Page 17 of Matched with the Hollywood Heartthrob (Matched for Love #4)

JACK

I ’m lost in my thoughts, my paintbrush hovering over the canvas as I try to find a new direction.

I’ve been at this for hours, but the creativity I usually have feels like it’s slipping away.

The room smells of oil paint, and the soft hum of the air conditioner is the only sound that fills the silence. Frustration begins to settle in.

My date with Denise is in two days. Last night, Nova suggested I take her number and try to break the ice before the actual date, but I shut her down so fast she didn’t bring it up again.

There’s no way I’m exchanging numbers with someone I’m not sure I’ll be seeing again.

It’s taking me forever to muster enough courage to actually go on the date.

But I’ve promised my father I’ll behave, and even though he doesn’t know the intricacies of what I’m doing here, I’ll try not to mess it up. For him. And for Mia.

The silence on her end is frustrating, and I’m trying so hard not to think about it.

I glance over at the table, where I’ve left all my supplies neatly arranged. That’s when I realize—again—that I’m missing a few colors I need. Typical. I really should’ve checked before I got started. But I was too eager to lose myself in the canvas; I just got right into it.

“Brody!”

When I don’t hear a response, I set down the paintbrush and leave the room, wiping my hand on my work pants.

“Brody?”

He’s always rummaging around in the kitchen, so I check there first. But he’s not there, so I head toward his room, wondering why it’s so silent. Brody isn’t a particularly quiet person.

“Brody?” I push his door open and peek in, only to see him asleep on the bed, his laptop open in front of him as he snores. I shut the door with a groan, realizing I may have to run this errand myself. Since coming to Bardstown, I’ve not gone into town, and I’m not eager to do so now.

But my painting is half done, and I need the mental reward that comes with completing a painting, so I quickly shower, change into casual loungewear, and grab the car keys. As I slide into the car, I text Brody to let him know I’m out to locate the mall, just in case he wakes up and I’m not there.

The drive into town is short, only about ten minutes, but it’s enough time for me to think about Mia. I haven’t seen her in days. Not since that awkward kiss. I still can’t get over it, and I’m wondering if she thinks about it as much as I do. Knowing Mia, she’s probably forgotten I exist.

As I cruise through town, I think about how these past few days have been the most relaxing I’ve ever had in a long time. It’s like the world can’t find me here, and it’s the most freeing feeling ever.

I’m still trending on the news, but since none of the paparazzi have been able to find me anywhere, they have no recent pictures, so there is no buzz.

Brody tells me there’s a debate online about where I could be, and although I was tempted to look through it, I know it’s a rabbit hole.

So, instead of being on my phone, I spend more time outside gardening and painting.

At night, I gaze at the stars. It’s a beautiful life for a small town.

“There’s a Starbucks?” I gasp as I drive past a thriving spot. I’m a little disappointed by how ignorant I am of this town, but I don’t have enough time to dwell on that before I find the Bardstown Peddlers Mall just up the street. I drive in, park my car, and step out.

I enter and glance around, quickly locating a vendor with art supplies. It’s small—cozy, even—with aisles of paints, brushes, and canvases. The smell of fresh paper and paint hits me, and a brief sense of peace settles over me.

I’m surprised, though. No one recognizes me. Not a single person turns to stare; not a single voice calls out in awe. This is new. Here, in this little town, I can move around without being the center of attention. I glance at the few customers in the store, and they barely give me a second glance.

Mia’s words echo in my mind: No one cares about you here.

And I realize that she’s right.

It’s a strange kind of relief, a quiet sort of peace I didn’t know I needed. No cameras. No fans running up to ask for pictures. No noise. For the first time in years, I’m just… Jack. Not Jack Calloway, the actor—just Jack.

I feel a heavy weight lift off my shoulder, almost like I’m a little boy again. I don’t have to maintain a pose or be obsessed with my looks just in case there’s a disguised paparazzi nearby. This is what life should feel like.

I browse the aisles, picking up the colors I need.

It’s almost a little disorienting, this lack of recognition.

I find myself moving quicker than usual, wanting to get what I need and leave, but the feeling of anonymity is intoxicating.

I’ve been living with cameras on me for so long, and I hadn’t realized how suffocating it had become.

After buying everything I need for my painting, I browse the rest of the mall, wanting to stay out longer than necessary, to feel the air on my face, to hear the chatter of normal people.

I venture into the antique section. There’s something charming about it—the rustic shelves, the colorful pottery, and the paintings that cover the walls.

Each one carries the unique imprint of the artist who created it.

I admire the way everything seems so thoughtfully placed, like the entire shop is a testament to the community’s love for art.

My fingers run over the rough texture of an old wooden frame, admiring the craftsmanship. I catch sight of some locally made pottery on a shelf nearby and add that to my cart as well. I add a few more pieces before heading toward the counter again.

As I stroll past a line of vendors, they wave and call out my name.

“Enjoy the rest of your day, Jack! Hope the painting goes well!”

I falter, realizing that it’s not that they don’t know me, they’re just more respectful of my personal space and time. This gives me a sense of peace and a newfound love for Bardstown.

I offer them a nod and a genuine smile. “Thank you,” I reply, feeling a warmth spread through me that isn’t tied to fame. It’s something I haven’t felt in a long time. People here are kind. The absence of all the pressure is surprisingly comforting.

I pay for the newly added items in my cart and head to the parking lot. But as I approach my car, something catches my eye.

An older man stands by his vehicle, fiddling with the hood. His car’s engine is sputtering, struggling to start. I can see the frustration in his posture as he keeps trying and failing to get it going.

I hesitate for a moment, then walk over, offering to help. “Hey, need a hand?” I ask, hoping I’m not about to make things worse.

He looks up, his tired eyes immediately locking onto mine. “Oh, you bet. Seems like the engine’s decided to take a break on me.” His voice is friendly, with a hint of weariness. “I’ve been trying to get it going for the last twenty minutes, but no luck.”

I glance under the hood, noticing some parts that look worn and a few things that probably need professional attention. “Might be better to get a mechanic to check it out. I can give you a lift if you need to get somewhere in the meantime.”

The man looks at me, appreciating the offer. “Well, that’d be mighty kind of you.” He hesitates for a moment, then adds, “I’m Ben, by the way. Just need to get home in time for dinner or my wife will kill me.”

“I’m Jack,” I reply, smiling as I motion toward my car. “No problem at all. Let’s get you home, sir.”

Ben nods gratefully, and I watch him climb into the passenger seat of my car, settling in with a sigh of relief. We make small talk as I drive, and I find out he’s from Bardstown and also loves art. He’s friendly and easy to talk to, and the ride is comfortable.

“Where do you stay?” he asks. “I haven’t seen you around. Lived in Bardstown long enough to know the faces.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m new,” I chuckle. “I’ve only been here a moment.”

“How do you like our town?” He slides me a look like he doesn’t expect me to say anything negative.

“I can’t lie, it’s peaceful.”

“That’s one way to describe it. What else?”

“Um…” I hum. “I won’t lie, Ben, it’s my first time out since arriving in town. So I can’t say much. Ask me again in a few days.”

I think of all the dates that await me and swallow a sigh.

“My house is over there.” He points to a nice cozy bungalow on the other end of the street. It’s sweet and cozy, and through the open curtains, I see warm lights and immediately think of home.

“You’ve been kind to help me out, Jack. How about joining us for dinner? We’re having a family meal tonight. It’s the least I can do.”

I hesitate. Part of me wants to decline, to make an excuse and leave. I’ve never been one for sudden invitations, especially ones from strangers. But Ben’s warm, genuine tone makes it difficult to say no. He seems so eager, and I can’t bring myself to turn him down.

“Come on, don’t say no. It would do you good to meet my daughter. She’s kind of a hot cake around here.” He whispers the last part, his eyes shining with pride. “She can show you around and help you get accustomed to Bardstown. Plus, you’ll be getting a free home-cooked meal.”

I’m not too sold on the part where I meet his daughter because it sounds like another ridiculous matchmaking attempt, but the home-cooked meal? He scored on that one.

“Sure,” I say, finally relenting. “I’d love to join you.”

As Ben leads me up the front steps, I’m already mentally preparing myself for a strange evening. It could be exciting. I don’t know yet. The door opens, and I step inside, greeted by a bustling atmosphere. The smell of home-cooked food fills the air, and I hear laughter from the dining room.

Ben eagerly leads me toward there.

“Honey,” he calls. “I’m home.”

I’m greeted by a woman who looks like she’s in charge of everything—her hands full of plates and a wide smile on her face. She stops when she notices me and tilts her head, ignoring her husband.

“Wait,” she says, eyes narrowing slightly. “I know you. You’re Jack, right?”

I blink, taken off guard. “Uh, yeah. That’s me,” I reply. Okay… I’m more famous here than Mia let on.

“I’m Flora,” she laughs softly. “I see you’ve met my husband.” She kisses Ben on the cheek. “You’re welcome. Sit. Be comfortable.” She ushers me into one of the plush seats. “My daughter’s having dinner with us tonight, too.”

There’s a mischievous gleam in her eyes as she lifts her face toward the kitchen and calls, “Honey, your dad brought a guest. Come. Come.”

I hold my breath as footsteps approach, hoping it’s not a squealing fangirl. I’ve not encountered one of those since I left L.A., and I’m perfectly content to live out the rest of my days without it.

Someone steps out of the kitchen with a smile, and my breath catches. It’s Mia.

I rush to my feet, my shock mirroring the one in her eyes. Flora is laughing, poorly hiding it behind a huge plate.

“Mia?”

She freezes, her gaze flickering between me and her family. “Jack?” Her voice sounds a little disbelieving, a little hesitant, like she’s seeing a ghost.

I stare at her, trying to make sense of the situation. “What are you doing here?” I blurt stupidly.

“It’s almost like you’re standing in my father’s house,” she bites, narrowing her eyes. She turns accusingly to her mother. “Mom, what’s going on here?”

“I had nothing to do with this,” she says with an innocent air. “Your dad brought him home.”

“Dad! You’re above scheming acts like this.”

“Hey, I don’t know what you’re talking about, okay? This young man drove me home. My car stopped at the mall. Remind me to tow it tomorrow. I forget things a lot these days.”

I rub the back of my neck. “Ben, listen, I appreciate this, but I have to go?—”

“Nonsense!” Ben and Flora chorus, pushing me onto the chair again. “Sit down. Dinner is ready. Mia is a great cook,” Flora adds. “Did you know that?”

“No.” I force a smile. “I didn’t.”

“Mom, how’s he supposed to know that?” Mia asks, still standing idly at the kitchen doorway.

Despite her parents’ hustle and bustle, I’m super aware of her. In the safety of her parents’ home, she looks soft and beautiful. I hate myself for noticing this. I can still feel the softness of her lips; all I have to do is close my eyes.

Frankly, that’s all I’ve thought about these past few days.

Flora claps her hands with a satisfied smile as she turns to Mia. “Go on, dear. Bring in the food. Dinner’s almost ready.”

Mia hesitates for a moment but then turns, her movements stiff. “Fine,” she mutters, clearly uncomfortable. “Just another guest I don’t want.”

Before I can think about what that means, the doorbell rings.

“There’s someone at the door!” Flora exclaims, getting up quickly. “I’ll get it, I’ll get it!”

She hurries off toward the front door, leaving Ben and me alone at the table.

I glance at Ben, who shrugs with a sheepish grin.

Mia reappears with the food, and the scent of roast chicken and fresh vegetables wafts through the air.

My stomach growls. I can’t remember the last time I had a proper meal like this.

The sound of footsteps breaks the silence, and Flora reappears with a man in tow.

“Jack, this is Ryan,” she says. “Mia’s friend from way back. They used to be very close.”

They used to be very close. I instantly don’t like him. He’s as tall as I am. Cheeky smile. Honey-brown eyes. Cute, in a responsible, I’m-a-doctor kind of way. Uptight.

“He just moved into town,” Flora continues. “He’s a dentist.”

I knew it!

Ryan steps forward, holding out his hand to greet me. Out of habit, I rise to my feet and take his hand. “Jack. It’s nice to see you.”

“You too.” He smiles at me before moving over to Ben. They share a hug, and somehow, I don’t like that, either.

“It’s good to see you again, Ryan. It’s been nearly a decade, right? Welcome back.”

It doesn’t take too long before his attention is on Mia, who sits at the table like she’d rather be anywhere else. Ryan’s attention is completely focused on her. My stomach tightens as I sense something unspoken between them. Whatever it is, it doesn’t sit right with me.

“Hey, Mia,” Ryan says, his voice low and familiar, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“Hey, Ryan.”

Flora claps again. “Let’s eat, everyone. I’m starving.”