The Quite Ridge

Chapter 1-Sadie

Monday was supposed to feel like a fresh start. It didn’t. I didn’t slow down when I crossed into town, not at the sign, not when the road narrowed, not even when the trees closed in thick enough to block out the sky. Slowing down meant thinking, and thinking led to remembering. I wasn’t ready for that.

It had been three days since I left, three days since I walked out without a plan, without a goodbye, without anything except the need to get away. I didn’t tell anyone where I was going, and I didn’t answer my phone, because if no one knew, he couldn’t find me. I checked the mirror again, letting my eyes linger longer this time, but there was nothing there—just empty road stretching out behind me. It should’ve made me feel better, but it didn’t, because I knew better than that. Nothing didn’t mean safe. It just meant he hadn’t caught up yet.

The driveway came up faster than I expected, gravel cracking under my tires as I turned in. I slowed without thinking, my eyes moving ahead of me, taking everything in before I fully pulled into the lot. Old habit, one I couldn’t seem to break. High Ridge Tree Co. The place looked controlled, not just clean—intentional. Trucks lined up with space between them, equipment stacked where it belonged, nothing out of place. It didn’t look like chaos. It looked like someone didn’t allow it. That should’ve made me feel better, but I didn’t trust it enough to let it.

My eyes moved across the yard and caught on one truck that stood out from the rest—bigger, lifted, built for work, not for show. It wasn’t perfect, but it was taken care of. It felt solid, and I hated that I noticed that.

I parked and cut the engine, but I didn’t get out right away. I checked the mirror again, my grip tightening slightly on the steering wheel. There was still nothing. I waited anyway. I didn’t know what I was waiting for—maybe proof, maybe a reason to leave—but after a few seconds, I forced myself to move.

The door opened, and the air hit me first, warm and carrying the smell of sawdust and fuel. It grounded me faster than I expected, pulling me out of my head just enough to breathe. This was real. Not him, not that life—something else.

“Hey!”

I looked up. A girl was already walking toward me, smiling like she didn’t hesitate about anything.

“I’m Maddie. You must be Sadie.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re just in time,” she said easily. “They’re about to head out.”

I followed her gaze. A crew moved around the trucks like they’d done it a hundred times—easy, familiar. One of them was loud enough that I could hear him from across the yard.

“That’s Jace,” she said.

I nodded, but I wasn’t really listening anymore, because my attention had already shifted.

To him.

He stood near the truck I noticed earlier, like it belonged to him, like everything here did. He wasn’t loud, wasn’t trying to stand out, but the space around him felt different, like people moved with him instead of around him. Tall, broad shoulders, built from real work, not for show. His sleeves were pushed up just enough to show ink running down his arm, dark lines disappearing under fabric like there was more I couldn’t see.

His hair caught my attention next—red, but not bright or soft, something darker, something that didn’t fade, it held.

“That’s Rhett,” Maddie said.

As if he felt it, he looked up, and everything in me went still. It wasn’t just that he looked at me—it was how. Steady, direct, like he wasn’t trying to figure me out, like he already had. I should’ve looked away. I didn’t. That was the problem. Because there was nothing in his expression that felt like a threat, nothing sharp, nothing pushing—just control, the kind that didn’t need to prove itself.

His eyes held mine just long enough for something to shift. My breath caught before I could stop it, my body going still like it didn’t know what to do with it. It wasn’t fear—that would’ve made sense. This felt like something else, something I didn’t trust, something I didn’t understand.

His gaze dropped slightly, just enough, then came back to mine, and that was worse, because it wasn’t careless. It was intentional, like he knew exactly what he was doing.

Maddie was still talking, but I barely heard her as we walked closer. Rhett stepped forward when we reached him, not rushed, not slow—just enough to be there without crowding me.

“Rhett.”

“Sadie.”

My voice came out quieter than I intended. Up close, it was stronger—his presence, his control, like he didn’t take up space by force, he just had it. His eyes held mine again, closer now, more direct, and my body reacted before I could stop it, my breath shifting, heat rising in a way I didn’t want to look at too closely.

His gaze dropped again, measured, deliberate, then came back to mine. Not careless. Intentional.

Then he stepped back, and the space between us opened again. I felt it immediately—the loss of it, subtle but there. My shoulders loosened just slightly, my breath coming easier, but something stayed behind, something I couldn’t shake.

Because for the first time since I left, something had stopped me.

And it wasn’t fear.