Page 69 of Scoring with my Bestie's Ex

“And don’t you see? That’s exactly why I can’t thank you enough. You’re good and kind. You’ve shown me that you don’t have to be perfect in every aspect of life to do great things.”

Aaron laughs. “I’m not perfect? That’s a blow to the ego.”

I bite my lip, but his teasing tone is too light for me to take him seriously. “Nobody is perfect.”

“I’d beg to differ, but I’m not really into begging.”

We come to a stoplight, and he winks at me.

Then his expression grows more serious. “That isn’t to say I’ve done all this by myself, Bella. Ellen had to tell me that I needed to do something so that you’d know I was here for you. I would have waited forever if she hadn’t pushed me.”

“And that’s as much my fault. I’m the one who asked you not to reach out, which I shouldn’t have done. I thought that you reaching out was the same thing as demanding my attention.”

“Because that’s what you’re used to,” Aaron murmurs.

I nod, wincing. “I have a lot to unlearn. I can’t promise it’s going to be easy. And I know it’s going to take time. Longer than I want it to.”

“I can be a patient person.”

The light turns green, and he has to concentrate on the road again. It gives me the chance to study his profile.

He is strikingly handsome, with a strong jawline, captivating eyes, and a head of hair that invites my fingers to run through it.

We arrive at the venue, and though I feel a twinge of sadness as our alone time comes to an end, Aaron drops me off at the front entrance before heading off to find a parking spot.

I rush in and hurry backstage.

As anticipated, delightful chaos ensues as everyone scurries around, ensuring that every detail is perfectly in place.

Imogen directs the flow of the models, her movements precise and confident, like a conductor leading an orchestra.

I quickly join her, focusing on the last-minute details—after all, that’s where everything can go awry.

“It’s time for you to go on,” I whisper to her after a moment.

I know this part well; Imogen will dazzle the audience with her charm as she introduces each design, and the models will strut down the runway like stars on a red carpet, showcasing the creations with flair and confidence.

But this time, she unexpectedly grabs my hand.

“You’re coming out with me,” she says, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Trust me, it’ll be fun—like a rollercoaster, but with more fabric and fewer safety precautions!”

My eyes widen. “But there’s still work to be done—”

“And it’ll be done. We got those two temp assistants for a reason, eh?” She winks at me.

With her arm around my waist, she firmly steers me onto the runway. The lights are blinding. It feels like every spotlight in existence is on me.

I wasn’t expecting this! I’m not worthy—but then I remind myself that Imogen is the designer I respect most in this world.

Who am I to question her judgment?

Imogen starts off by thanking everyone for coming. I can hardly process her words; I’m filled with so many conflicting emotions.

As my eyes adjust to the brilliance of the lights, I spot the faces I most long to see. Aaron and Ellen sit in the front row, with Ellen practically glowing as she bounces with excitement.

Next to her, Aaron wears a warm smile. Even in the dim light, I can see the spark in his eyes, full of encouragement and pride.

My heart soars at the realization—he truly loves me!

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