Page 110 of Fake Dating My Best Friend

“Youdid.” His thumb brushes across his lower lip.

“Oh my gosh. Please erase me from existence.” My hands fly up to cover my face.

Is there a course I can take to train my unconscious self to stop oversharing?

Wait.

Did we kiss?

Did I miss it?

“We didn’t kiss, Peachie.”

I exhale hard, peeking through my fingers. Can he not read my mind for, like, five seconds?

“But if you’re still curious . . .” His gaze dips to my lips, then drags back up to meet my eyes. “We could figure it out now.”

My pulse kicks up like it’s auditioning for a rock band. Yes. I want to know.So badly.But unlike my unconscious self, this version of me has boundaries. Rules. Discipline.

“NOPE,” I blurt, sitting up straighter. “No. No, thank you. I don’t think that was me. Probably just . . . dream-prepping. In case of emergency fake dating scenarios. Not because I want to know how you kiss.”

That would be rule-breaking. Heart-risking. Best-friend-ruining.

“Oh? Do you want to practice now? For preparedness?”

“I didn’t brush my teeth!” I yelp. “I mean—no. Of course not. I—I have a meeting! With Diane. For the Annual Matchmaking Event. Yep. Gotta go.”

I’m trying to focus on Diane’s spreadsheet, but all I can think about is how I fled my apartment this morning like it was on fire. After that whole awkward kiss suggestion, I practically teleported into the shower, dressed at superhuman speed, and bolted out the door with wet hair and mismatched socks.

Very professional, Isla. A+ adulting.

Now I’m sitting across from Diane Mills in her pristine office with its white furniture and minimalist decor, discussing budget proposals for our co-hosted Matchmaking Gala. My notebook is open to a page covered in calculations and crossed-out numbers.

“So if we drop the ticket price from $300 to $75,” I explain, tapping my pen against the paper, “we can actually increase attendance enough to make up the difference in revenue. Plus, we could offer a limited number of community-sponsored tickets for those who can’t afford even the reduced price.”

Diane frowns slightly, her perfectly manicured finger scrolling through her tablet. “That’s a significant reduction, Isla. The data suggests we could easily sell out at $300.”

“We could,” I agree, leaning forward, “but that’s not what the Matchmaking Gala is about—at least not to me. It’s about giving more people a real shot at trying matchmaking. Helping people find love . . . that’s a privilege. And I don’t want the ticket price to be the thing that keeps them out.”

I gesture to the spreadsheet. “Besides, with increased attendance, we can attract more sponsors. I’ve already spoken to five local businesses willing to contribute if we make the event more accessible.”

Diane sits back in her chair, her perfectly composed expression softening just a fraction. “You really believe in this, don’t you?”

“I do.” I meet her gaze directly. “Matchmaking isn’t just a business to me. It’s about helping people find their person. And everyone deserves that chance.”

She’s quiet for a long moment, tapping a perfectly polished nail against her desk. Then, to my surprise, she smiles, a genuine one that reaches her eyes.

“Alright, Isla. We’ll go with your pricing structure.” She makes a note on her tablet. “In fact, I might consider implementing a sliding scale for some of my services in the future.”

I blink, caught off guard by her easy agreement. “Really? That’s—thank you.”

“Don’t appear so stunned,” she remarks with a slight chuckle. “I’m not heartless. I’ve just grown accustomed to metropolitan rates and wasn’t considering this perspective. And perhaps lost sight of why I started doing this in the first place.”

“I’m . . . glad we found some middle ground,” I manage, my brain still catching up to this reality where Diane Mills and I were actually agreeing on something.

“You know, I think there’s room for both our approaches in this event. Maybe we could even do some research—see if our methods can complement each other and create something really special.”

“We could collaborate on a few matches,” I say.

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