Page 50 of Matched with the Grumpy Secret Prince

I lift my chin. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he says, voice low. He hesitates before adding, “I fixed your tire.”

I blink, caught off guard even though I already knew it was him.

“You… what?”

He shrugs like it’s nothing. It’s normal for him to go out of his way to help me when I’m trying to push him away.

“Thought you might need it.”

My throat tightens. I should say thank you. I should acknowledge that it was a thoughtful thing to do. But I don’t trust my voice.

Instead, I straighten, gripping my planner a little too tightly. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.”

The silence stretches between us, thick and charged.

I came here with a plan—to tell him we needed to wrap things up and that we didn’t need to see each other anymore.

But now, standing here, I can’t say it.

His voice drops. “Look, Sophie, about last night?—”

I shake my head quickly, my heart hammering. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

“But we do.” He steps closer. “Because it keeps happening. And I—” He exhales sharply. “I need to know where your head’s at. Because mine—” He clenches his jaw. “Mine’s a mess.”

His response catches me off guard because I didn’t think he was going through the same agony as I am. Hearing him admit it just confuses me further. I squeeze my eyes shut. “Graham, I don’t know what to do with this.”

“With what?”

“This.” I motion between us, frustration bubbling over. “The tension. The almosts. I don’t know what to do with you.”

His gaze darkens, his voice barely above a whisper now. “Then stop overthinking and just?—”

And then he’s there.

And then I’m there.

And then—we’re kissing.

It’s not tentative. It’s not hesitant. It’s every bottled-up moment bursting at once.

His hands find my waist, pulling me in like he’s been holding back for too long, and he’s finally done pretending. And maybehe has. Perhaps I have, too. Because I don’t hesitate. I don’t push him away.

I melt into him, gripping his shirt, tilting my head to deepen the kiss because I don’t just want this—I need it.

The world tilts.

I forget everything—where we are, what this means, why I told myself I shouldn’t.

Because right now, nothing else matters.

And then?—

His phone rings.

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