A Quiet Kind of Wanted
A slow burn romance about an arranged marriage, a quiet countryside life, and two lonely people learning what it means to be wanted.
Chapter 1
The Long Road
Elena Vasquez had cried for the first hour of the drive and gone silent for the next two.
She watched the city give way to highway, then the highway give way to fields that stretched out flat and endless under a sky too big for her liking.
Everything out here looked the same — green, gold, green again — and she found herself gripping the strap of her bag like it was the only solid thing left in her life.
Her mother's last words to her hadn't even been a goodbye. They'd been, "You'll thank us eventually."
She doubted it.
The car finally slowed at the end of a long gravel drive, gravel crunching under the tires until it stopped in front of a two-story farmhouse with a tin roof and a porch lined with rocking chairs nobody seemed to use.
It was quiet.
Too quiet.
The kind of quiet that made her own heartbeat sound loud in her ears.
A man emerged from the barn before the driver had even cut the engine.
He was big — broader than she'd imagined, with the kind of build that came from actual labor and not a gym membership.
He wiped his hands on a rag tucked into his back pocket as he walked toward the car, and when he got close enough to actually see her through the window, he stopped walking entirely.
He looked terrified.
Elena almost laughed.
Almost.
She stepped out of the car on her own before he could open the door for her, chin lifted, daring him to say something she could be angry at.
"Hi," he said instead. "I'm Troy. Troy Burnett." He stuck his hand out, then seemed to remember himself and pulled it back.
"Sorry — you probably don't want to do that. Handshakes. That's weird, isn't it. I don't know what you want."
"I don't want any of this," Elena said.
Troy nodded slowly, like he'd expected that answer and had already made peace with it.
"Yeah," he said. "That's fair."
That wasn't the response she'd braced for either.
He picked up her suitcase before she could stop him — careful with it, like it held something breakable instead of clothes and a few books she'd smuggled past her mother's last-minute inspection.
"I made up the room at the end of the hall for you," he said, leading the way up the porch steps.
"It's got its own lock. I won't come in unless you ask me to. Not ever, unless you ask."
Elena stopped walking.
"Why are you being like this?" she asked. It came out sharper than she meant it to — almost accusatory, like kindness from him had to be a trick she hadn't spotted yet.
Troy turned back to look at her, and for the first time, he didn't look away.
"Because nobody asked you if you wanted this," he said quietly.
"Seemed like the least I could do was make sure you still got a say in something."
She didn't have a response for that.
So she said nothing, and followed him inside.
Elena Vasquez had cried for the first hour of the drive and gone silent for the next two.
She watched the city give way to highway, then the highway give way to fields that stretched out flat and endless under a sky too big for her liking.
Everything out here looked the same — green, gold, green again — and she found herself gripping the strap of her bag like it was the only solid thing left in her life.
Her mother's last words to her hadn't even been a goodbye. They'd been, "You'll thank us eventually."
She doubted it.
The car finally slowed at the end of a long gravel drive, gravel crunching under the tires until it stopped in front of a two-story farmhouse with a tin roof and a porch lined with rocking chairs nobody seemed to use.
It was quiet.
Too quiet.
The kind of quiet that made her own heartbeat sound loud in her ears.
A man emerged from the barn before the driver had even cut the engine.
He was big — broader than she'd imagined, with the kind of build that came from actual labor and not a gym membership.
He wiped his hands on a rag tucked into his back pocket as he walked toward the car, and when he got close enough to actually see her through the window, he stopped walking entirely.
He looked terrified.
Elena almost laughed.
Almost.
She stepped out of the car on her own before he could open the door for her, chin lifted, daring him to say something she could be angry at.
"Hi," he said instead. "I'm Troy. Troy Burnett." He stuck his hand out, then seemed to remember himself and pulled it back.
"Sorry — you probably don't want to do that. Handshakes. That's weird, isn't it. I don't know what you want."
"I don't want any of this," Elena said.
Troy nodded slowly, like he'd expected that answer and had already made peace with it.
"Yeah," he said. "That's fair."
That wasn't the response she'd braced for either.
He picked up her suitcase before she could stop him — careful with it, like it held something breakable instead of clothes and a few books she'd smuggled past her mother's last-minute inspection.
"I made up the room at the end of the hall for you," he said, leading the way up the porch steps.
"It's got its own lock. I won't come in unless you ask me to. Not ever, unless you ask."
Elena stopped walking.
"Why are you being like this?" she asked. It came out sharper than she meant it to — almost accusatory, like kindness from him had to be a trick she hadn't spotted yet.
Troy turned back to look at her, and for the first time, he didn't look away.
"Because nobody asked you if you wanted this," he said quietly.
"Seemed like the least I could do was make sure you still got a say in something."
She didn't have a response for that.
So she said nothing, and followed him inside.
Chapter 1
— Chapter 1 of 6