Page 18 of Fake Dating My Best Friend

I chuckle, leaning back against the counter. “Oh, please, I’ve had worse. Remember that time in high school when you dumped an entire slushie down my back?”

“Don’t remind me. It was so embarrassing.”

“I thought it was hilarious. Plus, it was like, a hundred degrees that day. You probably saved me from heat stroke.”

Isla laughs, then grows quiet. She lowers herself a little to reach the mess. Her hair slips forward, brushing her cheek, and from this angle, I can see the faint crease of concentration between her brows.

I tuck a loose strand behind her ear, fingertips grazing her skin. Her head lifts at the touch, eyes catching mine for a second before she looks back down at the stain.

She keeps dabbing at the mess, not saying anything. The silence feels heavier the longer it lingers. Her movements are careful and slow. It’s like she’s afraid to touch me.

“So . . . About what your mom said . . . I promise I won’t misinterpret her hints. You’re safe.”

I reach for her wrist, stopping her mid-motion. Her skin is soft beneath my fingers. Too soft. The kind of softness that makes me forget why I was stopping her in the first place.

Her breath catches, but she doesn’t pull away. Every part of me wants to pull her close, to run my fingers through her soft auburn waves and trace the curve of her cheek with my thumb.

I don’t move. Every muscle pulled tight, holding me exactly where I am.

“I’mnotworried about what they think of us.”

She laughs awkwardly. “Right, of course. We know where we stand. Best friends and all that.”

The words hit hard. I stay still, trying to breathe slowly. She still has no idea that every time she says that, it feels like someone’s twisting a knife in my chest.

Isla’s phone rings, and she fumbles for it in her pocket, stepping away from me like I was on fire.

“Hello? Yes, this is Isla.” Her face falls as she answers, and I fight the urge to grab the phone and tell whoever it is to back off. “Oh, I see. No, I completely understand. Thank you for letting me know.”

Isla grips the phone tighter. It kills me to watch her try so hard to keep it together.

“Of course. Yes, I appreciate your honesty. Take care.” She hangs up, her eyes fixed on some point on the floor.

“Peachie, are you okay?”

“That was Janice, who owns the office space. My lease is up at the end of the month, and she said she needs to raise the rent. Something about higher operating costs.” She swallows. “But I don’t have any clients right now.”

I place my hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Hey. Look at me.”

Isla meets my eyes, and the pain there hits me square in the chest. She cares so much about helping people find love. She undercharges or doesn’t charge at all. She hates the idea of money getting in the way.

It’s sweet. It’s stubborn.

And it means this rent increase isn’t just inconvenient. It’s going to make things really hard for her.

“Tell me what you need. I’ll cover the rent until things pick up.”

Isla shakes her head. “That’s kind of you, but I can’t let you do that. I’ll figure it out. But . . . thank you, Collybear.”

She’s holding herself together like it’s her job, and I hate how well she’s learned to do it alone.

We return to the table a few moments later. Isla puts on a smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Is everything alright?” Mom asks, glancing between us.

“Yes. We were just talking about . . . about the historical accuracy of the town’s bylaws. Nothing serious.” Isla says.

My phone buzzes. I flick my eyes down. Apparently, I’ve just been added to a group chat with Elaine and Roxanne.

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