Page 104 of Fake Dating My Best Friend

He pulls me to his chest and pats my back. Tears pour out faster than I can stop them.

I sniff, my voice muffled against his shoulder.

“I really hope Elaine used waterproof eyeliner.”

Asher lets out a soft chuckle.

“And I really hope I’m not leaving a permanent mark on your shirt.”

“I don’t mind, Is.”

The only sound between us is the quiet sniffle of my breath and the steady rhythm of his heart beneath my cheek.

“Collybear . . . what am I supposed to fix? What part of me do I need to change so I’m not always the one people leave? What kind of person do I have to become to stop living the same story over and over?”

“You don’t need to change any part of you, Peachie.”

“What?”

His thumb brushes a slow, reassuring line across my shoulder. “Wear the dress you love. Read the books you get lost in. Cry when you need to. You don’t need to become someone else to be loved, Isla.”

“Then why do people always leave?”

“The people who deserve you won’t run. They’ll stay. I’ll stay.”

His words settle like warmth in my chest, spreading through my body.

“You know why I love matchmaking? Why I love seeing other people fall in love?” I pause. “I think I just do it to prove to myself that love still exists. That it’s real, even if it’s not for me.”

Asher pulls back just enough to look at me.

“It is for you.”

The moon catches in his eyes, and for a second, I see our whole future there. Sunday mornings with coffee and crosswords, Christmas mornings with Mochi destroying wrapping paper, a lifetime of him looking at me exactly as he is right now. And it terrifies me how much I want it.

Almost as much as the horrifying realization that I must look like an absolute disaster. Puffy eyes. Streaked makeup. A complete mess.

“Don’t look at me. I’m really ugly right now.”

He smooths my hair, gently tucking a loose strand behind my ear.

“You could cry in front of me all day, and I’d still think you’re the cutest, most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“Don’t say that to me.”

“It is the truth.”

“No. You are making this too—”

CRACK!

My stomach lurches as my right foot suddenly drops three inches. I flail, grabbing for anything, Asher’s shirt, his arm, thin air, as my ankle twists and my balance vanishes.

“Oh!” The sound escapes me, half-gasp, half-squeak, as Asher’s arms wrap around me, steadying me before I can topple completely. His chest rumbles against mine with barely contained laughter.

Heat floods my face. “My heel broke,” I mumble, staring at our feet. My right shoe now sports a jagged stump where the heel should be.

Our eyes meet, and laughter bubbles up from my chest, mirrored in Asher’s expression. It starts as a chuckle but quickly spirals into that uncontrollable, breathless kind of laughter we’ve shared since we were kids. The kind that leaves your stomach hurting and tears in your eyes.

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