Page 28 of Fake Dating My Best Friend

I shake my head, cutting through the free weights section, and head toward Gavin’s usual corner near the squat racks. He’s propped against a barbell like it’s his personal throne. With his perpetually messy brown hair and that scar cutting through his eyebrow from a skateboarding accident when we were fifteen, Gav looks exactly like the guy who’d convince you to do something stupid, then be the first to help you up when it goes wrong.

“Some of us have actual work to do, you know.” I bump his cross-trainers with my own.

“Oh, is that what you call mooning over Isla these days?” Connie pipes up from her treadmill, not even breaking stride. The seventy-year-old firecracker has been a regular since my father owned the gym, and she’s made it her personal mission to keep everyone’s life interesting with her quick wit and warm heart.

“I wasn’t—“

“Son, we’ve seen wet puppies with more subtlety than you.” Fred, Connie’s husband and former firefighter, cuts me off with a chuckle.

Is there anyone in this townnotkeeping tabs on my love life?

“Can we talk about something else?” I grumble, heading for my office upstairs. “Like, I don’t know, the actual gym?”

Gavin pushes off the barbell he’s been draped over. “Ooh, touchy subject. But speaking of the gym, when are we gonna start the Senior and Adaptive Program you’ve been hemming and hawing about?”

Connie chimes in, hopping off her treadmill. “If you’re talking about the one for seniors and injury recovery, I say it’s about time. This town’s gonna love it.”

“I’m still planning. It’s a big undertaking. We’d need new equipment, specialized training.”

“You’ve got everything you need right here,” Fred says, tapping his temple. “After all, you helped me after my hip surgery. I was dancing circles around Connie in no time.”

“Dancing circles, my foot,” Connie snorts. “More like wobbling in squares.”

I smile as I watch them bicker. Forty-eight years of marriage, and they still look at each other like newlyweds. It’s the kind of love I’ve always wanted, the kind I feel for Isla.

“Henry will be proud of you,” Fred says.

Only if I don’t screw it up.

And funnily enough, the whole idea started because of him. The car accident five years ago tore his hip cartilage and fractured his lower back. Dad, who’d spent his life helping others get stronger, suddenly needed help with basic movements.

But Dad isn’t like most people. He clawed his way through recovery like it was a sport, fueled by stubbornness, solid physical therapy, and half the town cheering him on. It took a year of hard work, but he recovered.

I was there for all of it. Sat in on his sessions, spent countless hours working alongside his physical therapists, learning proper rehabilitation techniques. It pushed me to get certified in Corrective Exercise and Post-Rehabilitation fitness training.

Seeing how the right exercises and support made all the difference and it sparked something in me. A vision of what this gym could be: a place where everyone, regardless of their limitations, could rebuild their strength and confidence.

“Earth to Asher!” Gavin’s waving his hand in front of my face. “You still with us, buddy?”

“Yeah. Just thinking.”

He grins. “Well, don’t overthink it. Leave the heavy lifting to the dumbbells. Just say the word when you’re ready to roll.”

“Appreciate it,” I say with a nod. “I’ll look into it more, talk to Dad, tighten the plan before we move.”

It’s not that I don’t believe in the program. I do. But believing and launching are two different beasts, and the last thing I want is to mess it up with my dad’s name on the sign out front.

Some things, and some people, matter too much to get wrong.

Gavin claps a hand on my shoulder as he heads for the squat rack. “You’re closer than you think, man. And we’ve got your back when you’re ready.”

Chapter 7

Isla

ISLA

Found something you’ll love on the way back.

---