The Quite Ridge

Chapter 2-Rhett

I noticed her before she even got out of the car. Not because she stood out, but because she was trying not to, and it didn’t work. She slowed when she pulled in, just enough to be wrong. Most people didn’t move like that unless they had a reason.

I kept working, hands moving like normal, but my attention wasn’t there anymore. It stayed on the car, on the way it stopped, on the fact that the engine cut and she didn’t get out right away. Then came the mirror check. Twice. Not distracted, not casual—deliberate. Like she expected something to be behind her.

My jaw tightened slightly. Yeah. I’d seen that before.

When she finally stepped out, I noticed the way she moved first. Not unsure. Not hesitant. Aware. Most people looked around when they got somewhere new. She didn’t look—she scanned. The yard, the trucks, the space between them. Distance. Exits. People. That wasn’t someone settling in. That was someone preparing.

Maddie was already heading toward her, and Jace was saying something loud like always, but I didn’t hear half of it. My focus stayed on her, whether I wanted it to or not.

Then she looked at me.

And stopped.

Not curious. Not impressed. Like something in her locked into place before she could stop it. I held her gaze. I didn’t push it, didn’t soften it either. I just stayed there.

She should’ve looked away. She didn’t.

That got my attention.

The rest of it, I felt. That pull. Low, controlled, not something I was used to reacting to. My eyes dropped for a second, taking in more than I should have—the tension in her shoulders, the way she held herself like she didn’t trust anything around her—then came back to hers. This time, I didn’t pull it back.

Her breath caught. I saw it. The way she went still instead of stepping away. That told me everything I needed to know.

She felt it too.

When Maddie brought her over, I stepped forward just enough to meet her where she was. “Rhett.”

“Sadie.”

Her voice was quieter now. Tighter.

Up close, it was clearer. The tension. The control. The fact she didn’t step back even when she should have. My gaze dropped again, measured, deliberate, then came back to hers. Close enough to mean something. Not enough to cross the line.

She didn’t move. Didn’t break.

That pulled at something I didn’t care to look at too closely.

So I stepped back. Gave her space. Watched the way her shoulders loosened just slightly when I did. Yeah. I read that right.

Something wasn’t right with her. That much was obvious.

But that wasn’t what stayed with me.

It was the way she looked at me, like she didn’t want to, but couldn’t stop.

And for the first time that morning, my attention wasn’t on the job.

It was on her.