Natalie meets up with Matt

Natalie flipped down the visor and gave herself a quick once-over. She touched up her lip gloss, with one more pass, a tap at the corner of her eye to catch a smudge. Hair still holding. Dress still sitting how it should for the most part. She adjusted the wrap slightly at her chest, then let her fingers drift down, brushing her lap.

Her pulse was a little faster than she expected.

“Alright,” she murmured to herself. “Have fun. Don’t overthink.”

She clicked the visor shut and stepped out.

The neighborhood was relatively quiet as twilight set in. She wrapped her coat a little tighter as she made her way up to the porch and knocked twice, not giving herself a chance to hesitate.

The door opened fast. Matt stood there, shirt untucked, barefoot, and a welcoming smile that was quickly swept from his face as he looked at her. His eyes dragged over her, catching on the coat, the neckline, the stretch of her legs in stockings.

“Wow,” he said, stepping back. “Come in,” he said, stepping aside for her.

You look- Jesus,” he said, reaching out. “Here, let me take that.”

She let him slip the coat from her shoulders.

“Damn,” he added, hanging the coat on a hook by the door. “I should’ve dressed up.”

She gave a small smile, letting him look. “You’re fine.”

“Nah,” he said, glancing down at his jeans. “You show up like that, and I’m here in a Target tee and bare feet.”

Natalie shrugged one shoulder. “Just felt like being a little extra tonight.” A hint of a smirk touched her lips. “You seem like the type who’d appreciate it.”

“Oh, I will,” he said, stepping in a little closer.

His eyes didn’t move from hers at first, but she felt the shift in his posture and how the playfulness felt like it was angling toward something more deliberate. He stood there for a moment taking her in.

“You want a drink?” he asked. “I’ve got wine, bourbon… probably something embarrassing in a can, you can mock me about later.”

“Wine’s good,” she said, taking a look around.

He gestured toward the living room. “Go make yourself comfortable. I’ll grab it.”

She walked in slowly, feeling her dress move with her intentional sway. She took the couch, settling with one leg crossed over the other.

Matt came back a moment later with two glasses. “I hope you’re not a connoisseur. I don’t really know my wines, so I bought a couple of options because the label looked expensive. But this one’s supposed to go better with dinner from what I read online.” He chuckled at his own candor.

She took hers with a small smile. “I’m sure this will work just fine.”

He sat down beside her close enough that their arms might brush if she chose to turn toward him a touch more.

“So,” he said after a moment, nodding toward her dress. “What’s the occasion?”

She met his eyes, expression unreadable. “Just felt like reminding myself I could still turn someone’s head.”

His grin returned, slower this time. “Mission accomplished.”

Matt leaned back a little, sipping his bourbon. “So how’s work? Are you making the world fall in love with shampoo?”

She smiled into her wineglass. “Lipstick this quarter, actually. But close.”

“Ah, branching out.”

“It’s good,” she said, setting her glass down. “Busy. I’ve been pushing for more campaign input, and they’re finally letting me run with some of the copy. Nothing huge, but... it feels like momentum.”

He nodded. “That’s cool. I remember you saying you wanted more of a creative role.”

She gave a small shrug. “Yeah. It’s nice not just being the email girl.”

“Definitely doesn’t sound boring.” He paused. “And you like it?”

“I do,” she said. “I mean, it’s advertising. Some days it’s lipstick; some days it’s laundry detergent. But the challenge keeps me sharp. And I get to write, which I missed more than I realized.”

Matt smiled. “Hot and articulate. Damn.”

She rolled her eyes, but her lips curved anyway. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Just saying what we’re all thinking.”

Before she could fire back, the oven beeped from the kitchen.

Matt sat up. “Saved by the timer. That’s dinner.”

She raised a brow as he stood. “Wait, an actual homemade dinner? I kind of assumed you were just going to Postmates something and toss it on a plate.”

He shot her a look over his shoulder. “Excuse you. This is a Matt Collins original.”

Then he turned toward the kitchen and dropped into a deep, theatrical voice. “Today on Barefoot Bachelor, we’re making my signature dish: slightly overcooked chicken with a side of aggressive confidence.”

Natalie laughed, following him with her wine glass. “Aggressive confidence sounds on-brand as of late.”

He grinned. “It’s one of the few things I can make that doesn’t come out of a box. Or the freezer.”

He gestured toward the small dining table just off the kitchen, tucked near the windows of the open room. She took a seat as he grabbed a tray from the oven and started plating with exaggerated care, like he was performing for a cooking show audience.

“I mean,” he said, setting a plate in front of her, “don’t get too excited, but it’s edible. Maybe even good.”

She looked down at the chicken, roasted vegetables, and crispy potatoes. It smelled better than she expected. “Wow. You didn’t even fake a garnish.”

“Too much flair gives people unrealistic expectations, and I’m all about managing those,” he said smiling.

She took another bite, chewing slowly. “Alright, Mr. Signature Dish. What about you? Still juggling five side hustles and a podcast?”

Matt scoffed. “Too much work. It’s only three now. I downsized.”

“Wow. So responsible.”

He leaned back in his chair, bourbon glass in hand. “Freelance design mostly. Some branding work for a startup that thinks I’m more organized than I am. And a guy I used to know from college hired me to redo his website. Which, by the way, if he had his way, he’d be paying me for in ‘custom shirts and key chains’ with my logo on them,” he said using air quotes.

She laughed. “You’re living the dream.”

“Yeah, the dream where my retirement plan is finding a wealthy woman with low expectations.” He widened his eyes dramatically, lifted his brows. “Wait, you’re not secretly rich, by chance, are you?”

She gave him a flat look over her wineglass. “Does owning two throw blankets from West Elm count?”

He nodded matter-of-factly. “Absolutely. You’re basically old money.”

Genuinely laughing she raised her glass. “No, I’m not, but hey, cheers to aspirations.”

He tapped his bourbon to hers, holding her gaze. “Wealthy or not, I’m definitely dating out of my league here.”

Natalie’s smile softened as she looked into his eyes at his compliment. Her fingers brushed the stem of her now idle glass. Then, without thinking, she shifted a little closer, barely enough to notice, but the **** movement happening naturally.

“Flattery and, I’ll admit, a pretty good meal,” she said through her smile. “Not a bad strategy.”

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