Page 79 of The Golden Scoop

His hand is cupping my cheek, thumb moving in a slow back-and-forth motion almost as if he’d been doing it long enough not to think about it.

“Emma,” he whispers again.

My name sounds different in his voice right now. Soft and tender.

I look up at him, his eyes already locked on mine. That thing is back in his expression. The one I can’t quite decipher. The one that makes my stomach do that annoying, fluttery routine I refuse to acknowledge.

Neither of us say anything.

Suddenly, as if I’ve had a cold bucket of water dumped over me, I become aware very quickly of everything. The warmth of his skin against mine. The faint, clean scent of his cologne—yeah, same one that gets me all turned around.

And then, because my brain hates me, my attention drops to his mouth.

It was a chaste kiss. So short it left me wondering what it would be like to actually kiss him. Would it be a fight for dominance like everything else is with us? Or would he take control, leaving me speechless for once?

His lips look⁠—

No.

Can’t finish that thought.

How bad would it be if I leaned up and kissed him again? Just to check. For science. Matt would be so mad I keep doing this unannounced.

“Car’s waiting for us,” he says, cutting straight through my reckless thoughts.

Right. Reality knocks. We’re wheels down in L.A. with lives we have to get back to.

I push myself up a little too quickly, smoothing my hand over my hair and face as if that’s going to erase the memory of his touch.

“Great,” I mumble, struggling to form sentences that don’t involve the words lips or kiss. “Love cars. Peak transportation, honestly.”

He swallows a laugh but doesn’t say anything else. We grab our bags—well, Matt does—and get in the blacked-out SUV. He’s being polite, chatting up the driver. A complete opposite, I’m trying my hardest not to stare at the small patch of skin that appears when he opens the trunk.

Once we’re settled inside, he gives the driver my address. The partition closes, sealing us into our own little bubble with a soft click. It’s too small a place, too much Matt. I immediately regret every life choice that’s led me here, unable to get him out of my head.

“Thanks for coming,” he says after a moment.

I glance over at him, leaning back in his seat, not a single overthinking line on his forehead, like he didn’t spend the entire flight casually holding my face.

“You’re making it sound like I had a choice.”

His mouth quirks.

“You’re Emma Miller. You always have a choice.” He pauses, eyes flicking to me. “You just like pretending you don’t.”

“Shhhh,” I say, holding up both hands. “Don’t ruin my brand.”

Matt laughs. The kind that starts deep in his belly that he can’t hold back. Something in my chest reacts to the sound, and my heart does that stupid, warm-expanding thing again.

“Still,” he says, softer now. “Thank you. I mean it.”

My instinct kicks in and I’m about to deflect. Make a joke, change the subject, fake a phone call… But I don’t. I look at him and smile, properly this time.

“You’re welcome,” I say, honestly. “I had a good time.”

The car slows, pulling up outside my building sooner than I’m ready for. I’m getting addicted to this version of Matt, and I don’t want to let him go. But timing’s never been on my side.

He follows me to my front door. I’m drafting what I’m going to say to Julia and Olivia on our catch-up video call because there’s not a single scenario in which they don’t freak out.