Page 106 of Fake Dating My Best Friend

“I’ll ask him. Thank you, Is.”

The conversation shifts as we drive through Maple Street. The town is quiet at this hour, storefronts dark, street lamps casting pools of light on empty sidewalks.

“Mom said the peach tree started blooming yesterday.” I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. “She’s betting this year’s peaches will be the best yet. According to her legendary peach-growing instincts.”

Isla’s lips curve, and her eyes flutter open just enough to meet mine.

“This time,” she says through a sleepy grin, “I’m getting the top peach.”

Her eyelids are growing heavy, and she nestles deeper into the passenger seat, her head tilting toward me.

“The very top one,” she mumbles, voice thick and fading. “You don’t get to stop me.”

I chuckle, remembering nine-year-old Isla’s determination to climb to the highest branch of our backyard peach tree, despite my warnings. Some things never change.

“Sure you will, Peachie,” I say softly, but she’s already drifting off, her breathing becoming deep and even.

By the time we reach our apartment building, she’s asleep. I park and sit for a moment, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest. The dome light flickers on, casting a soft glow over her face. Her lips part slightly with each breath, lashes resting softly against her skin.

Something twists in my chest. She looks so peaceful, so beautiful, so precious. I could watch her like this all day.

Scratch that—I want to watch her like this for the rest of my life.

I don’t have the heart to wake her. Carefully, I slip out of the driver’s seat and make my way around the car, opening the passenger door with the slowest, quietest motion I can manage.

I crouch down beside her, gently unbuckling her seatbelt. Her brow furrows at the movement, her body shifting slightly, just enough to stir.

“Shhh,” I whisper, brushing her hair back from her cheek with the backs of my fingers. “I’ve got you.”

She’s light in my arms, her body curling toward me as I lift her from the car. Her head settles against my shoulder, and her fingers curl slightly into my shirt.

Having her this close feels right in a way I can’t explain. Like she belongs here, in my arms. I’m careful not to jostle her as I make my way up the stairs, her warm breath against my neck stirs deep in my core. I take each step slowly, partly to avoid waking her, partly to stretch this moment for as long as possible.

When I reach our floor, Roxanne is waiting by Isla’s door with her phone in one hand and Mochi’s leash in the other. The second Mochi spots me, his entire body starts vibrating with excitement. His tail wags so hard it knocks against Roxanne’s leg like a tiny drum, but somehow—miraculously—he doesn’t bark.

His nose twitches, ears perked, eyes locked on Isla in my arms like he knows this is serious business.

I nod toward Isla and mouth,asleep.

Roxanne arches a brow, slow and smug, typing something into her phone with far too much satisfaction. She flashes me a thumbs up, then steps aside as I unlock Isla’s door with one hand.

Mochi tiptoes in after us, nails clicking quietly on the hardwood like he’s trying to sneak in past curfew.

I carry Isla to her bedroom, lay her down on her bed, careful not to wake her.

Roxanne stands in the room, arms folded, her expression softer than usual.

I keep my voice low. “Can you help her change later? I am going to head out.”

She nods once.

I brush a strand of hair off her cheek and straighten to leave. She stirs, lashes fluttering, and catches my shirt in a sleepy grip.

“Don’t go,” she murmurs.

I freeze, heart thudding hard. She’s still half-asleep, not fully aware of what she’s saying. She probably doesn’t even realize I’m here.

“You need to change, Is,” I say quietly, even though I’m not sure I want her to let go.

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