips. “And that’s when you met me. First day on a set I didn’t even want to be on anymore, on the worst anniversary of my life. Really set the tone. Boy meets girl, boy is an unmitigated trainwreck.”
Sadie tilted her head, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. “Oh, absolutely. You glared at me like I’d personally ruined your life. Swoon.”
He laughed under his breath, the sound a little sheepish. “I made a hell of a first impression.”
“You did,” she agreed, her grin widening. “But… now I know why. You were carrying something way heavier than anyone knew.”
“Doesn’t mean I handled it well.”
“No,” she said gently. “But it makes sense. And honestly?” She let her gaze drag lazily over him before meeting his eyes again. “You’ve done a lot of growing since then. Look at you now. You’re practically charming.”
“Practically?” he shot back, his grin returning. “That’s a bold accusation.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t fight the smile pulling at her lips. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
“I make no promises.”
She shook her head, then sobered slightly. “So… is that why you took this job? To separate yourself from Mr. America?”
“I never wanted to be famous,” he admitted. “I just wanted to perform, to give people an escape from their lives. Entertain them, make them feel something. Movies have always done that for me. That’s all I ever wanted to give back.”
He shifted slightly, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I’ve always used movies as an escape,” he continued, his tone softer now.
“I usually fall asleep with one playing in the background. My Abuelo was the one who got me into them before he passed. He’d sit me down in front of the old classics, westerns, film noirs.
It was his way of teaching me about the world, I guess.
” Quentin huffed a quiet laugh. “Most kids were watching cartoons, and I was analyzing whether Humphrey Bogart had trust issues.”
Sadie smirked. “He definitely did.”
“Right?” Quentin chuckled. “Ever since then, I’ve been hooked. If I have free time, I’d either throw on a movie or lose myself in some space documentary.”
She studied him for a moment, something fond in her expression. “I get that,” she said finally. “Though I have to say, ‘losing yourself in a space documentary’ is quite possibly the nerdiest coping mechanism I’ve ever heard.”
Quentin grinned. “Nothing like a black hole to put your problems in perspective.”
Sadie held up her hands in surrender. “Oh, no judgment. I just wasn’t expecting ‘America’s Sweetheart’ to have strong opinions on astrophysics.”
“Don’t underestimate me,” he said, winking. “I contain multitudes. Enough about me. Let’s get Winnie back in her stable before she starts a rebellion,” he said, his voice lighter than he felt.
“Right, can’t have her leading a horse uprising,” Sadie replied with a laugh. “I’m not mentally prepared for a full-scale equine revolution.”
Quentin smirked. “You joke, but Winnie’s a mastermind. If she had thumbs, she’d already have a list of demands.”
As they walked toward the stable, Quentin found himself stealing glances at her. She was quieter than usual, her fingers absently brushing along Winnie’s mane, lost in thought. For someone who matched his sarcasm beat for beat, she had this infuriating ability to disarm him completely.
Fans adored the idea of him. Critics dissected him. But Sadie—she saw him. The messy parts. The tired parts. The hopeful parts he didn’t let anyone touch.
Inside the stable, he guided Winnie into her stall, muscle memory taking over as he secured the reins and brushed a calming hand down her neck.
He turned, drawn by the weight of her gaze.
Sadie leaned against the wooden stall, she didn’t speak, she didn’t have to.
The way she watched him felt like sunlight slipping through rafters.
The silence between them didn’t press or demand.
It settled. And for once, he didn’t feel the need to fill it. For once, he could just be.