Page 13 of Matched with the Hollywood Heartthrob (Matched for Love #4)

JACK

A s soon as Mia left, I shut myself in my bedroom, throwing myself onto the bed and hoping sleep would come.

It didn’t, and it’s time for me to stop deceiving myself.

I slip out of bed again, my body tired but my brain working overtime.

I don’t like how much I’m thinking about Mia.

Something is already wrong with this experiment, and I don’t know how to fix it.

I walk out of my bedroom and into the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge for a little snack to keep me busy while I watch a movie.

Brody’s voice breaks through the silence, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“You really want to be with someone ordinary?”

I turn to see him leaning against the kitchen counter with a smug grin on his face.

“What?” I grab a pack of nuts and shut the fridge.

“Earlier…” Brody shrugs a shoulder. “You told Mia you want someone ordinary. Is that true?”

I sigh, rubbing a hand over my jaw. “That was hours ago.” I pad into the living room. “Leave me alone, man.”

He doesn’t. Instead, he takes the opposite couch as I power on the TV. “You should trust Mia, she’ll find someone fitting,” he says casually.

I don’t know why, but the mention of her name causes a tightness in my chest. It’s not a bad feeling, not exactly. But it’s… new.

“I don’t care what she does. The final decision is up to me.”

“Nova wants you to have a long-term romance, right?” Brody continues, not letting up. “Not just some quick fling. She wants you to build something real, not just put on a show.”

I lean back against the couch, trying to hold my ground. “I know what she wants, but I’m not some puppet. I’ll do it my way.”

Brody raises an eyebrow, not convinced. “But if it’s long-term, shouldn’t it be with someone you can actually stand to spend time with? I mean, you’re not exactly the type to settle for someone who just wants your spotlight.”

“How are you so sure about that?”

“Because, to an extent, I know you, Jack,” he answers, more serious than I’ve ever seen him. “You don’t like selfish people.”

I freeze at that. Well, my mother is the reason I don’t like selfish people. She’s the first person to show me how selfishness can hurt.

Megan Hart. She’s the epitome of egocentrism. She left when I was barely ten, chasing after fame in Hollywood. Even now, she’s out there living her “life” while pretending we don’t exist. She’s never once called, never even bothered to check in.

And maybe that’s why I said what I said. I’ve spent my whole life avoiding people who wanted to use me. The last thing I want is to fall for someone who’s after my name or my status.

“Yeah,” I answer grudgingly. “If I do get into a long-term relationship, it’ll be with someone cool. Not selfish.”

Brody leans in closer as if sensing the change in my tone. “Are you saying you’ll actually settle for someone normal?” he teases, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

“Normal doesn’t mean boring,” I retort, straightening up. “It means someone who doesn’t want to use me for something. Someone who actually sees me. Not just the actor or the wealth, but me. Jack Calloway. For who I really am.”

Brody scoffs, but there’s no real bite to it. “Good luck with that. You’re basically asking Mia to find a unicorn.”

I don’t have a response to that. Instead, I turn to the TV, staring at the characters on the screen even though I’m not paying any attention.

There’s something unsettling in my chest, like a fire that’s barely been ignited but still feels too hot to touch.

I can’t get Mia’s gaze out of my head. Or how she looked in my shirt.

I’ve seen women in different states of dress and undress, but nothing beats seeing Mia in my shirt. Nothing.

Somewhere in this time, Brody leaves and disappears into his room, leaving me alone. I watch TV for a few seconds until my phone buzzes on the counter. I glance at the screen—it’s Harry.

“What’s up?” I answer, trying to sound casual.

“Where are you?” Harry asks, no hello, just straight into it. “And what’s this I hear about you taking a break to focus on yourself? Is that what Nova wants? Really?”

I know he’s been talking to my dad. I didn’t tell him I’m here to find a real “fake” relationship, only that I was taking time off to focus and rest. I’ve been a source of worry to that man so much; there’s no need to bother with this.

I exhale sharply. “It’s not like that, Harry. I’m in Bardstown, trying to lay low for a while. And maybe find myself someone to date long-term.”

There’s a short pause on the other end, followed by a bark of laughter. “First of all, what the heck is Bardstown? Secondly, what do you mean you’re looking to date long-term?”

I tell him everything. “And you better not tell my dad about this.”

He scoffs. “I won’t, but this is insane. It won’t work.”

“Why not?”

“You’re like fireworks, Jack. Full of restless energy. You can’t settle down.”

“I will. Watch me.”

He laughs on the other end of the line. “Yeah, right. You can keep pretending, but you won’t last long. We both know you can’t settle with any woman. You never have.”

I feel my jaw tighten at his words. He’s right in some ways, but I don’t need him to remind me of it.

“I can settle,” I snap back, “and I will.”

There’s a brief silence, then Harry chuckles again, a sound that makes me want to throw my phone against the wall.

“Okay, okay. When you’re done playing pretend, and you’ve worn yourself out, let me know.”

“What’s with you, anyway? Aren’t you the one who told me to get myself together?”

“Well, yeah, but I didn’t mean you should shackle a poor woman to yourself. You’re not mentally ready for that commitment, man.”

The truth is so raw and painful. I hate that he knows me too well. There’s a loud silence between us, and then he sighs. “Look, Jack, I’m sorry I sound like such a pessimist. If Nova thinks this is the right thing to do, then it is. She’s the brilliant professional here.”

“I’m just trying my best, man.” My chest tightens. What’s with my emotions these days?

“I know, and I see you. We appreciate you trying. Your dad and I. He’s worried about you.”

“I know.”

Harry sighs again. “I’ll leave you to it. You know I’m here whenever you want to talk, right?”

“I know.”

“Good.”

The call ends with a click, and I’m left staring at the screen. My mind drifts to my dad, and I pull up my message tab to send him a quick text.

I’m in Bardstown now. I promise I’ll stay out of trouble. For real, this time. Thank you for everything.

I want to add an “I love you,” but I know my dad will roll his eyes and send a sick face emoji—that man. Our love for each other is hardly shown through words, only with actions. His response comes in a few minutes later.

This text already sounds like trouble, but I’ll hold you to that. Take care, son. Always here when you need me.

I’m still smiling at this when Brody walks out of the kitchen. “We have nothing in the cupboard,” he says. “I have to go to the grocery store.”

“Okay.” I turn the TV off, and he frowns.

“You coming with me?”

“Nope. I’m gonna set up my studio.”

Brody purses his lips. “There’s no studio here. I checked all four rooms when we arrived.”

“I’m turning the third room into a studio,” I answer. “The sooner you go to the store, the quicker I can start.”

Brody raises an eyebrow but doesn’t argue. “All right, man. I’ll be back soon. Do you need me to pick up anything?”

“No. Thanks.”

As he walks out the door, I head into the third room to turn it into a makeshift studio. I set up canvases, paintbrushes, and the few supplies I brought. I’ll figure out the oil paints later when I know the town better. For now, I need something to ground me.

I stare at the blank canvas in front of me. The stillness of the room is almost deafening. I wish I could paint now, but I don’t have all my supplies.

The sound of the sprinkler running outside breaks the silence, and I smile faintly, remembering the way Mia looked drenched, her shirt clinging to her skin. It’s not just that she’s beautiful. There’s something else about her, something I haven’t been able to figure out yet.

The stillness of the studio is starting to close in on me, and I can feel the weight of the day pressing on my shoulders, so I decide to go into the backyard for a little bit.

I step outside, letting the door swing shut behind me with a soft thud, and walk over to the side of the house where the garden stretches before me.

The plants seem to be waiting for me, eager to be tended to, and I feel a pull in my chest.

I have a love-hate relationship with gardening, and the reason isn’t so far-fetched. As I grab the hose and water the beds of marigolds, petunias, and begonias, my mind takes me far away from here. It’s a faded memory, one that I try not to revisit too often, but it comes to me now, unbidden.

I remember my mother’s hands, delicate and graceful, as she pruned the flowers in the garden, her long fingers dancing around the petals like she was conducting some sort of magic.

She always smelled like flowers—like roses, lavender, and the soft sweetness of jasmine.

She had a way of making the garden feel alive, like it was an extension of her.

My father had planted it for her, created this oasis in the backyard, and she tended to it as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

I can almost hear the sound of her voice in my head, soft and soothing, as she hummed while working, her eyes focused on the delicate blooms. I can see her in the garden, wearing her sun hat, a soft smile playing on her lips as she carefully bends down to tend to the flowers.

But I also remember the way she left. It’s hard to reconcile the memory of her with the woman who walked away from us.

I shake the thought away, turning the nozzle of the hose to water a patch of roses just beginning to bloom. They’re delicate, fragile—almost like the memories I’m trying to push down.

I catch myself staring at the flowers for a moment longer than I should.

The smell of the soil and the flowers fills the air, and I feel something like peace for a fleeting moment.

Maybe I’ve been missing this—missing the simplicity of it all.

The earth, the quiet moments, the feeling of doing something that matters.

Again, I realize that I only hate gardening because of my mother. Add that to the list of things Megan Hart ruined in my life.

The thought of Mia pops into my head, and the peaceful moment shatters like glass. I sigh, gripping the hose tightly as I water the roses.

Mia.

I can’t stop thinking about her. She’s gotten under my skin in a way I didn’t expect. Maybe it’s the way she doesn’t put up with my crap. Maybe it’s the way she’s always one step ahead of me, making me feel like I’m not as in control as I thought.

Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because she’s different. She’s not like the women I’ve been with before. She doesn’t care about the fame or the glitz. She doesn’t care about the nonsense that comes with my world.

And that scares the heck out of me. Because maybe I do care. Maybe I want someone like her, someone who can see beyond all the nonsense and just… be real.

But I can’t go down that road. Not now. Not yet.

I shake my head, refocusing on the flowers in front of me. I’ve got a job to do, and it’s not about her.

As the last of the roses are watered, I let the hose fall to the ground with a sigh, taking in the sight of the garden once more. It’s coming together. Slowly, but it’s coming together.

I decide at that moment that this will be my little project. From now until I leave Bardstown, I’ll make sure this garden blossoms. For the first time, what I touch will turn to gold.