Matt

The ranch road was all dust and long grass. My car coughed when I pulled up, lease in a box, heart in pieces. My ex cheated. My best friend Maya said, “Come stay. We have a room. No questions, just pancakes.” I didn’t expect Matt. Maya’s older brother. 37. He ran the ranch with her. I’d known him since I was 16 and thought he was terrifying. Tall, black messy hair, beard scruff that never looked accidental, blue denim shirt open over a plain white t-shirt, jeans worn soft. Arms crossed, leaning on his black pickup like he’d been carved from the place itself. You could see the muscle in his forearms, the kind you get from fixing fences at 6 AM, not a gym. He looked... really good. The kind of good that makes your brain short-circuit. And I’d always had a crush on him. Secret, stupid, 16-year-old crush. But he was Maya’s brother. Older. Steady. The guy who never looked twice at me because “she’s my sister’s friend” and “I don’t date people I could accidentally hurt.” I knew he’d never be interested. So when he pushed off the truck and walked toward me, I went shy. Me. The girl who talked back to professors and dyed her hair pink on a dare. Suddenly I couldn’t find words.