Page 1 of Fake Dating My Best Friend

Chapter 1

Isla

TodayI’mgettingengaged.

At least, I’m pretty sure I will be.

“Hey Asher, the camera’s all set, right?” I whisper, wiping a sweaty palm against my pants and twisting around to check on my best friend. He’s crouched behind one of the festival booths, a wooden setup strung with pastel bunting and cluttered with jars of homemade jam.

The canopy above him sags slightly in the middle, flapping every time the breeze picks up. He looks completely out of place, surrounded by raffle signs and glitter stickers, wearing an expression that reminds me of my aunt’s grumpy cat during bath time.

It’s almost funny. He could scowl all he wants, but with those turquoise blue eyes and that dimpled smile half the town swoons over, it hardly matters. The beloved owner of Collymore Fitness has no shortage of admirers, not that he ever seems to notice.

And of course, I beg my best friend to record thebest day of my lifebecause my boyfriend, Kyle, is going to propose.

Who else would I trust? Asher and I have been inseparable since childhood. We grew up as next-door neighbors, always in the same classes, as we are the same age. Even after we moved out of our childhood homes a few years ago, we still somehow ended up as neighbors again.

Asher’s always been my ride-or-die guy, even if he looks like he’s deeply regretting his life choices right now.

“For the millionth time, yes,” he grumbles, adjusting the lens with more force than necessary. “Though I still think this is a bit much. Shouldn’t proposals be, I don’t know, private?”

I fidget with the soft spring scarf, tugging the end through my fingers as I scan the bustling square. The Frosthaven’s Spring Festival is in full swing, the late afternoon sun casting a golden glow over the town square. It’s the town’s biggest celebration to welcome spring, and everyone who’s anyone in Frosthaven is here.

Frosthaven might be a small town in upstate New York, tucked into the foothills of the Adirondacks, but when it comes to celebrating, we don’t mess around.

“Oh please, this is going to be perfect. Kyle’s been acting so weird lately, checking his phone and getting all nervous. Plus, I saw the ring box in his pocket last week.”

I straighten my carefully chosen red scarf. Well, technically, Asher picked it out. I’d sent him three options in a panic because Kyle’s idea of “casual” usually means designer brands and runway-level coordination. Last month, I wore floral boots to his business dinner, and he spent the whole night calling them “interesting.”

I still don’t totally get his high-end style, but I try. Or at least, I try hard enough not to look like the odd one out next to him. And when I can’t figure it out, like always, I turn to Asher.

But at least all the effort’s not for nothing. Kyle’s going to propose.

“He said it was just a keepsake, but come on. Who keeps keepsakes in tiny velvet boxes?”

Asher’s jaw clenches, muscles flexing beneath his perfectly sculpted jawline. “But he couldn’t even remember your coffee order after a year of dating.”

My chest tightens at the sharp edge in his tone, that telltale dip he gets when he’s holding something back.

“He tries, okay?” My stomach does a slow, queasy flip. “My coffee order is complicated. Half the time, I confuse the baristas.”

Asher’s probably the only one who ever gets it right every time. But that’s just because he’s got a freakishly good memory. Most people don’t. Even Elaine and Roxanne, my soul sisters, still mix it up sometimes.

“I saw the ring box, Ash. He’s nervous and acting weird. I know what that means. This time’s different. I’m pretty sure.”

He opens his mouth as if to say something, then shakes his head, returning to fiddle with his camera. “If you say so.”

Kyle and I have been dating for a year now, and everything’s fine. He’s handsome, successful, and he treats me well. And I’ve been trying my best to get this right. Especially with nine failed relationships already behind me. So what if he never remembers my coffee order? Or that mushrooms are basically my sworn enemy? Those are minor things. Right?

“It’s not like I need some grand romantic gesture,” I tug at my scarf again. “I’m twenty-eight, not some starry-eyed teenager.”

Asher never liked any of my ex-boyfriends. And . . . fine. He was right about them. But this time, I’m going to prove him wrong.

A rebellious strand of hair catches my eye, sticking straight up as if it’s taunting me. My fingers fly to my head, desperately smoothing the wayward lock back into place.

“Ash, can you check my lipstick?” I whirl around toward Asher. Maybe the shade is too bold? I scan Asher’s expression, desperate for confirmation. “What if it’s smeared everywhere, and I look like a circus disaster in every single picture?”

“Your lipstick’s fine, Peachie.” A faint smile tugging at his mouth. “And you know what? So areyou.”

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