Page 103 of The Golden Scoop

My entire house smells like her—at least to me—and it’s messing with my sanity.

A day and a half. Barely. That’s all it’s been since I saw her. Filming wrapped late yesterday, and by the time I finally called, she was already in bed, half asleep. We’ve been texting nonstop all day, but after yesterday’s flashy disaster, I need her back in my arms. It’s my job to make her feel safe. Every minute apart is another I’m wondering if her overthinking will take charge.

I miss her.

I miss her in this quiet, aching way I don’t quite know how to manage.

Since getting home, I’ve distracted myself with setting up for game night. My fridge is fully stocked with everyone’s drink of choice. Emma’s favorite cookies. Julia’s salty crackers. Harrison’s artificially flavored nacho cheese chips. All spread out over the coffee table. Four pillows sit on the floor around it exactly how Emma likes it.

The charcuterie boards I bought sit off to one side, while our ancient Trivial Pursuit game already set up takes the other. I light candles, tidy the living room for the third time, then head into my bedroom to stress over what I’m wearing before realizing how ridiculous that is.

No one dresses up for game night.

Honestly, I’d be shocked if Emma showed up in anything other than leggings and one of those tiny crop-tops that make my mouth dry and mind spiral indecently.

The gate buzzer cuts through my thoughts. I check the time. Early.

Shit.

I thought I still had another thirty minutes to mentally prepare for seeing her again after… after having her in my bed.

I swap into a white cotton T-shirt and stick to the washed-out jeans I already had on.

Then the nerves hit. Hard. It’s absurd. I’ve done press tours in front of millions of people. Somehow Emma Miller can get under my skin without even being here.

I check the security camera and recognize Harrison’s car waiting outside. I buzz him in from my phone and head for the front door.

He’s alone, carrying a case of beer, and my brain immediately short-circuits.

“I’m in love with Emma.”

Harrison snorts and walks past me, not remotely alarmed.

“Yeah. Tell me something I don’t already know.”

“What?” I follow him into the kitchen. He cracks open a beer and hands it to me. Half of it is gone in one swallow.

“Matt,” he says, opening one for himself. “You’re acting like that was some huge secret. It’s been all over you face for, like… a year.”

“No, it hasn’t,” I argue automatically. I panic. “Shit. Do you think she knows? Why wouldn’t you tell me?! I thought we were best friends.”

“Mate, I’ve made a thousand comments about your crush,” he says with a smug grin. “You ignored all of them.”

“Yeah, because I thought you guys were teasing me.”

“Clearly, we weren’t,” he insists. “But don’t worry. Emma doesn’t know how deep it goes.”

“Are you sure?” I press. My freak-out makes zero sense and I know. But everything about this feels fragile right now. Complicated. We’re still working together. “After yesterday⁠—”

“I thought she looked different today,” Harrison says, lifting his index finger like he’s solved a murder mystery.

“Different?”

“Yeah.” He chuckles. “Very strong ‘I’ve had sex with the man I want to marry’ glow.”

My beer nearly exits through my nose.

“Don’t feed my delusion, Harrison.” I drag a hand down my face. “Fear’s taking over. I can’t stop thinking about the article—how it could affect her career and mine. Public opinion turns ugly quick. Paparazzi were all over us yesterday. I know Hollywood and so do you. It’s brutal.”