Page 36 of Fake Dating My Best Friend

ASHER

You’re going to love him.

“Whathappenedtoyou?”

The emergency text that dragged me away from my small-town firefighter romance novel makes a lot more sense as Asher stands in his doorway. Mud and tiny paw prints smear his gray Henley, making it look like some kind of abstract art project.

But my heart barely registers the mess.

Because in his arms is a wiggling, mud-covered bundle of pure adorableness. My chest combusts.Puppy.Tiny ears. Big eyes. Wiggly paws. I’m gone.

“Isla!” His grin is way too devastatingly charming for someone who looks like he just lost a wrestling match with a mud pit. “Perfect timing. I need you.”

“Why do you have a puppy? Aren’t you supposed to be on your date with Michelle?”

It’s barely eight o’clock. An early ending probably means no romantic dinner, no lingering touches across the table, and no goodnight kiss under the stars. My heart does a little skip-jump. Not that I’m keeping track. I’m just being thorough. For professional purposes.

“Can I assume that smile means you’re happy I’m back early?” Asher tilts his head, his grin lazy.

“What? No! Of course not!” I smooth my expression. “So—uh—what happened?”

“Long story short? Date was a bust, but I found this little guy.” He nods to the squirming puppy, who lets out the tiniest sneeze I’ve ever heard. “Can you help me give him a bath?”

So he ended his date early to clean up the puppy withme?A weird flutter rises in my chest. Which is dumb. I should be disappointed. I want his dates to go well.

Ineedthem to go well. Don’t I?

Especially considering I still don’t have a single active client right now. And thanks to Diane’s sky-high rate, the other matchmakers in town and in nearby towns are hiking their prices like they’re selling luxury handbags instead of love.

But I can’t give up.

“What happened? Michelle seemed so—” Perfect. Polished. Successful. The kind of woman Asher deserves. Unlike certain matchmakers whose idea of success lately involves not crying over client spreadsheets and pretending her love life isn’t a dumpster fire in heels.

“We don’t match,” Asher says with a shrug, like it’s no big deal.

“But you’re both perfect for each other.”

A maddening smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Maybe I’m more intoimperfect.”

My mouth opens, then closes. Zero comeback. My brain has officially blue-screened.

He turns back into his apartment, those unfairly broad shoulders somehow managing to make even mud stains look good. The wet fabric stretches across his back in a way that should be illegal in at least three states.

“Two hands aren’t enough for this chaos,” Asher calls over his shoulder, heading for the bathroom. “Come on, Peachie. I need you.”

The man’s cradling this tiny mud ball like it’s made of spun sugar, murmuring soft nonsense as the puppy tries to lick his chin.

Between his broad shoulders and the way he’s cooing at the tiny puppy, my heart swells like it’s trying to write poetry about this exact moment. There’s something ridiculously sexy about watching those strong hands being impossibly gentle with something so small.

“I didn’t sign up for puppy bath time,” I argue weakly, even as I kick off my shoes and follow him. Because apparently, I’ve lost all ability to say no to Asher Collymore and his puppy.

He glances back with a grin. “I also got you the strawberry mochi donuts, by the way. It’s on the counter if you survive the bath.”

The bathroom isn’t small, but it suddenly feels tiny with Asher’s six-foot-three frame and my supposedly professional, totally platonic boundaries both trying to occupy the same space.

“Can you hold him while I run the water?” The puppy squirms between us as Asher passes him to me.

The puppy gazes up at me with huge brown eyes, all sweetness despite being cold and muddy. His tail wags, sending little droplets of mud everywhere.

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