Page 39 of Matched with the Hollywood Heartthrob (Matched for Love #4)

MIA

I ’ve been back in Bardstown for a few days now, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t get Jack out of my mind.

I tell myself I did the right thing—walking away, cutting ties, being professional. But the ache in my chest says otherwise. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I made a mistake. Still, I try to stay grounded in logic.

He hasn’t called. Not once. Not a single text. Not a missed call. Not even a voice note saying, “Hey, you okay?”

And maybe that’s all the confirmation I need.

He probably mistook an emotional moment for something deeper. He was vulnerable, and I just happened to be there. That’s all. He never really felt it. Not the way I did.

My heart breaks all over again.

Every night since I left, I’ve cried myself to sleep—quiet, hidden tears pressed into my pillow. But every morning, I get up, I fix my face, and I act like I’m perfectly fine. Strong. Unbothered.

It’s a lie, but it’s one I’ve gotten good at.

Honestly, I’m just relieved the arrangement is over.

No more driving to and from his cottage.

No more pretending to be unaffected every time he looks at me like I’m the only thing he sees.

No more pretending that my heart doesn’t break a little more every time he goes on those dates and I realize he isn’t mine.

He’s in L.A. now, far away. Out of sight, out of reach.

At least here, I don’t have to run into him every time I walk into a room.

I’ve been staying at my parents’ house since I got back. The silence in my own home feels like a punishment—too loud, too empty. But here? The soft, harmless bickering between Mom and Dad somehow keeps me grounded. Distracted. Safe.

I finish dressing up that morning—blouse tucked in, hair loosely pinned, some mascara to hide the shadows beneath my eyes. I’m ready to leave. But as I head downstairs, I run right into my mother.

“Mia, come have some breakfast.”

I pause. “I’m not hungry.”

My mother steps out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel, frown already in place. “You haven’t eaten breakfast in the last three days.”

“I’ve been busy?—”

“Don’t lie to me,” she cuts in, stepping closer. “You know better.”

I open my mouth to argue, to come up with some excuse that might hold—but I don’t get the chance.

She reaches for my hand, warm and firm. “I’m your mother. I see you. And you’re not happy.”

I look away. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” Her voice softens. “It’s about Jack, isn’t it?”

“Mom…” My tone is a warning, a plea.

“You love him,” she says gently. There’s no accusation in her voice. Just knowing. “I know it.”

I close my eyes for a second, breathing through the ache in my chest. “Mom, please. I don’t want to talk about it. It hurts.”

For a second, I brace myself for more questions, more nudging, more maternal persistence.

But instead… she nods. Just nods.

“Okay,” she whispers.

I look up, surprised. She gives me a small smile, still holding my hand for a moment longer before letting go.

I return the smile, grateful, even if my heart still feels like it’s breaking. “I’ll be back later.”

She doesn’t say anything else—just watches as I walk out the door, head held high, even if I feel anything but strong.

I make it to my car, slide behind the wheel, and sit there for a long second. Breathing. Thinking.

Then I start the engine and drive.

As I drive through Bardstown’s quiet streets, my fingers tapping absently on the steering wheel, I realize the only thing I’m even remotely looking forward to today is Emma.

She’s coming over to the shop this morning, and it’ll be the first time I’ve seen her since getting back from L.A.

four days ago. We’ve both been very busy with work.

Four days. Four days of silence from Jack. Four days of pretending I’m okay.

I pull into the lot in front of the flower shop, the familiar scent of morning dew and soil wrapping around me the second I step out. I tug my cardigan tighter around me and walk toward the entrance. I’m barely inside when two ladies walk in.

“Good morning,” they greet.

“Good morning,” I say, offering a polite smile. “What should I get you this morning?”

“A bouquet of calla lilies, please,” the first lady says.

“Same for me,” the second chirps.

That makes me pause. “That’s weird. Ordering the same bouquet. That’s… actually my favorite flower.”

They smile.

“Most people go straight for roses or tulips,” I continue, a little amused. “Lilies—especially callas—aren’t usually the first choice.”

The woman shrugs, still smiling. “Well, today felt like a calla lily kind of day.”

I chuckle softly, trying not to read too much into it. “All right. Coming right up.”

After they leave, I stand for a second, bouquet ribbons in hand, watching the door swing shut behind them. The coincidence lingers in my chest longer than I expect.

Before I can overthink it, the bell chimes again—and this time, it’s a face I’ve actually been waiting for.

“Emma!” I rush out from behind the counter.

She barely makes it two steps in before I throw my arms around her.

“I’ve missed you so much,” I murmur into her shoulder.

She pulls back and grins. “You look like you’ve been through a war.”

I groan and drop my head. “Don’t start.”

“Too bad. That’s why I’m here.” She smirks, already walking toward the counter like she owns the place. “Now spill. And don’t leave out a single kiss.”

“There’s no kiss,” I lie as I follow Emma to the counter, folding my arms as I lean beside her. “First things first—Jack’s not coming to Bardstown anymore. The agreement’s over.”

Emma’s eyes widen. “Wait, what? Are you sure? Have you been paid in full?”

I nod, brushing a piece of hair behind my ear. “Yes, I’m sure. And yes, the money cleared even before I went to L.A. with him.”

She exhales loudly and slumps against the counter. “Wow. So it’s really done.”

“Yeah.”

She glances at me, head tilted. “Okay… so what happened between you two? Because I know you like him. Don’t even try to deny it.”

I sigh and look away, picking at the edge of the ribbon I’d been tying earlier. “I do like him. A lot. But that’s the problem.”

Emma frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not the kind of girl Jack ends up with. I’ve seen the women he dates, Em. Tall, glamorous, always camera-ready. I’m… I own a flower shop in a town with two stoplights. I’m not built for his world. I don’t want that world.”

Emma’s quiet for a second. Then softly, “But you don’t know what world he wants now.”

“I know enough,” I say, forcing a smile. “He’s Jack Calloway, Emma. L.A. is where he belongs. And I’m not leaving Bardstown. This is my home.”

She studies me for a long time. “Did you even ask him what he wants? Have you talked to him about any of this?”

“There’s no point,” I mutter, my voice dropping. “I know the truth. I saw it in his eyes. He was… confused. It wasn’t love. It was just… the moment. The intensity. He doesn’t feel what I feel.”

Emma doesn’t argue. Not yet. She just reaches over and squeezes my hand gently.

And I wish more than anything that she would tell me I’m wrong. As if reading my mind, she says, “You’re wrong and very soon, you’ll find out.”

Before I can ask what she means, the bell at the doorway chimes, and I turn to see two ladies walk in, chatting softly between themselves.

“Hi there. How can I help you?” I ask with a smile.

One of them steps forward. “We’d love two bouquets of calla lilies, please.”

I blink, then laugh, a genuine one that surprises even me. “Okay, what is going on today? That’s the fourth order of calla lilies. It’s like there’s a secret calla lily convention I wasn’t invited to.”

The women exchange a look, stifling a laugh. “Just… felt like the right flower today,” one of them says with a shrug.

I shake my head, amused, and start gathering the flowers. “Well, I’m not complaining. They’re my favorite, too. Not many people go for them though—everyone’s always all about roses.”

The women smile politely and wait while I wrap up their bouquets. They thank me and head out, still whispering to each other, giggling like they’re in on some joke.

I narrow my eyes at the door as it shuts behind them, then glance at Emma.

“What is going on today?” I mutter.

Emma just leans against the counter, grinning. “You sure it’s not a sign?”

“I know! Like… I’m intrigued.” The curiosity gnaws at me, but I ignore it and turn to Emma. “So what were you saying about me being wrong?”

Emma shrugs. “I’ve just seen how Jack looks at you, and I know there’s something there.” She lifts a brow. “So… have you spoken to Ryan since you got back?”

I let out a dry laugh and roll my eyes. “Nothing can happen between Ryan and me, Emma. Nothing.”

She sighs, folding her arms like she’s preparing for a debate. “He came back to Bardstown because of you.”

I lean across the counter, my voice low. “Well, he better find another reason to stay, or he’s welcome to leave.”

She sighs softly. "Mia, I know you said he strung you along for months, but what really happened? You've been so vague about the details."

I shake my head, feeling that old ache stir in my chest. “Ryan and I didn’t part on good terms, Em. He broke my heart.”

Her face falls. “That bad, huh?”

“In college, everything just… fell apart. I kept calling. Texting. Trying to make plans to visit. He just stopped responding. No explanation. Nothing. He was done with me but didn’t have the decency to say it.”

Emma stares at me like I’ve just told her the sky is green. “Are you serious?”

I nod, jaw tight. “It got so bad I actually went to his school just to figure out what was going on. That’s when I realized. He’d moved on. New life. New people. And I was just this girl from a small town he didn’t want anymore.”

“Oh, Mia…”

“He told me he always wanted to live in the city. That I should move on. Find my own way.” I shrug, but the memory still stings. “So I did.”

Emma puts a hand over her heart. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”