Page 59 of Fake Dating My Best Friend

Not telling.

ASHER

Frosthaven’s a small town.

Just so you know.

ISLA

facepalm emoji

Going to bed now. Night Asher.

ASHER

Goodnight, Peachie.

UNKNOWN

Hi Isla. It’s your dad. I know it’s been a long time.

Sorry. Just making sure. Is this still Isla’s number?

ISLA

Who is this really?

UNKNOWN

I know you probably don’t believe me. But it’s really me.

Remember that letter where you shared Conner’s number and yours in case I ever wanted to reach out? I know I didn’t reply, but I’ve held onto it all these years.

You used to make me watch The Little Mermaid every Sunday when you were six. You’d sing “Part of Your World” while standing on the coffee table.

Chapter 16

Isla

“So,whatdoyouthink of Frosthaven so far?” I ask my date.

My date, Eric Thornton, sits across from me at The Riverstone, looking like a Ken doll come to life. Sharp cheekbones, perfectly coiffed hair. Not a wrinkle in sight on his crisp button-down. I half expect to see a shiny plastic sheen when he moves.

This is what a perfect match looks like, according to Diane. On paper, at least. My fidgety hands reach for the water glass again, partly because my mouth feels like the Sahara and partly to keep from shredding my napkin into confetti.

He’s objectively handsome, the kind of face you’d see in a luxury watch advertisement, but my heart isn’t doing that annoying flutter thing it does when Asher walks into a room.

“I’ve been analyzing the local economic indicators,” he says, straightening his already perfect tie. “The housing market in Frosthaven shows promising growth potential.”

Eric adjusts his posture to exactly 90 degrees, hands folded perfectly at a 45-degree angle on the table. He reaches for his water glass, measuring the exact amount of liquid remaining before taking a precisely calculated sip. “The per capita income is 12% above the state average.”

Um. Okay.

I suppose I should’ve expected this kind of response from a senior financial analyst at Goldman Sachs. Diane had emphasized his impressive career trajectory and analytical mindset as perfect complements to my creative nature.

Maybe my brain’s just not built for high-level finance talk. Or maybe it’s still fried from the mystery number claiming to be my father. Blame my curiosity for making me reply.

A very on-brand reminder that I was abandoned by my own father.

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