Three For trouble

Chapter 7 The Divide

I woke up the next morning with a single thought pounding in my head: I have to see him.

Not Greg. Matt.

The thought of sitting in my tiny apartment, staring at the contract in my drawer while waiting for Friday to crush me, was unbearable. I needed air. I needed to pretend, even for just an hour, that my life wasn't collapsing.

I texted Matt before I could chicken out. "Can we meet? Same diner. Noon."

His reply came in seconds. "I'll be there."

I stared at the message for a long time, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. Then I typed another message, this time to Nicole. "I'm meeting him. The stranger from the bar. Come with me. Please."

Her reply was immediate. "A mystery man? I'm already putting on my shoes."

---

The diner on 5th and Maple looked exactly the same as it had yesterday. The neon sign was still flickering. The windows were still foggy. The smell of bacon and burnt coffee still drifted out onto the sidewalk like an old, familiar friend.

But this time, when I pushed the door open and the bell jingled, I wasn't alone.

Nicole was right behind me, her eyes wide and darting around the room like she was casing a bank. She had put on actual clothes today—a faded denim jacket over a plain black top—but her hair was still a wild, untamable mess.

"Okay," she whispered in my ear. "Point him out. I need to see if he's worth the drama."

I suppressed a smile and nodded toward the booth in the back.

Matt was sitting there, just like yesterday. Same gray hoodie. Same pushed-up sleeves. Same disheveled blond hair. But this time, he wasn't looking at the menu. He was watching the door, his blue eyes searching the crowd.

The moment they landed on me, his face broke into that warm, effortless smile.

But then he saw Nicole.

His smile faltered, just slightly, before he recovered. He tilted his head, a question in his eyes.

I walked over to the booth, sliding in across from him. Nicole slid in next to me, pressed up against my shoulder, her eyes fixed on Matt like he was a specimen under a microscope.

"Hi," I said. "This is Nicole. My best friend."

Matt looked at Nicole, then back at me, a small grin tugging at his lips. "I didn't know we were having a party."

"She's my bodyguard," I said. "I don't go to diners with strangers without backup."

"Smart," he said, his eyes holding mine. "I like that."

Nicole snorted. "He's got nice eyes, I'll give him that. But we're not here to judge his face. We're here to judge his character. So, Matt—" She leaned forward, her elbows on the table. "Tell me something real about yourself. What do you do for a living?"

Matt laughed. It was a low, easy sound that made the tension in my shoulders ease just a fraction. "I'm a photographer," he said. "Freelance. I do a lot of nature stuff. Landscapes. City skylines. Sometimes I do weddings or events if the money's good."

"A photographer," Nicole repeated. "That's cute. Is it steady?"

"Steady enough to pay my rent." He shrugged, his smile unwavering. "I don't need much. Just a roof, good food, and a camera."

He looked at me, his blue eyes softening. "And sometimes, good company."

I felt the heat rise to my cheeks. I looked down at the table, tracing a crack in the wood with my fingertip.

The waiter came. We ordered coffee and pancakes—Matt insisted on paying, despite Nicole's protests. The conversation flowed easily after that. Matt was natural, open, completely unguarded. He talked about his latest project, a series of photos he was taking of abandoned buildings in the city. He talked about his dog, a lazy golden retriever named Moose.

He asked me about my job. I lied, just like I had told myself I would.

"I work in data entry," I said. "It's boring, but it pays the bills."

"Boring can be good," he said. "It means you have time to think. To dream."

"What do you dream about?" I asked.

He held my gaze for a long moment, his blue eyes bright and unreadable. "Right now? I'm dreaming about figuring out why a beautiful woman with a tired smile keeps running away from me."

My breath caught.

Nicole, bless her chaotic heart, sensed the shift. She cleared her throat loudly and waved her fork in the air. "So, Matt. You seem nice. But I gotta ask—you ever been in a serious relationship? Because my girl here has been through some stuff, and I'm not about to let just any guy waltz in."

Matt chuckled. "I've had girlfriends. Nothing serious. I travel a lot for work. It's hard to keep a connection when you're always on the move."

"So you're a flight risk," Nicole said flatly.

"I'm a realist," he corrected. "I don't make promises I can't keep."

He looked at me again, and there was something deeper in his gaze now. Something searching. "But I'm good at showing up when it matters."

The words hit me in the chest. I opened my mouth to respond, but Nicole spoke first.

"Well, that's good," she said, stabbing a piece of pancake with her fork. "Because Emma's in a pretty tough spot right now. Got some rich guy breathing down her neck, making her life complicated."

I froze.

Matt's expression shifted. The easy smile melted away, replaced by a furrowed brow and sharp, questioning eyes. He looked at me, then back at Nicole. "Rich guy?"

Nicole's eyes widened. She realized her slip. "I mean—"

"It's nothing," I cut in quickly, my voice too high. "Just a work thing. A client who's really demanding."

Matt didn't look convinced. He was studying my face, reading the lines of exhaustion and fear that I couldn't hide. His jaw tightened.

"Emma," he said, his voice dropping. "Are you in danger?"

The question hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. I stared at him, my heart hammering. I wanted to say no. I wanted to laugh it off and change the subject.

But the truth was sitting in my chest like a rock.

"I—"

My phone buzzed.

I glanced down. The screen lit up, cold and blinding.

Greg.

I flinched.

Matt saw it. He saw the name. He saw the way my hand twitched toward the phone, the way my breath hitched. His blue eyes narrowed.

I silenced the call and shoved the phone face-down on the table.

The silence stretched between us, thick and uncomfortable.

Matt leaned back in the booth, his arms crossing over his chest. The warmth in his eyes had cooled into something cautious. Something calculated.

"Greg," he repeated. "That's the rich guy?"

I didn't answer.

"Emma," he said, his voice low and steady. "I'm not going to push you. But I need you to know—if someone is hurting you, you don't have to carry it alone."

I looked at him. His blue eyes were intense, locked on mine, searching for cracks in my armor.

I wanted to fall apart. I wanted to tell him about the contract, about the baby, about the suffocating weight of Greg's gray eyes.

But I couldn't.

Not yet.

"I'm fine," I whispered. "I just have a lot going on. I'll handle it."

He watched me for a long, heavy moment. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay," he repeated. "I believe you. But if that changes—if you ever need someone to have your back—you know where to find me."

I felt the tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I blinked them away, forcing a small, shaky smile.

"Thank you," I said.

He didn't smile back. He just looked at me, his expression unreadable, like he was trying to piece together a puzzle he didn't have all the pieces for.

We finished the pancakes in uncomfortable silence. Nicole, sensing the shift, kept her mouth shut and her eyes glued to her plate.

When we finally stood up to leave, Matt walked us to the door. He held it open for me, his hand brushing lightly against my back—a brief, gentle touch that sent a ripple of warmth through my cold skin.

"Be careful, Emma," he said quietly.

I nodded, unable to speak.

Then Nicole and I walked out into the cold afternoon air.

I didn't look back. I didn't dare. Because if I looked back, I would see the confusion in Matt's eyes. And I couldn't handle that. Not yet.

We walked in silence for a block before Nicole finally grabbed my arm, her grip tight.

"You have to tell him," she said quietly. "He's not an i***t, Emma. He knows something is up."

"I know."

"Then why didn't you?"

I stopped walking. I stared at the concrete beneath my feet, watching the cracks blur through my watery eyes.

"Because if I tell him," I whispered, "he'll want to save me. And I don't want to drag him into this mess."

Nicole squeezed my hand. "Maybe he wants to be dragged."

I didn't answer.

Because deep down, I knew she was right.

But I was too terrified to take that step.