Page 43 of Matched with the Grumpy Secret Prince

As I step inside, the familiar scent of flowers greets me, but it doesn’t ease the knot of tension in my chest. Sophie is by the counter, working on her iPad and scribbling on her planner asher back is to me, but she stiffens when she hears the door and sees me.

“Graham,” she says without turning around, her voice cold. “What are you doing here?”

I hesitate, and the words I’ve practiced on the drive over suddenly feel inadequate.

“I came to apologize,” I say finally.

She turns to face me, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable. “Apologize for what, exactly?”

“For what I said yesterday,” I say, meeting her gaze. “It was out of line.”

She lets out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “You think?”

I step closer, but she holds up a hand, stopping me in my tracks.

“Don’t,” she says sharply. “I don’t need your apology, Graham. And I definitely don’t need you anywhere near me.”

Her words are like a slap, but I don’t back down. “Sophie, I didn’t mean it the way it sounded?—”

“Then how did you mean it?” she snaps, her eyes blazing. “Because from where I’m standing, it sounded like you think I’m just some spoiled rich girl who’s never worked a day in her life.”

“That’s not—” I start, but she cuts me off.

“You don’t know anything about me,” she says, her voice trembling. “You don’t know what it was like growing up in Bardstown. My parents and Mia, Sam, and I worked hard for everything we had. I’ve worked foreverythingI have, Graham. Everything.”

Her words slice through me, each one heavier than the last.

“I know,” I say softly, but it sounds weak, even to my own ears.

“No, you don’t,” she says, shaking her head. “And you know what? I don’t need you to. I don’t need you to understand me or like me, or even work with me. I’ll figure it out on my own.”

“Sophie,” I try again, but she doesn’t look at me.

“Just go,” she says, her voice quieter now but no less firm. “Please.”

I stand there for a moment, the weight of her words settling over me like a storm cloud.

And then I do the only thing I can.

I stay.

She looks up at me, still sitting there, and I can see the hesitation in her eyes before she finally speaks. “Why aren’t you leaving?”

“I’m tired of this back and forth between us, Sophie, and I’m always the one at fault, so today, I want to fix things.”

She looks at me like she wants to say something but just shakes her head and continues with her work. And I don’t budge.

Sophie doesn’t look at me again after she tells me to go, her focus locked on the iPad as she works.

The shop feels quieter than usual, the soft rustle of leaves and the occasional hum of the air conditioner filling the space. I lean against the wall near the door, crossing my arms as I watch her.

She’s trying to pretend I’m not here, but the tightness in her movements gives her away. Sophie is always so deliberate, soconfident in the way she does things. But tonight, there’s a hesitance to her actions, like my presence is throwing her off balance.

And I hate that I’m the cause of it.

I stay where I am, letting the silence stretch between us, unsure how to break it without making things worse.

Then I hear it—the faint patter of rain against the windows.

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