Page 64 of The Golden Scoop

I nod.

Might’ve changed everything.

By the time we’re wheels down in New York, it’s past midnight.

Emma stayed up until Lauren served us a surprisingly delicious dinner for reheated food. Resting seemed like the smartest option. Once Emma was out, I tried. No matter how many times I counted to a hundred, I couldn’t keep my eyes closed.

This primal need to protect her overrides the exhaustion from the day. So, I… watch her. Not intensely, but enough to learn she’s a heavy sleeper. No amount of turbulence wakes her up.

At one point, I lean over to fasten her seatbelt back up. My fingers brush against her side, brief, accidental. I pull back like I’ve burned myself.

It isn’t until Lauren opens the door back up that I nudge her gently. I would’ve carried her out of the plane myself, but I don’t think she’d appreciated the closeness as much as I would. Instead, I grab her duffle bag and let her lead the way.

The car drops us off at the entrance of The Ritz-Carlton Central Park. It’s too dark to admire the city properly, but it still roars with summer tourists. Even now, still clings to my skin as soon as I step out into the open. There’s a stench of warm asphalt mixed with a faint undercurrent of garbage with each passing car.

Emma doesn’t seem to care. She’s looking around, taking it all in, and I wonder, for the first time, if she’s been here before. Feels like something I should know.

The shift indoors is immediate. The city follows us in for half a second before the air turns cool and filtered, exactly the same as every other time I’ve been here—leather, polished wood, citrus. Everything controlled.

You’d think I’d be used to it, but with every trip, the difference hits harder.

Still, the Ritz has always been my safe place in the Big Apple. Quiet entrance. A doorman who doesn’t blink twice. Dim lights with marble underfoot, and never a single spectacle.

I walk ahead, listening for Emma’s steps behind me. The receptionist checks us in and hands me our room keys.

When I glance back, she’s standing in the middle of the lobby, her eyes lifted toward the high ceilings, unfiltered awe all over her face.

It catches me off guard more than any camera could.

And as she takes in the room, I watch her. How she makes this place feel brand new for me too.

“Hey, Miss New York,” I tell her. “Time for bed.”

She nods and follows me into the elevator. I try to keep my eyes on the numbers, but they drift back to her anyway.

“You’re suite 408,” I say, handing her a key card. “There’s no room service at this hour, but I can run out and get you whatever you want.”

“Thank you, Matt. I appreciate it, but I think I’m going to go right back to bed,” she says with a soft laugh, sneaking a glance upwards. She’s been strangely quiet.

The elevator dings. It opens on the fourth floor, but I’m not ready to let her go yet. I hold onto her bag for just a bit longer. She leans against the middle, one foot in, one out, like she’s still deciding her next move.

“Tomorrow the crew will arrive around midday, so you don’t have to wake up super early. They have wonderful breakfast, although I know nothing beats a McDonald’s Egg McMuffin. I can sort that out for you too.”

I’m rambling. Emma knows it. And yet she doesn’t leave.

She watches me, the tender smile on her face growing with every word that comes out of my mouth.

“Hotel breakfast will be okay,” she says.

Her hand comes up to my forehead, her thumb brushing across my skin.

“Stop stressing. You’ll get wrinkles.”

Another ding. The metal doors push her forward into me. I brace a hand against them, boxing her in without thinking.

She tilts her head up to meet my eyes.

“You’ll call me if you need anything?” I whisper.