Page 130 of Fake Dating My Best Friend

I lower my hand, tracing the curve of her jaw.

“It’s my privilege to be the one by your side when you’re mascara-streaked. To cook your favorite pasta and pretend your muffins are five-star, because I love being the reason you smile like that. It’s my favorite thing to be the one who watches your nose scrunch in concentration when you read those romance novels, and knows you secretly love it when I demonstrate them for you.”

I brush a strand of hair from her face and kiss her cheeks. “Do you know how many people get to see all those different sides of you? The matchmaker, the dreamer, the woman who cries at dog food commercials but pretends she doesn’t? That’s been my favorite secret to keep all these years—knowing the real you when everyone else only gets pieces. Not because you’re perfect, but because you’re perfectly you. I loveyou.”

She laughs softly, tears welling in her eyes. I rest my forehead against hers, our noses touching.

“I was afraid for a long time, too, afraid of messing up, afraid of losing you. But holding you in my arms feels like having all the courage in the world. Like everything I’ve ever been afraid of doesn’t stand a chance against this—against us. You make me brave, Peachie. Loving you is worth every risk I was too scared to take before.”

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper. “I brought our friendship pact,” she said, unfolding it carefully. “I think it’s time we destroy it. What do you think?”

“Please.” I say, smiling as I take the paper from her hands. “I already burned my copy.”

I put her onto the edge of the desk, like our first kiss yesterday. My body leans into hers as I cradle her face between my hands. Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me closer.

“Let’s continue what we started yesterday.”

“I love you,” she whispers. “I love you, Collybear.”

And just like that, everything clicks into place. The world rights itself on its axis. I’m home.

She pulls me in, fingers threading through my hair, and our mouths crash together again. We take our time, pouring years—what feels like a lifetime of longing—into every touch. She sighs against my lips, and I feel the curve of her smile. This kiss is different from our first. There’s no uncertainty, no holding back. Just us, finally taking what we’ve both been too scared to reach for.

“I told you so!”

The muffled voice freezes us both. Isla’s eyes fly open, wide with alarm.

“Did you hear that?” she whispers, her breath warm against my lips.

I nod, already turning toward the door, keeping one arm protectively around Isla’s waist. There’s shuffling on the other side, followed by urgent whispers and what sounds suspiciously like giggling.

“Someone’s out there,” I mutter, narrowing my eyes at the door.

Isla’s face flushes a deep pink. “Please tell me it’s not who I think it is.”

Only one way to find out. I stride to the door, Isla still tucked against my side, and yank it open in one swift motion.

The tableau that greets us would be comical if it wasn’t so mortifying. Eight faces stare back at us with expressions ranging from sheepish to downright gleeful.

My mom and Isla’s mom are front and center, not even attempting to hide their matching grins. Behind them stand Victor and my dad, Elaine, Roxanne, Conner, and Xander, each caught in a different version of pretending they weren’t eavesdropping. At their feet, Mochi sits wagging his tail, the only one honest about his intentions.

“We were just . . .” Elaine starts, looking around for support.

“Passing by,” Roxanne finishes lamely.

“All eight of you? At once?” I raise an eyebrow.

My mom clasps her hands together like she’s just witnessed a miracle. “We have waited for this for too long!”

“Far too long,” Isla’s mom agrees, nodding vigorously.

Isla makes a small sound against my chest, where she’s buried her face. I can’t tell if she’s laughing or dying of embarrassment. Probably both.

“About time, you two!” Elaine steps forward, completely unrepentant. “I think I just won twenty bucks.” She holds out her hand to Xander, who reluctantly pulls out his wallet.

“Twenty?” Conner scoffs. “The pot’s up to a hundred and fifty by now. Half the town’s in on it.”

I groan, running my free hand through my hair. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

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