Page 23 of Matched with the Grumpy Secret Prince

He looks up, his face breaking into a grin the moment he sees me. “Sophie! What are you doing here?”

“Just passing through,” I say, stepping inside. “Thought I’d check in on the town’s favorite firefighter.”

He chuckles, pushing his chair back and standing to hug me. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too,” I say, sitting across from him. “How’s work?”

“Busy,” he admits, leaning against the edge of the desk. “But it’s a good kind of busy. Keeps me on my toes.”

We fall into an easy rhythm, talking about everything and nothing. He asks about Manhattan, my work, and I ask about his—though most of his stories involve saving cats from trees and responding to false alarms.

“You ever miss it?” I ask after a while, tilting my head. “The old days, I mean. Before all of this.”

Sam smiles faintly, his gaze drifting to the window. “Sometimes. But life moves forward, you know? You can’t live in the past forever.”

I nod, understanding the truth in his words. “Still, it’s nice to look back every once in a while.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, his smile widening. “It is. And I hope you know how happy I am that you are here. We missed you at our wedding.”

“You do not know how much it pains me daily that I missed it.”

His eyes soften. “Soph, we talked about this. Em and I understood, and it’s okay?—”

Before he can continue, a loud alarm cuts through the station, followed by a rapid burst of voices and movement.

Sam straightens immediately, his expression shifting into something more focused. “That’s us.”

I watch as he grabs his gear. His calm, efficient movements remind me of how good he is at what he does.

“Stay here or head out,” he says quickly, already halfway to the door. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

“Be careful,” I call after him, but he’s already gone, the rest of the team falling in behind him.

The station feels emptier in their absence, the energy shifting into something quieter. I gather my things and step outside, watching as the firetruck roars to life and speeds off down the street, its sirens echoing through the town.

For a moment, I stand there, the warm breeze brushing against my skin as I watch the truck disappear into the distance. Sam has always been a hero to me, but seeing him like this—so steady, so capable—makes me proud.

I take a deep breath and start walking back toward Mia’s. And against my own better judgment, I can’t help but wonder if she’s talked to Graham yet and if he’ll agree to work with me. If he doesn’t, I have a lot of work ahead of me. And if he does… well, I’ll have to ignore the butterflies in my stomach at the thought.

GRAHAM

The knock on the door startles me, cutting through the silence of the evening. I glance up from the site plans spread across the kitchen table, frowning. No one comes by unannounced. That’s one of the reasons I like Bardstown—quiet, predictable, no surprises.

But when I open the door, there she is. Mia.

She stands on my porch, one hand on her hip and a determined smile on her face like she’s already decided she’s not taking no for an answer.

“Mia,” I say, leaning against the doorframe. “What brings you here?”

“Oh, you know,” she says, breezing past me into the house without waiting for an invitation. “Just thought I’d pay my favorite reclusive landscape architect a visit.”

I sigh, shutting the door behind her. “I didn’t realize I was your favorite.”

“You’re also the only one I know,” she quips, flashing me another grin as she drops onto one of the chairs at the table. Her eyes sweep over the blueprints, but she doesn’t comment on them. Instead, she leans forward, resting her elbows on the table like she’s about to get serious.

“Okay, here’s the deal,” she says, and I already know I won’t like whatever comes next.

I cross my arms over my chest, staying where I am by the door. “What deal?”

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