Page 86 of The Golden Scoop

“Depends on what you brought,” she shoots back, but steps aside anyway.

I walk in and immediately get hit with Emma. Not just the scent but the space itself. It’s her. Everywhere.

The apartment’s small but put together in a way that feels like it’s been growing with her overtime. A compact kitchen sits behind a half wall with two mismatched stools tucked underneath. The living room opens up enough for a deep couch facing the TV, a low coffee table buried under snacks and notebooks, and a worn leather armchair I’m sure is inherited. At the back, a single door that sneak peeks her bedroom.

She’s got two framed prints of surfers above the sofa: one dropping off the face of a massive wave, the other tucked clean inside a barrel. A couple of plants cling to life in the corners, and a stack of newspapers leans precariously against the wall. Photos are everywhere. Friends, family, adventures, and the most recent one from the wedding. Surprisingly, I haven’t been cut off of.

Emma drops to the floor by the coffee table, leaning back against the couch. She starts stacking her open notebooks and laptops, quick and efficient, as if they held secrets I can’t be trusted with yet. I don’t take it personally.

“In my house, we don’t actually use tables,” she says, tapping the space next to her.

I kick off my shoes and slide down beside her, overjoyed she feels comfortable enough to invite me into her world like this.

It hit me then—how easy this feels. As if we skipped a few steps somewhere. Or maybe we were always destined to end up here.

“No judgment, but do you always eat on the floor?”

Emma nods. “My house my rules.” She laughs. “Except when my parents come around for a visit. Then it somehow turns into their house, their rules.”

“Well, for one, I’m happy I made the cut. I like sharing these things with you. I might even start doing it myself.”

She giggles, and I lean in to bump her shoulder with mine.

“It’s a very exclusive club. You should feel honored.”

“How exclusive are we talking about here?” I tease. “Private club exclusive, or like… FBI most-wanted list exclusive?”

Her posture shifts beside me. Subtle, but there. Something tightens. I get the sense this could turn into something heavier for her, so I leave it alone.

She answers anyway.

“The Harrisons, Olivia… now you,” she says quietly. Then she takes a deep breath. “The guys I’ve seen the last couple of years never made it far enough to even come over. Week one is getting to know each other. Week two, I let them into my routine. By the time week three starts, they’re somehow too busy for anything serious.”

“Sounds like a them problem,” I say, keeping it light even though the idea of anyone getting a chance to date Emma and walking away from her is objectively insane.

“It is what it is. I learned not to take it personally,” she says. “I like getting to know someone before inviting them into my home. Let alone my bed.”

“Can’t say it’s been the same for me,” I admit.

Emma turns, eyebrows raised.

“Don’t worry. I haven’t been with anyone in almost two years,” I add, watching her reaction and hoping she doesn’t connect the dots. “I don’t like sharing either.”

“Why do I find that extremely hard to believe even after getting to the know the real Matt Hunt?” she teases.

“Probably because, no matter how many books I read, I’m still a man with… needs,” I say. “I mean, you’ve gotten to know my schedule pretty well. When I’m in the middle of a project, I barely have time to sleep. And when I do, I prefer to do just that.”

She scoffs. “What I know is how long a hookup takes, and if you really wanted to, you’d spare those ten minutes. Who knows, might only take you two.”

The rice box nearly slips out of my hands. I gasp, loud and dramatic.

“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response. Low blow,” I say with a laugh. “You’re not wrong. If I wanted to, I could. You want honesty? Here it is: I don’t want to.”

“Something happened almost two years ago that scarred you enough to go celibate… interesting,” she presses. “Pregnancy scare maybe?”

She’s so far off it almost makes me laugh.

“Is winning an Oscar not enough motivation?”