Chapter 44 Sadie
FORTY-FOUR
SADIE
They meant to leave. But somehow, they ended up staying. Long after the music had been shut off and the chaos mellowed into lazy conversations and drunken ramblings.
Quentin took it upon himself to play the responsible one, herding the remaining stragglers like a very underpaid, very over-it camp counselor.
Avery refused to go to bed until she got a forehead kiss, and after a solid minute of arguing that he absolutely did not do forehead kisses, Quentin finally gave in.
He leaned down and pressed a quick, begrudging kiss to her forehead. "Happy now?"
Avery gasped. "I am so blessed," she whispered in awe before immediately tripping over her own feet.
Sadie, biting back laughter, steered her toward her cabin, with Reggie in tow looking exhausted but also vaguely entertained.
Meanwhile, Devi had somehow ordered enough food on Quentin’s DoorDash account to feed a small village.
Quentin crossed his arms, arching a brow. "Did you rob an entire restaurant?"
Devi, completely unfazed, handed Quentin a bag. “Even you can’t be a buzzkill on an empty stomach,” she said sagely.
Sadie watched as he passed out food, making sure everyone had something before they wandered off into the night. He wasn’t doing it for show. He didn’t wait for a thank-you or expect one. He just… did it. Like it was second nature. Like looking after people was built into his bones.
The same man who had been booed like a pantomime villain an hour ago was now making sure everyone was fed, safe, and accounted for, herding a bunch of drunk idiots with the patience of a saint.
It struck her then—how untouched he was by the things that were supposed to ruin people.
Money hadn’t changed him. Fame hadn’t touched the core of him.
If anything, it had just made him more generous.
She was in awe of that. Of him. The way he moved through the world without needing applause for doing the right thing.
Later, when the night finally quieted and the last drunken goodbye disappeared into the dark, Sadie and Quentin made their way back to his cabin, tired, giddy, and still laughing about nothing and everything.
They barely managed to kick off their shoes before collapsing onto the bed.
Sadie stretched with a yawn. “I still can’t believe you got booed.”
Quentin groaned into the pillow. “I’m never living that down, am I?"
“Not a chance, buzzkill.” She laughed softly, rolling to face him. “You took care of everyone tonight.”
He cracked an eye. “I handed out tacos, Sadie.”
“No. You made sure no one wandered into the woods. That they drank water. That they felt like they mattered.” Sadie reached out and touched his face, the pad of her thumb brushing along the stubble on his jaw.
“You don’t even realize it, do you? The way you love people.
Quietly. Constantly. You’re rare, Quentin.
The kind of good the world doesn’t deserve but desperately needs. ”
His breath caught, his expression unreadable in the low light.
“You make me want to be better,” she said softly. “Not for you. Because of you. Because being near you reminds me that I already am. You see me that way and I start to believe it too.”
He was still, except for the way his hand found hers under the blanket.
“You mean that?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
“I’ve never meant anything more in my life,” she breathed.
He swallowed hard. "Losing Delly taught me to never let a moment slip away. To never let something beautiful fade without feeling it, without holding onto it. I used to walk through life numb, blind to the stars, the wind, even the ground beneath me. But not anymore."
She leaned closer, breath catching in the space between them. "And now?" she whispered, heart racing.
He closed the distance, his forehead resting against hers, their breaths mingling. "Now, I see you."
Then he kissed her, slow and aching. Like he’d waited whole lifetimes to find her in this moment. His tongue met hers, coaxing a moan from her throat. He swallowed the sound, one hand fisting in the sheet, the other wandering lower, beneath the fabric, skimming her ribs, her waist.
She arched, need blooming in her bones, a thrum in her blood. His touch was slow, reverent, like she was something to be cherished, not just taken.
She parted her legs with a breathless sigh, welcoming him in. His fingers dipped lower, found the heat between her thighs, and he groaned against her mouth. “Fuck. I’ll never get enough of you.”
She moaned as his fingers slid over her, slow at first, just teasing, spreading the slickness across her folds. Then one finger dipped inside her, curling gently, and she arched against him, hips lifting to meet him, hands fisting in his shirt.
“I don’t know where I end and you begin,” he said softly. “You’re the sky above me, the rhythm in my chest. You’ve become a part of me in ways I can never undo.”
She threaded her fingers into his hair and tugged, just enough to draw a low groan from his chest. He rolled his hips into hers, the air between them electric, stretched thin with want. The blanket slipped away as he settled between her thighs, eyes heavy with want and something far more tender.
“Let me…” he whispered, breath shaking. “Just—let me love you.”
Her answer was a soft, breathless moan as her legs curved around his waist, pulling him closer.
Their mouths met again, hungrier this time and messier, as he slid the head of his cock through her folds, coating himself in her slick heat. When he pressed inside, inch by aching inch, her gasp turned into a cry. He was thick, hot, the stretch deep and dizzying.
She clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders, needing more. It felt like being rewritten. Like every nerve in her body was being taught a new language. His.
He groaned, thrusting deeper. “Say my name.”
She did over and over, her voice breaking each time, as pleasure built, coiled tight, then threatened to consume her.
When he reached between them, circling her clit with his thumb, her back arched and her vision blurred.
“Right there,” he whispered. “That’s it. Let go for me.”
She shattered beneath him, a cry on her lips, her body trembling around him. He followed with a broken sound, burying himself deep, spilling into her with a groan that sounded like prayer. And still, he didn’t let go.
He stayed wrapped around her, still inside her, their breaths tangled, bodies pressed so close not even air could slip between them. The world had gone quiet. But she was still burning.
The rain was still sputtering against the window by morning, a rhythmic tap against the glass, like a soft and steady heartbeat.
The gray light filtered into the bedroom, stretching long shadows against the walls, turning the space into something quiet and dreamlike, as if time itself had slowed to a lazy crawl.
Sadie lay still, her head tucked against Quentin’s chest, his arm draped around her like he had no intention of letting go.
His fingers were splayed warm against her back, anchoring her, even in sleep.
They fit together in ways that still startled her, ways that felt almost too easy, too right.
Like they had been tangled up in each other for much longer than just a few months.
She closed her eyes and breathed him in, taking in his warmth, the lingering scent of his skin, and the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, she felt…
calm. Then came the thought. The unwelcome, gnawing thought of not having this.
Of not waking up next to him. Not feeling his steady warmth beside her.
The ache came fast and sharp, curling deep in her ribs like something clawing to get out.
Before she could let it settle, she pulled herself out of bed, careful not to wake him. The air outside the cocoon of blankets was cool, sending a shiver down her spine as she padded barefoot into the kitchen.
She passed the bowl of oranges on the counter, their bright, smug little faces practically taunting her. Fine, I found my half of the orange! Stop yelling at me.
Yanking open the fridge, she already knew what she’d find. Or, rather, what she wouldn’t.
“Unbelievable,” she muttered under her breath, staring at the empty shelf where the milk should’ve been. She glanced toward the bedroom. He still hadn’t replaced it. Again.
Rolling her eyes, she slipped on her cowgirl boots and reached for the first layer of warmth she could find, his flannel draped over the back of a chair.
Rain met her the second she stepped outside She jogged the short distance to her own cabin, bare legs prickling, breath puffing white. Inside, she grabbed the milk and immediately turned back into the storm, hardly noticing the cold anymore. All she could think about was how much she loved Quentin.
I. love. Quentin. Ramos.
I. love. Quentin. Ramos.
I. love. Quentin. Ramos.
The words echoed in her mind with each step, a chant she couldn’t silence, her heart unwilling to let go. Over and over.
By the time she reached his cabin again, her fingers were numb around the milk jug and her heart was beating too fast.
Then she stopped.
Quentin stood at the bottom of the steps, rain-soaked and motionless.
His dark hair plastered to his forehead, water tracing slow lines down his jaw.
His soaked shirt clung to him, droplets slipping down his collarbone, disappearing beneath the fabric, but he didn’t seem to care.
His gaze was locked onto hers with something that made her pulse stutter in her throat.
She lifted the half-finished gallon of milk between them. “You need more milk.”
A slow smile curved his mouth. “How domesticated of you.”
“If we’re doing this,” she said, stepping closer, rain slicking her lashes, “I need coffee with milk. Nonnegotiable.”
His eyes flickered with something dangerously close to hope. “So you’re staying still?”
She shook her head, rain-soaked hair clinging to her cheeks. “No,” she murmured, her voice barely rising above the patter of raindrops. “I’m still moving… but staying still with you in between.”
Quentin exhaled sharply, like she’d knocked the breath from his lungs. Something in his expression cracked wide open, an emotion so fierce and unguarded that she felt it in her own chest.
Then he reached for her, closing the last sliver of space between them. His hands slid around her waist, firm and unrelenting, pulling her against his drenched body. She barely had time to react before his lips crashed onto hers.
The milk slipped from her grip, landing with a dull thud on the porch forgotten.
Because nothing, not the cold rain, not the distant rumble of thunder, not the world beyond this moment, mattered.
His lips were urgent, feverish, his kiss deepening as if he was trying to tell her everything he had been holding back. Her fingers slid into his rain-slicked hair, pulling him closer.
He hadn’t broken through all at once. He’d chipped away softly, patiently, endlessly. And now, somehow, they were woven together, thread by invisible thread. She didn’t even know when it had happened. Only that he’d slipped past every story she’d told herself about needing to stay unbound.
She’d lived her life in motion, never still long enough to take root. Goodbyes had always been easier when nothing held, when nothing had weight. But he did. God, he did. He might be the only thing that ever truly had.
She swallowed against the lump in her throat. He had been right that day at the river that goodbyes were the hardest thing… especially when you loved. And somewhere along the way, without meaning to, she had fallen in love with him.
Not the bright-spark, short-burn kind. Not the kind you forget once the smoke clears. The kind that sinks in deep like dusk settling over everything soft and certain. That hooked itself in her chest, in her breath, in the marrow of her bones.
Quentin pulled back slightly, his breath ragged, his forehead resting against hers. Then, as if coming to some silent decision, he reached into his pocket.
“What are you doing? Are you proposing? Dear God, Quentin. That’s way too much,” she squealed, eyes wide.
He just smiled. The smile that turned her thoughts to static and made her stomach flutter like it had wings. Then, to her absolute horror, he sank to one knee.
“Will you do me the honor…” he trailed off, watching with clear amusement as her breath hitched, her hands hovering in panic.
“Absolutely not,” she blurted, pulse jackhammering beneath her skin.
Quentin laughed, that warm, unshakable laugh that always made her feel like everything would be fine. He reached into his pocket and pulled out something small, not a ring, but a set of keys, glinting in his palm.
“Of being my girlfriend,” he said, grinning now, eyes locked on hers. “And staying at my place whenever you’re free. Which, just so we’re clear, should be often.”
Her heart twisted and unraveled. Relief burst through her chest, followed closely by joy and something weightless, dizzying. She let out a shaky breath and a smile tugged at her lips before she could stop it.
Her father had once told her, Fall in love with the one who feels like coming home, not the one who keeps asking for directions. And Quentin never fumbled with maps. He never hesitated or circled back. He just arrived. Like he’d known the way to her all along.
“Yes,” she said, voice barely above the rain that slid down her face like melted stars. “A thousand times yes.”
His grin broke like sunlight through cloud cover before he surged forward, wrapping her in his arms, lifting her off the ground like she weighed nothing, like loving her made him weightless too.
“I love you, Sadie,” he said, voice low, like the words had been building for miles just to reach this moment.
She felt it settle deep in her chest. And for once, she didn’t fight it. She let it in.
“I know,” she whispered, smiling through it all. “You show me every day.”
His thumb brushed along her cheek, feather-light. And in that flicker of silence, she saw it, how long he’d waited, how much he’d hoped.
She reached for him, fingers threading through his damp hair, pulling him close again until their foreheads met.
“I love you too.”
He kissed her again, slower this time, like he was tracing the shape of forever across her mouth. And she let him. Because whether she stayed or wandered, whether she built a life in one place or chased wild winds, she knew she’d always belong with him.