Page 18 of Matched with the Grumpy Secret Prince

At this moment, I feel reassured that coming back here isn’t the wrong decision; it’s exactly what I need, and I am determined to enjoy my time back.

GRAHAM

The phone buzzes again, rattling the corner of my table where I left it as if mocking me. I glance over, already knowing what I’ll see: the same number that’s been calling for days. The castle. What exactly do they want from me? I made it extremely clear I want nothing to do with the throne. I don’t want the power; I don’t want that life.

Whatever they want, it can’t be anything good. It’s probably my father—or worse, some assistant calling on his behalf. Either way, the last thing I need is another reminder of the life I walked away from.

I reach for my phone, see the missed calls and text notifications, and instantly turn off my phone. The calls have been incessant lately. What if something terrible has happened? Did I really want to keep ignoring these calls? I step outside, feeling at a complete crossroads with myself and my family.

Maybe I should try reaching out to my brother when my head is settled. I head down Main Street toward the café, hoping a strong cup of coffee and a change of scenery will help. Bardstown’s small-town charm is in full swing this afternoon.Kids are riding their bikes down the sidewalk, a group of retirees is gathered on the benches outside the general store, and the smell of fresh bread wafts from the bakery across the street.

The café comes into view, its windows glowing warmly in the afternoon light. It’s one of those places that feels like the heartbeat of the town—always buzzing with conversation, laughter, and the occasional clatter of plates.

I push open the door, the little bell above jingling as I step inside. The smell of coffee and baked goods hits me immediately, and for a moment, I relax. This is familiar. Predictable.

After ordering a coffee, I find a seat near the window, my usual spot. It gives me a clear view of the street outside and just enough distance from the other tables to avoid too much small talk.

I’m halfway through my drink when the door opens again, the bell jingling louder than usual, followed by the sound of Mia’s voice.

I glance up instinctively, my stomach tightening. Mia’s energy is hard to miss, all bright smiles and bold strides. But this time, she’s not alone.

A woman walks beside her. Her steps are graceful but hesitant, as if she’s not entirely used to the slow pace of a town like Bardstown. However, she still doesn’t look like a complete foreigner. I can see the look of familiarity in her eyes as she speaks to Mia, but then it’s replaced with nostalgia and surprise. Did she live here before?

I stare at her intently; she looks like she just stepped out of a city magazine—sleek black pants, a perfectly tailored blazer,and heels that don’t belong anywhere near Bardstown’s uneven sidewalks.

But it’s not just her outfit that catches my attention. It’s her presence. She doesn’t have the easygoing, familiar air of a local. She holds herself differently—like someone used to moving in fast-paced circles, where every second counts and every word carries weight. But her eyes shine bright with excitement as she talks animatedly to Mia. They’re so beautiful—the perfect shade of blue. I resist the urge to make it so obvious that I’m staring at this strange woman in public as I sip my coffee.

As I glance between them, I notice the similarities between Mia and the lady beside her. There’s the same unmistakable spark, the same gleam, even though her expression is more guarded, less free. Could she be Mia’s sister? I think there was one time she mentioned something about having a sister who lived in Manhattan. Could this be her?

I watch Mia lead her to a table, talking animatedly while the other woman nods, her gaze flickering around the room as if taking it all in.

Mia spots me before I can look away, her face lighting up like a spotlight. She waves enthusiastically, drawing even more attention in our direction.

“Graham!” she calls, weaving through the tables with a bright smile. The lady with her has no choice but to move along to my table, and the strangest thing happens to me as I realize she’s making her way toward me with Mia. I start feeling nervous. Not the kind of nerves I have when my father is trying to put me to the test so I can prove I am fit for the royal life, but the type of anxiety where I ask myself if I actually took the time to brush my hair before walking out of my house.

Mia strides up to my table, the mystery woman following closely behind. Their resemblance is even more noticeable up close, though this woman has an edge of sophistication that makes her stand out.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Mia says.

“I needed some fresh air and a break from working all day,” I reply, my tone even as I glance between her and her companion. Her eyes are even more beautiful up close.

Mia clears her throat. “Graham, meet my sister, Sophie. I must have mentioned her during one of my famous yapping sessions with you. She is visiting from Manhattan. Sophie, this is Graham Cole.”

Sophie extends a hand, her smile bright and polite, but there’s a flicker of curiosity in her eyes. “Nice to meet you, Graham.”

Her voice is soft but firm, with just a hint of something that makes my chest tighten. Again with the nerves, but I’m quick to smile as I take her hand, the contact brief but enough to notice her warm skin.

“Likewise,” I reply, my voice steadier than I feel.

As she sits down beside Mia, I can’t help but take her in again. Her bright blazer—a vivid coral that pops against her skin—should clash with the muted tones of the café, but somehow it works. She looks like a splash of color in an otherwise sepia-toned photograph, and I hate how much I notice it.

Oblivious to the sudden tension knotting in my chest, Mia launches into her usual chatter. “Sophie’s going to be here for a while. She’s an event planner in Manhattan—super fancy,super busy, all that city stuff. She’s here for Ethan and Riley’s wedding.”

Sophie smiles politely, her hands folded neatly in her lap. “I am sorry, Graham. My sister does this thing where she doesn’t let me speak for myself the moment we are together,” she says, giving Mia a side glance. “Though itisgreat to be back in Bardstown.”

Her voice is smooth, and each word is carefully measured. It’s the kind of voice that holds weight and draws attention without demanding it.

“And how does it feel to be back in Bardstown? Any changes since you left?” I ask, surprising myself. I don’t usually make small talk, but something about her makes me want to know what she’ll say.

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