20. Isla
Chapter 20
Isla
ELAINE
ISLA ENNIS!
ANSWER YOUR PHONE RIGHT NOW
I swear if you’re making out with Asher and ignoring us . . .
. . . I’ll forgive you, but DETAILS WOMAN!
ROXANNE
Is it true?
ISLA
No.
ELAINE
The whole town is buzzing! Betty’s already planning your wedding!
I KNEW IT! I’ve been shipping you two for years!
ROXANNE
Are you guys official now?
ISLA
No.
“— and then Asher swept you off your feet and carried you to his white stallion!” Mrs. Henderson’s voice crackles through my phone, her excitement palpable even over the tinny speaker.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, fighting a laugh. “Mrs. Henderson, I promise you, there was no white stallion involved.”
“Oh, don’t be modest, dear! The whole town’s talking about your fairytale romance.”
Before I can protest further, my other line beeps. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Henderson, I have another call. Can we discuss this later?”
“Of course, dear! I’ll be booking a session for my granddaughter soon. Your happiness is infectious!”
I reach for another coffee, trying to make myself more awake. The world feels slightly surreal. I’ve been taking calls since dawn, my phone ringing before I even had a chance to brush my teeth. The dark circles under my eyes are a testament to my sleepless night. Every time I closed my eyes, I’d see Asher’s face, my heart aching with emotions I wasn’t ready to name.
It felt like winning the lottery, realizing my feelings might not be one-sided. But somehow, that only makes it harder. Because I know myself, I’m not built for a lasting relationship. And if we act on this, we could lose our friendship for good. I can already see how it ends, and I don’t need another breakup to teach me a lesson I’ve already learned too many times.
So my plan is simple: Pretend last night never happened. Avoid Asher until I can act like a functioning human being instead of a swooning teenager. Which, let’s be honest, could take approximately forever because every time I think about his hand on mine, my brain short-circuits like I’ve stuck a fork in an electrical socket.
I’m pretty sure Asher’s avoiding me, too, since he bolted from his apartment at the crack of dawn today. Usually, we leave these ridiculously dorky messages on the whiteboard on his door or invite each other for breakfast. But today? Nothing. Whiteboard wasteland. Radio silence.
See? I can already see the damage. This is exactly why friends shouldn’t cross that invisible line. Now our hallway has turned into a potentially awkward encounter central.
I mean, it’s not too bad since we didn’t really kiss . . . right? We just had a moment. A heart-pounding, time-stopping, oh-my-goodness-his-face-was-so-close moment that I’ve replayed approximately 47 times since waking up, but technically speaking, we didn’t cross any lines. Not completely. Totally fine. I can handle this.
But in Frosthaven, rumors travel faster than a wildfire in July, and I’m certain it’s because Betty heard the last bit of our conversation. I bet she posted that anonymous post on the town’s Facebook group. She always has the wildest imagination, and she’s been on this crusade to make me and Asher some kind of destined couple since . . . well, I actually don’t know. If Betty had her way, she’d have us married off with 2 kids and a golden retriever by Christmas.
At least the constant stream of calls provides a convenient excuse to stay hidden in my office. And maybe think a little less about Asher.
I switch lines, bracing myself. “Love By Design, this is Isla.”
“Isla! It’s Sarah from the bookstore. I would like to book a session as soon as possible. If you can find love, there’s hope for all of us!”
My mouth opens and closes. “Sarah, I appreciate the enthusiasm, but Asher and I aren’t—”
“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t pry for details. Though I heard he proposed at the top of the Ferris wheel. So romantic!”
Ohhh, so we’re engaged already?
I bang my head against my desk. “Sarah, I promise you, there was no Ferris wheel proposal.”
“Playing coy, I see. Well, your secret’s safe with me. Now, about that appointment . . .”
As I take a breath to respond, a soft knock on my office door interrupts.
“Isla?” My assistant’s voice floats in, slightly muffled. “Sorry to interrupt, but Walter Pembroke called. He wants your input on the town’s upcoming annual matchmaking event.” She continues, “Also, you have eight more people calling, all waiting to book your service.”
I gulp, rubbing my temples. “Can you please give me a moment?”
“Of course, I just wanted to give you a heads up!” Jen smiles, closing the door behind her.
I sigh, returning to the call. “Sarah, let’s get you scheduled for Tuesday. We can discuss all the romantic possibilities then, but I need to get back to work.”
“Tuesday it is! I can’t wait to hear all about the proposal and that fairytale ending,” Sarah chirps, seemingly oblivious to my embarrassment.
I stifle another laugh. “Definitely not what happened, but I’ll talk to you soon!”
After hanging up, I set my phone down and take a deep breath, bracing myself for the inevitable whirlwind of calls and clients.
Should I be happy about this? My business is booming, thanks to the rumors. Which, after all of Kyle’s sabotage, feels like a miracle. But if everyone thinks it’s because I’ve magically found true love, they’re in for some serious disappointment. Maybe I should make a post in the Facebook group to clear things up.
Remembering Walter’s call, I reach for my phone again. He answers on the second ring.
“Ah, Miss Ennis! Thank you for returning my call so promptly.”
“Of course, Mr. Pembroke. Jen mentioned you wanted to discuss the upcoming matchmaking event?”
“Indeed, indeed.” I hear the familiar rustle of his bow tie being adjusted. “The committee has been following recent developments quite closely. Your . . . shall we say, personal success has caught everyone’s attention.”
I feel my cheeks warm. “Mr. Pembroke, I should explain—”
“No need, no need! The proof is in the pudding, as they say. The committee has full confidence in your abilities. We’ve decided that both you and Miss Mills will co-host the Frosthaven Annual Matchmaking Event. You can work together to determine better pricing and coordinate the event details. No updated pitch is needed. I apologize for doubting your abilities previously.”
I resist the urge to bang my head against the desk again. “Mr. Pembroke, about Asher and I—”
“Oh! Must dash—my cat’s gotten into the yarn basket again. We’ll be in touch with the details!”
The line goes dead before I can protest further.
“Isla? Sorry to interrupt, but Asher’s here.” Jan knocks on my door.
I nearly dropped the phone. “Who?”
The door swings open, and Asher steps inside. His hair is slightly damp, tousled in that lazy, just-ran-a-hand-through-it way. He’s wearing the blue shirt I got him for his last birthday. It clings just right across his chest, snug through the torso. The top button is undone, revealing just a hint of tanned skin.
He stops next to me, his lips curling into that grin, the one that shows off his dimple.
“Hey, Isla,” he says, leaning against the wall next to my desk, one hand slipping into his pocket. “Busy morning?”
How should I act now? Okay, do I go with Option A. Awkward-turtle my way through this conversation? Or Option B. Employ the world-class selective amnesia I’ve perfected after years of embarrassing myself at parties?
Oh no, he’s looking at me now with those perfect eyes. Quick, think of something intelligent to say.
“Morning! Yes, very morning. I mean busy. Very busy morning.” I shuffle papers randomly on my desk, accidentally knocking over my coffee cup. Empty, thank goodness. “Did you know your shirt is blue? I mean—weather! The weather is . . . also blue. Sky! The sky is blue!”
Asher raises an eyebrow, that look usually makes me throw a pencil at him. But throwing things seems too intimate right now. Is throwing intimate?
“The sky is blue,” he repeats slowly, fighting a smile. “Fascinating observation.”
“Yeah . . . um . . . You went running pretty early today, huh?”
Oh my goodness. I’m officially stalking him. I might as well admit I’ve been peering through my blinds at 5 AM, timing his morning jog.
The truth is, I woke up at dawn after a night of tossing and turning, and I happened to see him jogging past my window. But saying it like that makes me sound like I’ve been monitoring his exercise habits, which is definitely not what normal, well-adjusted friends do the morning after an almost-kiss.
“Yeah. Didn’t sleep well.” His smile tugs at one corner of his mouth, placing the bottle on my desk. “How about you?”
Why didn’t he sleep well? Was he up all night thinking about me? Or—more likely—was he up all night regretting ever saying anything to me? Maybe he was practicing ways to let me down gently. S orry, Isla, I was temporarily insane yesterday. Must’ve been something I ate.
“Um . . . I slept ok, had some weird dreams . . . and . . .” And woke up in a cold sweat because I dreamed we were married. With two kids and another puppy. We named it Muffin. Mochi and Muffin. Sounds great.
He folds his arms across his chest, the movement pulling his shirt snugly over his biceps.
Do not say it. Do not look at his biceps. Do not say it.
“Yeah, uh . . . just weird. Totally normal, weird. Not like, weird-weird.”
“I made you some tea. Lavender chamomile. Thought you might like it.” He pushes the bottle toward me.
“Oh. Thanks.” I take the bottle and examine it like it’s the most fascinating object I’ve ever encountered. “Uh . . . by any chance, did you . . . hear anything weird? Like, never mind—it’s probably just part of my dream or . . . um . . . something about the rumors?”
My mouth is definitely the enemy. I need to dig a hole and live in it forever. Maybe build a tiny underground home where I never have to make eye contact again.
“About our passionate declaration of eternal love in the moonlight?” The corners of his mouth twitch as if he’s fighting back a grin. “Or about how I supposedly serenaded you with a mariachi band?”
“There was a mariachi band version?” I squeak, accidentally knocking over my pencil holder. I bend to pick them up, but bang my head on the desk.
“Ow! I mean—no, about the dating thing. The us dating thing. Which we’re not. Dating, I mean. Obviously.”
“Obviously,” there’s a low, teasing edge in his voice, the kind that pulls at something deep in my chest and makes my cheeks burn. He leans down to help me with the pencils, our hands brushing. I jerk back so fast I nearly topple my chair.
How is he so calm? Maybe he goes around almost-kissing people all the time? Is that a thing gym owners do regularly?
“Mrs. Henderson thinks you swept me onto a white stallion,” I pick up pencils carefully, making sure not to touch his hand. “A white stallion, Asher! And Sarah from the bookstore heard you proposed on top of a Ferris wheel. We don’t even have one of those! Though I guess we could build one. Not for proposals! For . . . ferrying. Wheels. Things.”
I stand up and start pacing, clutching the handful of pencils. “And that’s not even the worst part—though I guess it’s actually kind of good, in a completely unethical way, because suddenly everyone wants to book appointments, but that’s terrible because it’s all based on a misunderstanding, and I shouldn’t be benefiting from this and—”
I take a breath. “Walter Pembroke wants me back at the Annual Matchmaking Event. Co-host with Diane. He thinks my ‘personal success’—” I make air quotes, dropping pencils everywhere “—proves I’m qualified. How am I supposed to do that when I can’t even—”
My heart jumps as Asher takes a long stride toward me. Thanks to his unfairly long legs. Or maybe my office is just that small. Either way, one step and he’s in my space, his cologne wrapping around me like a slow, sneaky ambush.
“Can’t even what?” The softness in his voice makes my stomach flutter as he holds out the pencil.
“Can’t even . . .” My eyes dart from the pencil to the curve of his smile to the pencil again, searching for safe ground. “. . . organize my desk properly?”
He sets the pencil on my desk and turns to face me. “Maybe it’s not such a bad thing.”
I blink at him. “Not such a . . . what? Bad? Thing?” Words are hard suddenly.
“The rumors.” He comes closer and dips his head, just enough that the warmth of him lingers near my cheek. “ We could lean into it. ”