Page 72 of The Golden Scoop

Matt glances toward the tall windows at the end of the hall. The glass rattles faintly, followed by a low roll of thunder and lightning. When did it start raining like it’s the end of the world?

“Flights are grounded. We’re not leaving until tomorrow.”

“It’s not ideal, but I don’t really mind working from the Ritz a little longer,” I say, swallowing my stress, and imagining those Egyptian bedsheets. He stands, grabs my hand, and pull us out of the side door.

“Jennifer’s calling to see if we can stay in the same rooms.”

As if on cue, his phone buzzes. He reads the message, cursing under his breath.

“Fully booked. Everyone’s looking for an overnight stay.”

My eyes widen. “Um. I can start calling other hotels, see if I can find something.”

I can pinpoint the moment his eyes light up with an unspoken idea.

“No need. I know exactly where we can stay tonight.”

SEVENTEEN

Emma

“Where are we?” I ask.

We park the rental on a dimly lit street. We’re somewhere in New Jersey, about an hour away from the city. Rows of one-story houses stretch on either side, most of them run down, except the one we’re stopped in front of.

The white paint and red brick look recently renovated. The yard is freshly mowed, walkway clean and bordered by blossoming flowers.

Sprinkles still come down steadily, but the sky seems to have calmed down for a bit. It’s almost ten pm, and whoever we’re about to bother is definitely not expecting us.

“We are at Mrs. Hunt’s humble abode,” Matt answers, grabbing our bags from the back and getting out.

He opens my door, and I can’t help but stare at the muscles on this man. The bow tie is now hanging loose around his neck, the first couple of buttons undone. His jacket was discarded before we got on the road, and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, his forearms flexing with every move.

“You missing something?” he asks.

I clear my throat. Yeah, my self-control, apparently.

“Did you tell her we were coming? I don’t want to intrude,” I say. How did I get here? Meeting Matt’s mom. “I could’ve stayed at the inn we saw on our way in while you came for a visit.”

“She loves surprises. I haven’t seen her in a while, she’ll be glad to have us,” he assures. I groan but ultimately get out.

Parents love me. Then again, none of the parents I’ve met have ever been his. Matt Hunt. The man I’ve been unhelpfully ogling the entire night.

Matt rings the doorbell. A light turns on and he leans to peek through the window.

“Who is it?” says a woman.

He presses a finger over his lips, asking me to stay quiet. A couple of seconds later, the door opens. Matt’s mom stands there, her mouth agape, frozen in place.

“Hi, Mom.”

I’m beginning to think we’ve broken her when she lets out a loud shriek before throwing her arms around him. She’s not much taller than me, and he has to bend down to give her a hug. It’s impossible to ignore. I can already tell this version of Matt is different.

I hang back, suddenly unsure of where I fit into all of this. They don’t get that much family time, and I feel like I’m intruding. Then, his hand finds mine, giving it a little squeeze.

“Mom, this is Emma.”

She tries to cover her mouth, but she’s not fast enough. The gasp is loud and clear.