The Quite Ridge

Chapter 30-Sadie

The fire burned low by the time the night really started to settle, the flames giving way to slow, glowing embers that pulsed with heat instead of light. The energy had shifted without anyone saying it out loud. Earlier, people moved, talked over each other, laughed louder than they needed to. Now it was quieter. Conversations stayed contained. People leaned back instead of forward, like the night had finally caught up to them.

I stayed longer than I thought I would. Long enough for it to almost feel normal. For a few minutes, I let myself sink into it. The warmth of the fire, the sound of voices around me, the simple rhythm of being somewhere I didn’t have to think too hard about. It felt… easy.

But it didn’t last.

It never did.

Every now and then, my attention slipped without warning. My hand would move toward my pocket before I stopped myself, like I was expecting something that hadn’t happened yet. The weight of my phone felt heavier than it should have, like it carried more than just a screen and a number.

“You okay?” Maddie asked again, her voice softer this time, more careful.

I nodded before she even finished asking. “Yeah.”

It came out too fast.

We both knew it.

She didn’t push, but I could feel her watching me a second longer than she needed to before turning back toward the fire. That almost made it worse. Being left alone with it instead of called out on it. Across from me, Jace said something that made a couple people laugh, the sound carrying through the quiet, but I didn’t catch what it was. My focus didn’t stay there long enough.

It shifted.

It kept shifting.

Back to Rhett.

He wasn’t saying much, sitting slightly off to the side, one arm resting on his knee, his posture relaxed in a way that didn’t quite match the look in his eyes. The firelight hit him unevenly, shadows cutting across his face, making it harder to read him clearly. But I didn’t need to. Every time I looked up, his eyes found mine. And held. Not long enough for anyone else to notice. Just long enough for me to feel it. Something settled low in my chest every time it happened. Not uncomfortable. Not unfamiliar. Just something I wasn’t used to letting sit there.

The night wound down slowly after that. One by one, people started to leave, finishing drinks, stretching, calling out quiet goodbyes as they disappeared into the dark beyond the trees. The circle grew smaller, the noise softer, the space around the fire opening up.

Maddie stood first, brushing her hands together like she was closing something out. “Alright, that’s it. Fire’s dying and I’m done hosting.”

“You love hosting,” Jace said.

“I love when it ends,” she shot back.

I let out a small breath and stood, brushing my hands against my jeans, grounding myself in the motion. “That’s my cue,” I said quietly.

Maddie looked at me, her expression softer now. “Text me when you get home.”

“I will.”

Before I could take another step, Rhett’s voice cut in, calm and certain. “I’ve got her.”

I didn’t have to turn to know it was him.

Still, I did.

He was already on his feet, already moving closer, like it wasn’t something he needed to think about or decide. It had already been decided. Maddie glanced between us, something small and knowing flickering across her face before she nodded.

“Text me when you get home,” she said again.

“I will,” I repeated.

This time, I didn’t hesitate. Didn’t question it. It felt easier not to.

The walk back to the truck was quieter than before. The noise from the fire faded behind us, replaced by the steady crunch of gravel under our feet and the low movement of the trees overhead. The air felt cooler now, the kind of cool that settled into your skin instead of just brushing against it. The path felt longer than it had earlier. Or maybe I just noticed it more. Every step felt heavier. More aware. Of him. Of the space between us. Of everything that had almost happened and hadn’t gone anywhere. It had just paused.

He opened the passenger door without saying anything, stepping back just enough to give me space. It wasn’t a big gesture. It wasn’t showy. It was simple. Expected. I climbed in, my hand brushing against the seat as I settled, my awareness sharper now in a way I couldn’t ignore. The door closed behind me with a solid sound that felt louder than it should have.

The engine started.

And the silence settled in with it.

The drive was quiet, but it wasn’t empty. The headlights stretched out in front of us, cutting a narrow path through the dark while the trees closed in tighter the farther we got from the fire. I kept my eyes forward at first, then let them drift toward the window, watching the blur of shadows move past.

Anything to avoid looking at him.

“You got quiet on me back there,” he said after a minute.

His voice was steady, but there was something under it. Not pressure. Not exactly. Just attention.

“I’m fine,” I said.

Too quick.

Too practiced.

It didn’t sound right even to me.

He didn’t argue. Didn’t call it out right away. The silence stretched for a second before he spoke again.

“Didn’t feel like it.”

That made me look at him.

His eyes stayed on the road, one hand steady on the wheel, his posture unchanged, like he wasn’t trying to corner me. But he wasn’t letting it go either.

I looked away again. “Just tired.”

Another half-answer.

Another way around it.

He let it sit again, longer this time, like he was giving me the chance to say something else.

I didn’t.

“You don’t stay anywhere long either,” he said finally.

That one landed.

I turned toward him slightly, my brow tightening. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

His eyes flicked toward me for a second, then back to the road. “Means you look like you’re always ready to leave.”

My chest tightened.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

I didn’t answer right away. The words didn’t come easily, and I wasn’t sure I wanted them to.

“You’re not wrong,” I said finally, quieter this time.

That was as much as I could give him.

The truck slowed as we turned onto my road, gravel crunching under the tires as the trees opened just enough to reveal the cabin. It sat there in the dark, still and quiet, the single light I had left on glowing faintly through the window.

Something about it felt off.

Like it had been waiting.

He parked and turned off the engine, but neither of us moved right away. The silence inside the truck felt heavier now, closer, like it had nowhere to go.

“Sadie.”

My name sounded different coming from him. Lower. More direct.

I turned toward him.

“What was that earlier?” he asked.

He didn’t rush it. Didn’t push the words harder than they needed to be. But he didn’t let it go either.

My fingers tightened slightly in my lap. “It was nothing.”

The same answer.

The same lie.

He didn’t move. Didn’t look away.

“Don’t do that.”

My breath caught. “Do what?”

“Tell me it’s nothing when it’s not.”

That landed harder than anything else.

Because he wasn’t guessing.

He knew.

I looked down for a second, then back up, my chest tightening. “I don’t—” I started, but the words stopped before they could form into anything real.

He leaned closer, just enough to shift the space between us again without taking it away from me. “Something’s got you looking over your shoulder,” he said.

My breath caught again.

Too close.

Too accurate.

“I’m fine,” I said, quieter now, the words thinner, weaker.

His eyes didn’t leave mine.

Not for a second.

Then his gaze dropped, slower this time, deliberate enough that I felt it before I understood it. My lips. Then back up to my eyes.

The same as before.

Only closer now.

The air shifted again, warmer, heavier, like it had weight to it. Neither of us moved. And for a second, everything else fell away. No noise. No fear. No thoughts that made sense.

Just this.

Just him.

I pulled back first, just enough to break it.

“I should go,” I said softly.

This time, I meant it.

He held my gaze for a second longer, then nodded once. “Text me when you get inside.”

Not a question.

I nodded. “Okay.”

I stepped out of the truck, the cool air hitting me again, pulling me back into something real. My heart was still racing as I walked toward the door, my hand steadying just enough to get the key in the lock. I didn’t look back.

Because I knew if I did—

I might not go inside.