Page 60 of Fractured Faceoff

She paused on the threshold, turning back to face me. “Together,” she agreed.

I walked Isla to her car, the cool evening air wrapping around us like a shroud. Her footsteps were soft beside mine, a rhythmic counterpoint to the thoughts swirling in my head. When we reached her car, I opened the door for her, feeling the familiar weight of expectation settle between us.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice softer than usual. “For dinner.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. The words caught in my throat, tangled with emotions I couldn’t quite name.

Before I could second-guess myself, I leaned in andkissed her again. This time, she stilled for a moment—just long enough for me to wonder if I’d made a mistake—but then she slowly melted into it. Her lips softened against mine, and I felt a warmth spread through my chest that had nothing to do with the cool night air.

When we finally broke apart, I kept my face close to hers. “You text me when you get home, sugar?” My voice came out low and rough, barely more than a whisper.

She nodded, a blush creeping up her cheeks that made her look even more beautiful in the dim light. “I will,” she murmured.

I couldn’t help but smile at the sight of her blushing. There was something so genuine about it, so real.

She got into her car, giving me one last look before closing the door. I watched as she started the engine and drove off into the night, feeling an unexpected pang of longing as her taillights disappeared down the street.

Standing there alone in the quiet night, I realized just how complicated this whole scheme was becoming. But for now, all that mattered was that Isla was safe and heading home.

I turned back towards my house with a sense of determination settling over me. This was just the beginning, and we had a long way to go—but for tonight at least, we were on the same page.

Chapter 17

Isla

The rest of the week passed in a blur of predictable routines and subtle surprises. Every morning, I walked into my office to find fresh flowers on my desk. Each bouquet was different, a small detail that didn’t escape my notice. Jared must have been putting thought into this, which made it both sweet and unnerving. I couldn’t remember the last time someone paid such consistent attention to me, even Brody.

At lunchtime, Jared appeared without fail. He always brought something—sometimes a neatly packed lunch from a local deli, other times takeout from our favorite spots.

“Figured you’d need the fuel,” he’d say with that signature smirk, handing me a container.

We’d eat together in my office, our conversations ranging from playful banter about hockey to deeper discussions about life’s unpredictability.

“Ever think about moving in?” Jared asked one afternoon, casually leaning back in his chair as he polished off the last of his sandwich.

I nearly choked on my salad. “You’re joking.”

“Dead serious.” His eyes locked onto mine, challenging me.

“Jared, we’re faking this relationship to make everyone else jealous, remember? Moving in together is... it’s too much.”

“Or it’s exactly what we need to sell it.” He didn’t back down, his gaze steady. “Plus, it might be nice having someone around who doesn’t drive me crazy.”

I laughed despite myself. “That’s your best pitch?”

He shrugged, grinning. “Works on you.”

It didn’t though—or at least I tried to convince myself it didn’t. Even if I did need a place to stay.

Every night, he walked me to my car. His presence felt protective and oddly comforting. We’d linger for a moment before parting ways, an unspoken agreement hanging between us that neither wanted to acknowledge out loud.

Finally, the weekend arrived, bringing with it a sense of relief and tension all at once. I found myself standing outside Jared’s apartment door Saturday morning, a bag slung over my shoulder. He opened the door before I could knock.

“Morning,” he greeted with a smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners.

“Morning,” I echoed, stepping inside.

“Coffee’s ready,” he said over his shoulder as he walked towards the kitchen.

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