Page 40 of The Golden Scoop

I don’t comment on it. I put it away and start walking, leaving him behind, determined to get to the top so we can finish as quickly as possible. Preferably before I have another intrusive thought about his mouth.

“Before the paps caught wind of this, I used to go out hiking every week. It was a way to unplug and get some exercise aside from what I can do at home,” he says, catching up. “No one would bother me. People would nod and say hi, but they’d never take time to study who I am. I could be the real Matt hidden behind a cap.”

The real Matt. Exactly what I thought. I wonder if he’ll fully admit to it or if this is as close as it gets.

“Isn’t that who you always are?” I ask carefully, dying to know the answer. “Who’s the real Matt?”

“He’s the quiet one. The one who’d rather watch a movie at home than go out to party. The one who wants something stable, someone to love.” He sounds honest, and I’m tempted to believe him. But I have plenty experience with men lying. “Most people only see the Matt Hunt who fits the action star brand.”

I take a moment to process what he’s saying. I’ve lived firsthand what it’s like to hide behind a name. In my case it’s simply The Scoop Anonymous. Except my version doesn’t come with fans, just consequences.

I’m too busy overthinking to watch my step. The pebbles under me shift, and before I can catch myself, I’m slipping, heading straight to the ground. Matt’s reflexes are better than mine, because he’s already in front of me pulling me up before my knees get scratched.

My heart starts pounding from the scare. Or from the memory of his firm, bare chest under my hands. Even now, he still smells ridiculously good. I still refuse to unpack why I keep noticing.

“You good there?” he says, letting go of my arms.

“I didn’t need you to save me,” I mumble, putting some space between us. We’ve been too close, too many times.

My pulse refuses to settle, so I go around him and focus on the hike before my brain can catch up with whatever that was. I need to get my bearings straight.

“I’d save you every time if you’d let me,” he says behind me.

That’s exactly how bad decisions starts and I can’t afford one.

Twenty excruciating minutes later, we finally get to a bench that overlooks the entirety of downtown, the Hollywood sign sitting a little way under us. There’s something about seeing the hectic L.A. life but hearing none of it that gives me goosebumps. It’s like watching chaos on mute.

Everything’s bathed in the golden light of midday, making the world look softer than it actually is.

“Fine,” I concede. “This doesn’t suck.”

Matt chuckles and sits next to me, bumping his knee against mine like it’s accidental (it’s not).

We sit in silence for a couple of minutes. Me, because I’m still trying to cool down. Him, deep in his thoughts. I’ve learned with my years of experience that the more space you give someone to open up, the more likely they are to do so. People hate silence almost as much as I hate hiking.

And that’s exactly what happens.

“I used to come here with my mom when she came to visit,” Matt says, almost to himself. “Apparently my dad loved hiking. Took my mom on crazy camping adventures. This was our way to stay close to him after he passed.”

I look at him, his stare lost in the distance, and I try to keep my face neutral because this is… more than I expected. He never talks about his family. Not even when we’ve been in private with Julia and Harrison. All I know is they still live in New Jersey.

“Do you ever miss it?” I ask, unable to put myself in his shoes. My parents live a short drive away and Olivia doesn’t plan on moving far either. “Being close to her?”

“Sometimes,” he answers. “But in a way, I also feel by being here I’m proving to myself my dad being gone didn’t ruin me.”

“I’m sorry. It must have been hard.” A life without my dad is not something I want to imagine. “I can’t really relate, so I’m not going to act like I’ve gone through that.”

He turns to me and offers me a shy smile.

“Oh, I know. I’ve met your parents, remember? Your mom loves me,” he teases. “Your dad on the other hand… let’s say I got an earful after our speeches at the wedding.”

I try to hold the laughter in, but I can’t. No one’s said anything to me about it, yet I know he’s not lying. It’s painfully on brand for my dad.

“I believe you.”

“That’s a first,” he says. I give him a look, surprised he’s calling me out. “Your turn. Spill a secret. What’s your origin story? What made you so guarded?”

I could tell him I’m hyper aware people lie, especially men. That it’s not personal. But somehow that doesn’t seem fair after he’s confided in me about his.