18. Isla
Chapter 18
Isla
DIANE
Just checking in. How was the date? Any promising sparks?
ISLA
Seems like my date was more into Asher’s date.
DIANE
Oh dear. That’s . . . efficient, I suppose.
Maybe that means we should partner.
ISLA
Maybe not. I think our methods are very different.
I set my phone face down on the couch and turn back to my laptop.
My fingers fly across the keyboard, tweaking my matchmaking algorithm. Fresh from a shower, hair still damp, I’ve been hunched over this laptop since we got back from the flambé disaster.
Asher might be right. Just because Diane’s method works for her doesn’t mean mine doesn’t work, too.
My stomach growls in protest. I barely ate on the date, and dessert mostly ended up airborne. But fixing the algorithm feels more urgent than feeding myself.
After Asher’s failed matches and my failed date with Eric, I’m starting to think I should go back to using my original method. Finding someone who looks perfect on paper clearly isn’t helping me find anyone a good match.
I need to be better, but my matches don’t have to be perfect.
My phone blares at full volume, making me jump so high I nearly knock my laptop off my legs. I fumble around the couch cushions, finally locating my phone wedged between two throw pillows (the story of my life. Everything important ends up in couch crevices).
“Hello?” I tuck the phone between my ear and shoulder as I save my work.
“Izzy?” Conner’s voice comes through clearly. “How’s your date?”
“If you’re calling to gloat about my disaster date, I’m going to hang up and then tell Mom who really broke her favorite vase when we were ten.”
“Okay, okay,” he laughs. “As much as I’d love to hear about Asher’s heroic date crash, that’s not why I called.” He clears his throat, his tone shifting. “Did you get a weird text recently? From someone claiming to be Dad?”
My stomach drops. For a second, I’m transported back to being seven years old, curled up on the couch with Dad, belting out “Part of Your World” from The Little Mermaid at the top of our lungs. Mom’s in the kitchen, laughing as she makes popcorn. Conner’s building a blanket fort, complaining that we’re too loud.
One of the last happy memories I have of us all together.
For a few years after, I dreamed about Dad showing up with strawberry ice cream after school, sitting beside me at the kitchen table, helping me color inside the lines. We’d talk about my teddy bears, naming each one and making up their adventures. Just like he used to, before everything changed.
I wanted my dad. The way other kids had theirs.
But eventually, I learned to stop hoping.
“Isla?” Conner’s voice snaps me back to reality. “You there?”
“Yeah,” I shake my head, clearing the memory. “I . . . I got it too.”
“Mom confirmed it. It’s really him. He’s . . . he’s living in Boston now. Has been for a while, apparently.” He lets out a bitter laugh. “He wants to make amends or whatever because he’s done some self-help workshops about healing or something.”
I press my thumb into the edge of my nail, trying to focus on the sting instead of the ache building in my chest.
“What do you think?” Conner asks, his voice tight. “Should we respond?”
Respond? To the man who walked out on us without a backward glance? Who missed every birthday, every school play, every scraped knee? Who couldn’t even be bothered to send a card?
“I . . .” My throat tightens. “I don’t know. What right does he have to do this now?”
Mochi nudges my hand with his cold nose, tail wagging hopefully as he tries to cheer me up.
“We don’t have to decide anything now,” Conner says softly. “I just thought you should know.”
“Thanks. I’ll . . . I’ll think about it.”
We say goodbye, and I lower the phone, staring at it like it personally offended me.
I sink deeper into the couch and focus very hard on my couch. Nice couch. Soft. Reliable. Would never abandon me. Maybe I should watch a cat video. Or reorganize my desktop folders. Or, I don’t know, take up knitting? People knit when they’re stressed, right?
Anything to keep my brain from circling back to my father.
“WOOF!”
Mochi’s bark cuts through the quiet. He bolts to the front door, tail wagging with the urgency of a small, furry fire alarm on a mission.
“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Just looking at his excited little face makes something warm bloom in my chest, pushing away the feelings I don’t want to feel again.
Mochi sits by the front door, tail wagging expectantly.
“What is it, buddy?” I kneel to scratch behind his ears. “You wanna go for a walk?”
Mochi tilts his head to one side, ears flopping.
“Missing your other parent?”
Mochi’s ears perk up instantly. He lets out a few barks, then paws at the door. I sigh, knowing exactly what—or rather who—he wants.
“But it’s late, and I can’t risk spending another minute with him. My heart’s already in too much danger.”
Mochi lets out a soft whine, giving me that soulful look that somehow manages to be both judgmental and adorable. His tail thumps against the floor once, twice.
“Don’t judge me.” I scoop Mochi into my arms, pressing my face into his soft fur. Having a dog with someone I love has always been a dream. The very first item on my Love Bucket List. I’m still not sure if Asher bringing him back and deciding to raise Mochi together was just a coincidence or if he actually did it on purpose after spotting my embarrassing list.
Asher can’t be someone I let myself love. But raising Mochi with him is almost perfect. Plus, it gives me excuses to spend more time with him.
If only we were actually living together, a real couple with a real home. No taking turns, no separate apartments, no goodbyes at the door. Just us, curled up on the couch with Mochi nestled between us, warm and safe.
A family.
But who am I kidding? I don’t even know what that looks like. Dad walked away before I ever got the chance to understand what a real family was.
I bury my nose in Mochi’s fur and pretend the thought never crossed my mind.
He lets out a whine, then wriggles free of my arms and lands on the floor with a soft thud, immediately pawing at the door again with increased urgency.
“Fine.”
Mochi does his happy dance as I knock on Asher’s door. I make sure to knock rather than use the door code he gave me because I have discipline.
Good discipline.
Discipline that absolutely, without question, prevents me from casually strolling in and finding him shirtless again.
Mochi prances excitedly at my feet, nearly tripping me just as Asher opens the door.
“Well, hello there,” Asher says, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He’s wearing gray sweatpants and a worn-in hoodie with the sleeves pushed up, his forearms doing entirely too much for a casual night in. His hair is slightly damp. He must have showered, too.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?”
Before I can answer, Mochi darts between Asher’s legs and makes himself at home on the couch.
“Sorry,” I say, gesturing to our furry traitor. “He wouldn’t stop barking. I think he missed you.”
“Only Mochi?” Asher lifts an eyebrow, his lips curve into a slow smile that never fails to make my pulse race.
I roll my eyes to cover the sudden flutter in my chest. “Don’t push your luck, Collymore.”
“I just made pasta,” he says, stepping back to let me in. “There’s plenty if you’re hungry.”
“I thought you didn’t eat this late.”
Asher shrugs. “Didn’t eat that much on the date. Figured someone might be hungry.”
Before I can decline, my stomach answers with a growl so loud it could register on the Richter scale.
Asher’s laugh warms the space between us. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
He gestures toward the coffee table, where two plates of steaming pesto penne are already waiting, the scent of garlic and basil filling the air. Two forks. Two glasses of water. Like he knew I’d show up.
A few minutes later, I’m twirling a forkful of pasta, practically melting at the first bite. “If this pasta proposes right now, I’m saying yes.”
Asher chuckles, his dimple making a devastating appearance. It’s ridiculous how much I want to poke it.
“How about the person who made it?”
I choke.
Loudly. Violently.
Asher thumps my back, way too smug for someone assisting in a near-death experience. “Easy there. Didn’t think I’d actually leave you speechless.”
I glare at him between coughs. “Not funny.”
Asher leans back, tapping his fingers against his knee. “I’ve been thinking.” His tone is casual. Too casual. My internal alarms start blaring.
“Have you ever . . .” He pauses, turning fully to face me. “Run your matchmaking algorithm on us?”
I choke. Again.
Asher’s hand is on my back in an instant. Mochi whines at my feet, his little paws pressing anxiously against my leg like he’s debating calling 911.
“What? No! Why would I do that?”
I wave my hands wildly like that’ll somehow physically erase the question from the air. “That would be weird. So weird. Totally unnecessary. And also, like, unethical? Definitely. Super unethical.”
And I’ve never done this before. Never dared.
Okay—fine. I almost did.
After Asher agreed to be matched by me, his profile went into my system. Mine may or may not have been added shortly after. And I nearly ran the match for us.
But I stopped myself.
Discipline. Unshakable discipline. That’s what it takes to have a hot, ridiculously perfect best friend.
I don’t want to know if we’re not compatible because that would hurt. But I also don’t want to know if we are compatible.
Because then . . . I’d want to try.
Asher shrugs, but his eyes hold mine as his lips curl slightly. “Just curious. Scientific inquiry.”
“Scientific inquiry.”
“Just want to see how compatible two best friends like us would be.” His hand moves to Mochi, stroking his fur, and somehow, it ends up resting on mine.
I jerk my hand back like I’ve touched a live wire.
“Don’t you ever wonder?”
“It wouldn’t be professional. You’re my client!”
“I’m also your best friend.” His eyebrow arches, that dimple flashing. “And what if one day you have a client who’s in love with their best friend? Wouldn’t it be useful research?”
I swallow hard.
“Just as an experiment.” His voice drops lower, rich and smooth, the kind that could talk someone into anything.
He stretches and casually drapes his arm along the back of the couch. The warmth of his forearm hovers just behind my shoulders, too close, too much.
I sit up so straight that I might as well be in military training. “This is ridiculous,” I mutter.
Asher leans in, his breath warm against my cheek, the space between us shrinking by the second. “What are you afraid of finding out?”
Everything.
My pulse pounds, loud and frantic. Is he just playing with me? Or does he actually mean this? Is his curiosity the same kind as mine?
“Fine.” I push off the couch, twisting away from the heat of his arm stretched behind me. My shoulder barely brushes his chest as I grab Mochi, pulling him to my chest like a furry shield. A soft, squirming barrier between me and temptation.
“Let me get my laptop.”
“I’ll wait.”
I rush to my apartment, fumbling with the lock and entering the wrong password twice before finally managing to open the door. Living so close to Asher has always been convenient. Until now.
Back in Asher’s apartment, I settle onto his couch. He hasn’t moved. His arm is still stretched along the back of the couch. I have nowhere to go but to sit in my original spot and straighten my back like I’ve just been called on in class.
His brows lift slightly, lips twitching before curving into that teasing smile. When did he start smiling like that? Did he pick it up from Conner, or is this just another dangerous new skill I now have to deal with?
I type in our names, pulling up the profiles already saved in the system.
One of his answers pops up on the side, and I pause.
Weird. Just weird.
Describe your ideal partner: Can cook but usually forgets the timer. Makes up words when real ones don’t work. Wears socks that don’t match.
Who even puts that? Most people put stuff like being emotionally mature or a good communicator. But no. He refused to give a normal answer. Said that was normal. Really odd.
My fingers hover over the keys. All it takes is one click to run the match with the system.
“Ready?” Asher’s voice is low beside me.
No. Absolutely not.
“Sure.” I hit enter before I could change my mind.
The little loading bar taunts me, inching along at a glacial pace. My palms are damp against the keyboard. Is it hot in here? Maybe I should open a window. Or jump out of one.
The screen flashes. My heart slams to a stop.
100% Compatibility.
“That—” My voice breaks in half like my sanity. “That can’t be right.”
Heat explodes up my neck as I fumble for the mouse, my hands suddenly operating at the fine motor skill level of an over-caffeinated squirrel. Didn’t I already change it back correctly? I’m sure this is my original algorithm, the one with a much higher success rate than the recent one.
“I should run it again. Maybe refresh. Maybe unplug the router. Maybe—”
I run the test again. Still 100%. “Ha. That’s funny. Super weird. Totally inaccurate.”
Asher shifts beside me, and suddenly, he’s everywhere. His arm drops onto the cushion at my back. His presence swallows up the space between us. I feel him before I even look.
“Interesting result, isn’t it?” His voice is smooth, too smooth. A slow prickle crawls down my spine.
I risk a glance at him. His eyes are locked on me, darker than usual. His broad shoulders angled toward me like he’s not planning to move.
“It’s just a program,” I blurt out. “A dumb one. Code is flawed all the time. I mean, Netflix still recommends Christmas movies in March. The result doesn’t mean anything.”
“I’ve always trusted your skill. Looks like I was right to.”
I squint at him, then press my palm to his forehead, checking for a fever. Maybe he’s sick. Or concussed. Or maybe he’s just lost his mind.
“Are you feeling okay?” I mutter, half-expecting him to start speaking in tongues.
Asher’s eyes crinkle. Before I can pull away, his hand catches my wrist, fingers closing around me.
I should say something. And I should definitely not be noticing the way his fingers wrap around my wrist like they belong there. Or how ridiculously warm his skin is.
“How about we run the Heart Rate Sync test? Isn’t that part of your process?” His thumb starts moving in a slow stroke against my skin. I suck in a breath.
Nope. Nope, nope. This is not okay.
The Heart Rate Sync test is reserved for those rare perfect matches. The science shows couples in love literally sync their heartbeats. Autonomic nervous system responses, proven by multiple studies. I’ve only used it twice before, both times with couples who scored a hundred percent. Both times, I was just an observer.
This time . . . this time, I’d be the test subject.
I try to pull back, but his grip tightens just enough to make my stomach flip. Not in a bad way.
In a very, very bad way.
I clear my throat. “That test is . . . optional.”
Before I can spiral further, Asher presses my hand flat against his chest. It’s solid, warm, and undeniably firm beneath my palm. His heartbeat thuds under my palm, steady as a metronome. “Go on,” he says, voice soft and teasing. “Test me.”
I blink, brain scrambling. I fumble my other hand to my own chest, fingers splaying over my heart. It’s pounding like it just ran a marathon.
“What’s the verdict?” he murmurs, his voice rumbling under my palm. My own heart races wildly beneath my other hand, while his remains frustratingly even. It’s not fair how collected he seems when I’m unraveling at every edge.
His thumb traces small circles on the back of my hand where it rests against his heart. Under my palm, his heart slowly speeds up, and mine slowly down. The synchronicity steals my breath.
“They’re in sync, right?” His eyes hold mine.
My eyes widen, and I gasp, barely audible.
His turquoise eyes darken, like a predator who’s just cornered its prey. “Maybe you should be my match.”
WHAT?
I blink at him. And blink again.
Just to be sure, I pinch my arm. Hard. Then harder.
Ow. Okay. Not a dream.
Asher’s lips twitch. “You’re awake, Peachie.”
I yank my hand back and launch to my feet so fast I nearly wipe out on my own socks. “Adrenaline! Total adrenaline glitch!” I backpedal, smacking my hip against the coffee table—ow—then flail upright like an uncoordinated baby deer. “Science is a liar, okay? A big, dumb liar!”
Asher follows, his hands find my waist, holding me upright before I can crash into anything else.
“Are you running because of the friendship pact we made when we were kids?” His eyes search mine, dark, unreadable.
“I’m not running, and that pact was a perfectly reasonable, well-thought-out decision.”
“I think that was a dumb decision. I vote that we cancel that dumb pact.”
“Huh?”
“And I was even dumber for making you feel like I rejected you back in college.”
I freeze, and the memory floods back, sharp and clear as if it happened yesterday.
Asher and I were in our usual lakeside spot, sitting on the dock with our feet dangling in the cool water. Breakup number six was officially on the record. Apparently, I was too boring this time.
My chest ached with that familiar hollow feeling. Same one when my father left, when the front door clicked shut behind him for the last time. The same emptiness that told me I was fundamentally unlovable.
“Do you think . . .” I forced my voice to be light and playful. “Hypothetically . . . do you think there’s any version of this universe where I can actually have and keep a boyfriend? You know, someone great. Someone kind of like you?”
His eyebrows drew together slightly.
“I mean . . . I mean, hypothetically, would you ever like someone . . . like me?”
The silence that followed felt endless.
Oh no. What did I just say?
Who asks their best friend that kind of question? Especially after getting dumped. Again. I probably sounded desperate and pathetic. Like one of those girls who can’t handle being alone.
“I mean, not that you would!” I backpedaled with a laugh that sounded brittle even to my ears. “Obviously. That would be ridiculous. I’m just conducting research on why I’m apparently impossible to love.”
Asher wouldn’t look at me, staring instead at the ripples our feet made in the water. When he finally spoke, his voice was tight.
“You’re amazing. You’ll find someone who sees that.” His shoulders were tense, like he was physically holding something back.
“Just kidding.” I laughed and splashed water at him, like this was just another silly conversation between friends. Well, who knew a stupid question could answer so much? At least Asher rejected me gently. That’s what best friends do, right? They find the nicest way to tell you they could never see you that way.
“Earth to Isla. You still with me?” The memory dissolves as Asher’s arm tightens around my waist, pulling me back to the present.
“Oh! Yes. Totally. Very present.” I blurt it out. “And no, I don’t remember what happened that day when you . . . uh . . . you know, rejected me. And even if I did, which I don’t, it wouldn’t matter because that was a million years ago, and things change, and people grow, and I am a mature, fully functional adult who does not dwell on ancient history.”
Asher just looks at me. His grip doesn’t loosen.
“I was scared,” his voice drops lower, “Scared of ruining what we had. So I didn’t tell you the truth . . . the answer you deserved.”
He lifts one hand, brushing his knuckles lightly along my cheek. “I’ve been playing it too safe for too long.”
What’s happening?
Too safe? My heart thunders against my ribs. Is he telling me what he said that day at the lake was wrong? Is he saying he sees me as more than just a friend?
“Being just your friend isn’t enough anymore, Isla.”
Am I dreaming? It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had this exact dream.
Or maybe someone’s not normal right now. Could the flambé disaster have caused permanent damage? A head injury? A full-blown reality shift?
I press my palm to his temple, then mine, then back to his again. I need double, triple, quadruple-checking.
He takes my hand away, but instead of releasing it, his fingers tighten around my wrist. In one swift movement, he tugs me toward him, turning us so that my back is facing the couch. His hand slides to my waist, guiding me down onto the couch. I sink into the cushions, looking up at him as he towers over me.
My pulse skitters. His thigh presses against mine, the solid, unshakable heat of him seeping through my skin and curling up my spine, making it hard to breathe.
Before I can catch my breath, he lowers himself until our eyes meet. One hand braces against the cushion beside my hip, the other settling just beside my head.
We’re close enough that I can see the faint stubble along his jaw, count each of his eyelashes, and feel the warmth radiating from his body. He’s everywhere, crowding my senses, stealing my breath. My stomach flips hard, sharp, and sudden.
“I’m not delirious. Peachie.” His grip on the cushion tightens. “And I know exactly what I’m doing.”
“This is breaking our friendship pact,” I whisper.
His arm flexes as he leans closer.
“So?”
He tilts my chin up with one finger, coaxing my gaze to his like he needs me to see him. The storm in his gaze steals the air from my lungs. His eyes flick down to my lips, then back up.
I have no idea what I’m doing, but I shift just a breath closer.
We stay still, barely a millimeter between us.
“WOOF!”
Mochi barks suddenly, darting toward the door.
In a blink, a few faces flash through my mind. Kyle. My father. My exes. I start to pull back.
Asher goes rigid beside me, and I seize the escape route like it’s my last chance at self-preservation. I should let Mochi eat an entire rotisserie chicken because he just saved me.
Saved us.
Whatever Asher is saying or suggesting is like a forbidden fruit I can’t let myself taste. Like all the feelings I’ve buried might not be one-sided after all.
It’s too delicious and almost like a dream come true.
But I know myself better.
I’ll never be enough to make someone stay. Never enough to make someone love me. No matter how hard I try.
Even if we started something more, he’d see it too. One day, he’d look at me the same way Kyle and the others did when they left.
And more than that, I will lose my lifelong best friend.
The thought sinks low in my chest, heavy and sharp in all the places I don’t know how to carry.
“I need some air,” I mumble, trailing after Mochi. My lips still tingle with everything that almost happened. “Come on, buddy.”
I don’t look at Asher as I step through the door, but I feel his eyes burn into my back, and it takes everything in me not to turn back.
“Isla, wait.”
Asher’s voice stops me at the open doorway. I turn back to him, plastering on my best friendly smile.
“Oh! Yes, Asher, thank you for the very informative experiment. Super insightful. Groundbreaking stuff,” I wave my hand. “And uh . . . yeah! Our friendship pact’s still a thing. Definitely. Very much intact.”
His jaw tightens, bracing one hand against the doorframe.
“You felt it.”
A floorboard creaks, and a flash of Betty’s floral housecoat appears in my peripheral vision. Of course, she’s “watering her plants” in the hallway right now.
“Everything alright, dears?” she calls out, her eyes sparkling with delight like she’s just hit the town gossip jackpot.
“Fine!” I bolt to my apartment door, literally three steps across from Asher’s, Mochi scrambling to keep up. “Just . . . taking Mochi for a walk!”