Chapter 2: The Arrival
The speakeasy door was unmarked, just a slab of aged oak in a brick alleyway. Dee pushed it open, and the sound of a saxophone curled out into the night air, warm and mournful. Natalie followed, a calm presence at her shoulder.
“Okay,” Natalie said, her voice low. “Blind double date protocol. We smile, we assess, we have one drink minimum. Escape code is ‘I think I left my oven on.’”
“My oven doesn’t even work,” Dee muttered, her eyes scanning the room. Velvet booths huddled in pools of amber light from brass lanterns. The air was thick with the scent of bourbon and lemon zest.
Then she saw him.
Matt was in a corner booth, leaning back against crimson upholstery. The low light sculpted his cheekbones, glinted off the rim of his glass. He was listening to the man beside him—Julian, presumably—but his gaze was already sweeping the room. It found her. That smile, the one that started in his eyes and slowly took over his whole face, hit her with a physical force. Her stomach did a slow, painful roll.
He lifted a hand in a small wave.
“That’s him?” Natalie asked.
“That’s him.”
“And you’re sure this is a good idea?”
“No,” Dee said, forcing her feet to move. “It’s a terrible idea. It’s the band-aid.”
They weaved through the close-set tables. Matt slid out of the booth as they approached. He was wearing a dark sweater that made his eyes look impossibly blue. For a second, the old script took over. He opened his arms for a hug. She stepped into it, her face briefly against his chest, the familiar scent of his cologne wrapping around her. It felt like coming home and being locked out at the same time.
“You made it,” he said, his voice a vibration against her ear.
“Traffic was apocalyptic,” she said, pulling back too quickly. She gestured to Natalie. “Matt, this is Natalie. Nat, this is Matt.”
“Hi,” Natalie said, offering a genuine smile. “I’ve heard a lot. All good, I promise.”
“A dangerous promise,” Matt said, shaking her hand. His eyes, Dee noticed, did a quick, appreciative scan. Of course they did. Natalie was beautiful in an effortless, intelligent way. “This is Julian.”
Julian stood. He was handsome in a classic, leading-man way, with a friendly crinkle around his eyes. “The famous Dee,” he said, taking her hand. “I feel like I already know you. Matt talks about you so much I was starting to think he’d made you up.”
“He wishes,” Dee said, sliding into the booth opposite Matt. Natalie slid in beside her, putting Dee directly across from him. A tactical error. Now she had no choice but to look at him.
The waiter appeared. Orders were placed—whiskey for Matt and Julian, a glass of Sancerre for Natalie, a tequila soda for Dee. She needed the sharp edge of it.
“So,” Julian began, easily taking the lead. “Dee. Matt tells me you’ve been conquering the German hair scene. What’s the verdict?”
She launched into a story about a particularly stubborn Berliner who wanted a perm against all laws of physics. She made it funny. Her loud laugh bounced off the mahogany. She was performing, and she was good at it. She could feel Natalie’s quiet observation beside her, like a soft spotlight.
Throughout, Matt watched her. Not just listening, but watching. His fingers traced the condensation on his glass. When she finished the story, he jumped in.
“She’s being modest. She redid the lead actress’s entire hair trial for a big Netflix thing in Munich. Got a producer credit.”
“A very small one,” Dee corrected, taking a long drink. The tequila burned a clean path down her throat.
“Still,” Julian said, impressed. He turned to Natalie. “And you design outdoor spaces? That’s incredible. What’s the most unexpected thing someone’s asked you for?”
As Natalie began talking about a client who wanted a koi pond with a built-in waterfall for his cats, Dee let the words wash over her. She watched Matt watch Natalie. He was leaning slightly forward, his focus complete. He nodded in the right places. He asked a follow-up question about sustainable drainage. He was being Perfect Matt. Charming, engaged, flawless.
It was torture.
Every atom in her body was screaming. This was what she wanted for him, wasn’t it? Someone smart, kind, beautiful. Someone who wasn’t her. The logic was sound. The reality felt like suffocation.
“I’m gonna run to the ladies’,” Natalie said, touching Dee’s arm under the table. A slight press. You okay?
Dee nodded, a tight movement.
The moment Natalie slipped away, Julian’s phone buzzed. He glanced at it. “You have got to be kidding me. It’s my agent. A script thing just blew up. I am so sorry, I have to take this.” He looked genuinely pained as he stood. “Matt, a pleasure. Dee, truly, I hope we get to do this again without the spectre of a terrible director hanging over it.” He gave a rueful grin and melted into the shadows toward the door.
And then they were alone.
The saxophone wailed. The laughter from the next booth surged and fell.
Matt swirled the ice in his glass. “Well. That was abrupt.”
“He was nice,” Dee said, her voice sounding hollow to her own ears.
“He was. He’s a good guy.” Matt took a drink. His eyes were on the table, then they lifted to hers. The performance smile was gone. In its place was something more tentative, more searching. “So is she. Natalie. She’s great.”
“I told you she was.”
“You did.” He paused. The silence between them was a living thing, charged and uncomfortable. It had never been uncomfortable before. “This feels weird.”
“What does?”
“This.” He gestured between them with his glass. “The mission. It feels… forced.”
“It is forced,” Dee snapped, the words coming out sharper than she intended. “That’s the whole point. We’re forcing a change. Because whatever this is—” she mirrored his gesture, “—this standing still, isn’t working anymore.”
He flinched, just a tiny tightening around his eyes. “We’re not standing still. We’re friends.”
“Yeah.” The word tasted like ash. “We’re friends.”
Natalie reappeared, stopping by the booth. She glanced at the empty spot where Julian had been, then at the tense space between Dee and Matt. Her observant eyes missed nothing. “Julian had to bolt?”
“Work emergency,” Matt said, the charming mask slipping back on with an audible click. “Leaves us at an odd number. Not very sporting of him.”
“It’s fine,” Natalie said smoothly. She didn’t sit back down. Instead, she placed a gentle hand on Dee’s shoulder. “You know, I actually just remembered I have an early site survey tomorrow. Rainchecks are brutal. It was so nice to meet you, Matt.”
Dee looked up at her friend, a silent plea in her eyes. Natalie’s gaze was soft, knowing. She’d seen everything.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Natalie said, and it was a promise, an anchor. Then she was gone, leaving the two of them in the booth, the ruins of the double date around them.
The silence returned, heavier now.
Matt finished his whiskey in one go. “Well. That was a resounding success.”
“A disaster,” Dee corrected, finally letting the brittle cheer shatter.
“Yeah.” He sighed, a long, weary sound. He looked at her, really looked at her, and the confusion in his blue eyes was so raw it stole her breath. “Why does it feel like a disaster, Dee?”
She had no answer. Or she had too many, all jammed in her throat.
He slid out of the booth and stood, pulling out his wallet. He threw too much cash on the table. “Come on. I’ll drive you home.”
“I can get an Uber.”
“Don’t be stupid.” The words weren’t harsh, just final. “It’s me. Let me drive you home.”
The car, a sleek, silent sedan, smelled like him. Los Angeles slid by the windows, a stream of neon and shadow. He didn’t turn on the music. The quiet was a physical weight.
He pulled up to her building but didn’t kill the engine. He just stared at the steering wheel. “When you were in Germany,” he said quietly, “it was too quiet. Everything was… muted.”
She waited, her hand on the door handle.
He turned his head. The dashboard lights cast his profile in pale blue. “I missed the sound of you. I missed this. Even when it’s a mess.”
Her heart was beating wildly, a trapped bird against her ribs. “Matt…”
“Just think about it,” he said, cutting her off. He wasn’t smiling. His expression was serious, open, and utterly unfamiliar. “Think about why we both just sat through the most awkward two hours of our lives trying to be with other people.”
He reached across the console. His fingers brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, the touch fleeting and electric. “Goodnight, Dee.”
She got out. The car didn’t pull away until her apartment door closed behind her, locking her into the scent of lavender and the sight of her own haunted eyes in the vintage mirrors. The band-aid was off. The wound beneath was raw, exposed, and pulsing with a terrifying, hopeful heat.