Page 44 of Fake Dating My Best Friend

Her brows pull in slightly. “Oh. I remember now. Asher mentioned it a long time ago.”

Fred jumps in. “He’s been yammering on about it for weeks. Driving us regulars nuts with all his big plans.”

“Speak for yourself,” Connie adds, giving Fred a playful swat. “I, for one, am looking forward to a class where I don’t have to worry about throwing out my hip.”

Isla’s eyes find mine. “I thought you already started it.”

“I’ve mapped it out. Just wanted to do more research. Run it by Dad.” I scrub a hand through my hair, trying to play it cool.

She doesn’t say anything. Just watches me with that look.

It’s the same one she gave me five years ago when I stood in this very building and told her I was going to keep it running while Dad was recovering from the accident.

She’d just looked at me and said, “You’ve got this. And I’ve got you.”

Her business had just started then, everything was new and uncertain for her. But despite struggling to get Love By Design off the ground, she’d still show up every night with takeout and spreadsheets, helping me sort through Dad’s chaotic filing system until 2 AM. When I’d fallen asleep at my desk, drowning in insurance paperwork and staff schedules, she’d draped her jacket over my shoulders and kept working.

For weeks, she’d split her time between launching her matchmaking service and sitting beside me as I called suppliers and reworked contracts. She never complained, not once. She just brought me coffee, listened to my fears about failing Dad’s legacy, and somehow made me believe I could actually do this.

“Come on,” she says gently, nodding toward the far corner of the gym.

We settle into the quiet space by the stretching mats. Machines hum faintly in the background, but in this pocket of quiet, it’s just us.

“You’re not sure if your dad will like this program.”

I nod. Although I don’t really say it out loud, she knows how much weight Dad holds in me.

“Then why do you think he handed it over to you?” she whispers. “He’s almost recovered. He could’ve taken the reins again.”

I do wonder.

Not that I’d admit it out loud. That’s not how I was raised.

You don’t question what’s handed to you. You just work harder. Keep your head down. Don’t screw up what your father spent his life building.

“Is—”

“No, let me finish.” She reaches for my hand. Her fingers curl around mine.

“You threw yourself into learning everything,” she says. “Physical therapy techniques, rehab exercises, senior certifications. I’d come over and find you passed out on your desk, buried in books.”

“Someone had to step up.”

“And you did.” Her voice catches. “You didn’t just keep this place going. You made it better.”

She smiles, soft and proud. “Remember Mrs. Patterson? She was terrified to work out after her hip surgery. Now she’s here three times a week, bragging about her squats like a high school linebacker.”

I laugh. “She is pretty proud of those squats.”

“I believe in you.” She squeezes my hand. “And I think maybe that’s what your dad saw, too, when he gave you the keys. Not just what you were, but who you’ve become.”

I want to look away, but I can’t. Not when she’s looking at me like that. Her eyes spark like stars caught in candlelight. Gentle, bright. She sees everything I never say out loud. It should make me feel exposed.

Instead, it pulls me under all over again. Because falling for her isn’t a moment, it’s a constant. And this is just one more reason I’ll never stop.

“Oh, and I have some ideas. What if you partnered with the Frosthaven Community Center? They’re always looking for senior programs. Or free workshops for injury recovery? You could bring in a PT, show people how your gym supports rehab . . .”

I pull her into a hug. Don’t care who’s watching. I just need to hold her.

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