Page 29 of Fake Dating My Best Friend

ASHER

Cooking something you’ll love at your place

ISLA

I’ll be back in five minutes.

ASHER

What’s this mysterioussomethingyou found?

ISLA

Nope. Not telling, unless you tell me if you’re accepting my brilliant plan first.

ASHER

Again, not sure. Depends on you.

Whatdoesthatevenmean?

I’m still trying to decode it when I push open my apartment door, and the scent hits me like a wave. Basil. Garlic. Parmesan. Pesto pasta.

My favorite.

All I can think about right now is how amazing that smells in here. Nothing else seems half as important as whatever magic is happening on the stove. My stomach growls so loudly I’m pretty sure Betty’s cat next door just hissed in protest.

Asher’s always been an excellent cook, while I’m the one who might set off the smoke alarm trying to fry an egg. One of the perks of living next door to him is that I get to suffer my lack of cooking skills a whole lot less and enjoy whatever delicious thing my gorgeous best friend happens to be making.

“Smells amazing, Collybear! Are you trying to ruin every other meal for me?”

Asher is in my kitchen. Wearing my ridiculous frilly mint green apron withHot Stuff Coming Throughemblazoned across the chest in sparkly pink letters. The one Elaine gave me as a joke last Christmas, which I’d stuffed in the back of my drawer because Kyle would’ve given me that tight-lipped look. The tiny thing barely covers Asher’s chest, the strings tied in what looks like a five-year-old’s attempt at a bow behind his back.

How does he make that ridiculous thing look good? It’s not fair. Seriously, not fair at all.

“You know, you make that apron look so . . . inadequate.” I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.

Asher turns, wooden spoon in hand, a smudge of green pesto on his cheek. His turquoise eyes crinkle at the corners. “I make anything work.”

Yes. Yes, you do.

I drop my bag on the counter, wandering over to peek around his shoulder. The scent of his cologne mingles with the basil and pine nuts. Something inside me melts a little.

“If you could be a cook and start a restaurant, I would be your loyal customer. Emphasis on the loyal. Like, stalker-level loyal.”

“Just what my ego needs—more inflation,” he chuckles. “You’re early. I’m almost finished.”

I hop up onto the counter beside him, my legs swinging. “I saw a new flavor of gummy bear, so I bought a few for you.”

I dig through my purse, past receipts, lip balm, and three pens until I find the small bag of blue gummy bears. Asher’s secret addiction since third grade. The man who meal-preps like a fitness god but keeps emergency gummy bears in his gym bag like they’re life-saving medication.

“Blueberry?” His eyes light up like I’ve just handed him the keys to a Ferrari. “Mind feeding me some? Hands are occupied.”

I narrow my eyes at his wicked smile.

“You’re perfectly capable of washing your hands, Collymore.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

---