Page 30 of Matched with the Hollywood Heartthrob (Matched for Love #4)

JACK

I stand in front of the easel, my brush drawing magnificent final strokes on the canvas, and for a moment, I feel the rush of satisfaction that comes with finishing a piece of art.

The strokes are bold, the colors layered with intention, and when I draw the last stroke, I heave a sigh of relief before setting down my brush and stretching tiredly.

I’ve been drawing this for about a week, and it’s about time I finish it. It’s a portrait of a woman, that’s all I know. I didn’t set out with a plan. I just stood in front of an empty canvas and the inspiration came to paint. It felt so natural with every stroke of my brush. It was like instinct.

Slowly, I take a deep breath, stepping back to take it all in.

When I’m a few distance away, the painting finally comes together, the features blending in a way that causes my breath to catch in my throat.

It’s a portrait of her—Mia. Her smile, the soft curve of her face, the way she looks when she’s genuinely listening.

The realization hits me slowly, like a creeping wave. My stomach twists in disbelief as I take in the details. The wild mix of colors and lines formed the image of Mia. The very woman who’s been clouding my thoughts, the one I’ve been trying to avoid.

Her. On my canvas.

My mouth goes dry, and I can’t look away. I step closer, unable to tear my eyes from the painting, from her face staring back at me. I’ve been painting her for a week and didn’t even realize it.

What is wrong with me? How did I paint her so effortlessly, so intimately, without consciously thinking about it? How did my hands, without any deliberate intention, create this?

I run a hand through my hair, completely lost in the moment. My mind is racing, my heart thumping uncomfortably in my chest. The image is too perfect. Too personal. This is beyond what I intended to paint.

She’s in my head, in my thoughts. Everywhere I look, she’s there, even when I don’t want her to be.

I haven’t seen her in a week, and yet, here she is, alive on the canvas. I can’t stop staring at the piece. I can’t stop thinking about what this means.

I should be focused on the plan. On finding a woman I can connect with, a woman who can meet the expectations of the PR stunt. But instead, all I feel is this pull toward the woman I’ve been avoiding.

I take a deep breath, my hands trembling slightly as I stand in front of the painting. What am I doing?

After our weird dinner a week ago, I gave myself a great pep talk.

Mia can never be mine. She doesn’t like me like that, and to be honest, there’s no reason why I should date her.

She doesn’t understand my world. She doesn’t seem like she’s built to withstand the whirlwind that is my name and career.

She’s better off here, in Bardstown. I can only be here for a short time, I’m more suited for the world.

I promised myself to pay more attention to my dates, and I started with Mirta.

After our ice cream shop date, I drove her home, and every day since then, we text a bit.

She’s very fun and conversational, with genuinely pretty eyes and a prettier face.

There’s also Ashley; she texted me once, and since then, we’ve been going back and forth with texts.

She seems like the type of woman who can maintain her cool in my world, and that’s the type of girl I should be looking for.

Not Mia. Never her.

My phone vibrates, and I turn toward the table to see Nova’s name flash across the screen. I wipe my stained hands on my apron and take the call, deliberately turning away from the painting.

“Hey, Nova,” I say, trying to keep my tone neutral.

“Hey, Jack!” she answers cheerfully. “How’s everything going with the dates?”

“Good.” I nod, even though she can’t see me. “Right now, I’ve been on three dates and talking to two of them, Ashley and Mirta. They’re nice girls.”

“Ashley is the event planner, right?” Her tone perks curiously. “The girl who studied business at NYU.”

“Yeah,” I laugh. “You’ve been keeping up, I see.”

She laughs with me. “Yeah, Mia sends me regular updates.”

My mood deflates instantly at the mention of her name. I try to push the thought of Mia out of my mind, but it lingers, like an unwanted shadow. I sigh, keeping my tone even.

“That’s… great,” I mutter, though I can’t help but feel a little deflated.

Nova doesn’t pick up on my shift in mood. “So, here’s why I called,” she continues, her voice bright. “You know how they say absence makes the heart grow fonder?”

I gasp playfully. “Oh, wow. Don’t say you’re missing me already!”

Nova scoffs. “You wish. I did my general health checkup two days ago, and my blood pressure test came back normal. It’s never been like that since I started managing you.”

“Oh, wow. So what then? Whose heart has grown fonder in my absence?”

“The fans. The directors. You haven’t been keeping up with the media?”

“Nah. I stay away. I spend my time painting.” I turn to the canvas again, taking in the image of Mia.

“Well, I’ve been getting loads of offers from directors and producers who want you on their projects,” she says. “But one stood out. It’s from Fitzgerald.”

“Fitzgerald?” I echo. Fitzgerald—Fitz to his friends—is one of the biggest directors and producers in the country. All his movies are hits. I’ve worked with him a few times, and we always make magic together.

“So why are you calling?” I huff. “If the pay is good, take the job.”

There’s a hesitant pause on her end, and that’s when I know something is wrong. Nova never hesitates where money is concerned. She’s always looking out for the best opportunities for me.

“You’ll be working alongside Megan Hart,” she finally says. “You’re both leads.”

My world stops. Standstill.

I forget to breathe, and by the time I remember, I suck in air and almost choke on it.

“Are you okay, Jack?”

“Yeah, let me call you back.” I hang up, leaning against the table, my eyes squeezed shut.

After spending over a decade in the industry, it’s shocking that this would be the first time we work together. All this time, I’ve followed her career, watched her films, and learned about all her achievements. I avoided every show she was at and skipped every film audition where she had a role.

And now this…

Does she know who I am? As far as I know, she is living well. She never tried to find the son she abandoned all those many years ago. Instead, she made public donations to kids’ foundations and acted like she was in love with kids. Liar. What a selfish woman.

Does she know Jack Calloway is her son? The resemblance is surely there; it’s one of the things I curse the most about my appearance.

I hear movement behind me and turn to see Brody coming into the backyard. I’m alarmed because I know if he comes in, he’ll see the painting and immediately know it’s Mia.

“Stay where you are,” I order, and he freezes.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. Why?” I shrug.

“Nova said to come check on you.”

“She’s such a snitch.” I roll my eyes and stretch my limbs to appear casual. “I’m good. You should go. I’m busy with my painting.”

He sighs and turns to the door, knowing I don’t like to be bothered when I’m painting.

“Jack.” He nods at me. “If you ask me, I think this is a great opportunity for you. You need to sit down with her and offload some of this baggage you’re carrying. Let her have some of it, too. None of this is your fault.”

His words hit me square in the chest. “Well, fortunately, I didn’t ask you. Get out of here,” I groan and wave him off. Laughing, he heads out.

He’s barely out when my phone rings again. I hope it’s not Nova because I swear I don’t want to discuss Megan with anyone else today. It’s an unknown caller, and since it’s my business line, I take it. It could be Fitzgerald or someone on the team trying to share information with me.

“Hi.”

A bubbly, feminine voice answers on the other end of the line. “Hi, Mr. Calloway. My name is Vera Samuels. I’m Megan Hart’s manager.”

I stand so straight, you’d think she just said Megan Hart is about to walk into the room.

“Oh, hi. How’re you?”

“I’m fine, thank you very much,” she says. “So, um, Megan would like to meet with you, if you’re available. She loves to meet with her co-leads so that they can break the ice before they get on set.”

I refuse. I know I’ll refuse. I open my mouth to refuse, but something else comes out. “Uh, sure. When?”

“We were thinking dinner sometime this week. Friday, if you’re free. Megan would really appreciate the chance to talk,” Vera adds, her voice sounding more sincere than I expected.

“All right,” I respond, my mind racing. “I’ll make time. Let me know when and where.”

There’s a brief pause before she responds. “Somewhere in L.A. I’ll have my assistant send over the details. Is that okay?”

“Sure.”

“Thanks, Jack,” Vera says before hanging up.

I sit there, phone still in hand, as everything comes crashing down on me. Megan. My father. The past.

I need someone to talk to, and before I know it, I’m dialing Harry, hoping he picks up before I lose my mind. I’ve just agreed to a casual date with Megan Hart, am I serious?

“Jack, what’s up?” Harry takes the call.

“My mom wants to see me.”

He pauses and then curses under his breath. “What?”

“Yeah. I swear I—I don’t know.” I drag in a breath. “Fitz wants to cast me in this movie, but we’d be co-leads. Her manager just called saying she wants to see me on Friday.”

“Oh, so did you accept the role?”

“I want to, so I’m going to see her.”

Harry whistles. “As much as I’m skeptical about this, I think it’s about time. It’s time.”

I shove one hand into my pocket. “I don’t know how to feel, Harry, but I need an explanation. Though no matter what she says, I’m not sure I can forgive her.”

Harry sighs. “I think your dad can advise you better on the right thing to do.”

“Nah, I’m not telling him.” I shake my head. “Do you know how hurt my father was when she left? How hurt he still is? Let me find out what she wants first before I tell him anything.”

“Good idea,” he says somberly. “And Jack?”

“Yes.”

“Keep your chin up. Look where you got yourself without her. You don’t need her to hurt you anymore.”

This brings a smile to my face. “Thank you, Harry.”

I’m a little calmer now and can think more clearly, and to be honest, I’m a little upset. What does she want? It’s been years! But whatever it is, on Friday, I’ll finally be able to look her in the eyes and tell her to go where the sun doesn’t shine and never contact me again.

“Oh my goodness. Is that me?”

At the sound of Mia’s voice, I freeze for a second before whirling to see her standing a few feet away, staring at the canvas. I didn’t hear her come in.