Page 30 of Matched with the Grumpy Secret Prince

Her words hit closer to home than I’d like to admit, and I shift slightly, staring at the lemonade in my hands.

“And Bardstown?” I ask, keeping my voice even.

She smiles, her gaze drifting out over the park. “Bardstown feels different; it feels like you can breathe here. Like you can stop running.”

I nod slowly, understanding more than I’d care to admit.

“It’s funny,” she continues, her tone softening. “I didn’t realize how much I missed it until I came back. The quiet, the people, the sense of community. It’s not perfect, but it feels… real.”

Her words stir something in me, a mix of longing and guilt. Bardstown has been my refuge for seven years, but I’ve neverthought of it the way Sophie does—not as a place to stop running, but as a place to hide.

Before I can respond, she turns to me, her expression more serious now. “What about you? What brought you to Bardstown?”

The question catches me off guard, and I take a long sip of my lemonade to buy myself time.

“Just needed a fresh start,” I say finally, keeping my answer vague, but I can still feel the pressure of her curiosity as she looks at me.

She studies me for a moment, her gaze curious but not pushy. “Well, I think you’ve done a pretty good job fitting in here.”

I huff a quiet laugh, shaking my head. “I’m not sure everyone would agree with that.”

“I would,” she says, and the sincerity in her voice makes me glance at her again.

The silence between us stretches for a moment and feels almost comfortable. But then she speaks again, her tone softer and more hesitant.

“Can I ask you something?”

I nod, bracing myself.

“Why did you really get like that the other day? You seemed very uncomfortable at some point, like you couldn’t stand being close to me,” she asks, her voice calm but direct.

I freeze, my grip tightening around the cup in my hands.

“Was it something I said?” she continues, her brows furrowing slightly. “Or do I remind you of someone? Someone you didn’t like?”

Her words hit hard, and I struggled to find a response.

She’s not wrong—not entirely. She does remind me of someone. But it’s not a person. It’s a life—a world I tried so hard to escape.

I look away, my jaw tightening. “It’s not that simple.”

“Then explain it to me,” she says, her tone soft but insistent.

I shake my head, the words caught in my throat. How do I tell her she’s perfect in a way that terrifies me? Her poise, confidence, and very existence remind me of everything I’ve spent years trying to forget.

“I can’t,” I say finally, my voice low. “I don’t know how.”

Her expression falters, the hurt in her eyes cutting deeper than I expected.

“Graham—” she starts, but I cut her off, standing abruptly.

“I need to go,” I say, my tone sharper than I mean it to be.

She watches me, her eyes wide with confusion and something else—something that looks a lot like disappointment. “You are awfully good at leaving.”

Her words hit me so hard that they almost take my breath away.

“Goodnight, Sophie,” I say, gritting my teeth as I stuff my hands in my pocket, turning away before she can respond.

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