21. Asher
Chapter 21
Asher
“L ean into it?”
“Yes.” I still hover near her ear.
“How? Like . . . or . . . I mean, what exactly are you . . . because that could mean . . . unless you’re saying . . .”
“Pretend we are dating .”
I emphasize the word dating.
“Us? You and me? Like, as a couple?” She starts to breathe faster.
I pull back just enough to check if she’s still breathing. Wide eyes. Shallow breaths. Yep, full system meltdown. Cute, though. I have to stop myself from brushing my thumb across her cheek.
“Yeah.”
I keep my voice steady, even though my pulse kicks up as last night crashes back. Like how close our lips were, and how much I want to finish what we started. But I keep it together. No point in scaring her off now.
“You and me. Let’s give the town what they want.”
“But . . . but what about—” Her throat bobs as she swallows hard, blinking fast like she’s buffering. “—everything?”
“Everything?”
The corner of my mouth pulls up before I can stop it, but I school my face into something close to serious. She’s flushed, looking like temptation wrapped in trouble. I could watch her all day and still want more.
“You know, the friendship thing and the dating thing and the rumor thing and—”
I smooth the wrinkle on her collar, watching her words stutter to a stop. Maybe it’s selfish, but I love that I can still have this effect on her.
I refuse to fall back on the safe choice. It hurt when she pulled away, and yeah, it still scares me—what I could lose. But giving up isn’t an option.
Call it stubborn. Call it hopeless.
Doesn’t matter.
Not when I see the way she melts into my touch. Not when I’ve loved every version of her. I just need a chance. A gentler approach. Something that won’t send her running.
“Breathe.” I grab the lavender-chamomile tea I brought her, knowing she’d need it today. I press the bottle into her hands..
She takes it and downs it all in one go.
Huh. Should’ve gone for whiskey.
“Look,” I say, setting her now-empty bottle back on the desk as I perch on the edge. “This could be good for both of us. Your business needs a boost, right?”
Isla nods, her fingers fidgeting with the charm bracelet I gave her for her fifteenth birthday.
“And what better way to prove your matchmaking skills than by being in a seemingly perfect relationship yourself?” I lean against her desk. “Plus, people already believe it.”
She bites her lip, drawing my eyes like a magnet.
“But isn’t it . . . wrong?” She looks down at the floor. “I can’t lie to them. What kind of matchmaker does that make me?”
“The kind who cares enough about her clients,” I say softly, wanting to pull her close. “And this could save your business. Especially after Kyle deliberately tried to destroy it. He’s got enough power to twist the truth. It might not be a perfect plan, but it’s a rare chance.”
She starts pacing again, her steps quick and uneven, like her thoughts are moving faster than her feet. On the third pass, the toe of her shoe catches on the rug, making her stumble.
I step in fast, catching her before she goes down. “It’s not just about your business. This gives you a shot to fight for pricing that more people can afford. Keep matchmaking open to everyone.”
I tighten my grip just a little, enough to keep her grounded. Enough to keep her here with me. “That’s worth fighting for, isn’t it?”
Her eyes lift to mine, brows pulling together. I know exactly what’s on her mind. Growing up together gave us this almost-telepathic ability to read each other.
Well, most of the time.
“I trust your skill. It worked perfectly before you started to change it. Remember back in college when you set up Emma and James? Or Rachel and Mike from last year? Nobody thought that would work, except you.”
A faint smile tugs at her lips, her brows easing slightly.
“But Bethany and—”
“It failed because you stopped trusting yourself. Because you let Kyle—or anyone else—get in your head and make you doubt what you do best.” I take her hand, pressing it lightly against mine. Her gaze drops to our hands, but she doesn’t pull away.
“You see people. Really see them. Don’t let Kyle or Diane take that from you.”
“And you’re okay with this?” She looks up, her hazel eyes searching mine. “Using our friendship like this?”
I swallow hard, biting back the urge to tell her the truth—that I’m not just okay with this.
I want it. All of it.
Pushing too hard will only send her running. I know that all too well by now. But fake dating? It’s a great chance. A way to show her how good we could be. Let her feel it before she talks herself out of it. Before the fear wins.
This might not be the best play, but it’s the only shot I’ve got. And I’m not about to waste it.
I shrug, aiming for casual. “Someone’s got to have your back, right?”
Her eyes shift around the room, landing on everything except me. Once. Twice. Three times, she starts to speak, but each time, she stops, pressing her lips together like she’s still figuring out what to say.
“Before we even think about . . . about going along with this,” she finally blurts out, “we need to agree on one thing.”
“What is that one thing?”
“We can’t cross the line.”
“What kind of line?” I move closer. Her breath catches as I invade her space.
She stumbles past me on her way back to her seat, knocking into her desk. Papers scatter across the floor.
“You know exactly what it means. No . . . no real feelings.” She drops to gather the mess, keeping her focus anywhere but on me. “This stays strictly in the realm of performance. So our friendship can survive this.”
I crouch beside her, picking up a few pages. There’s a line she won’t cross, a space she won’t let me into, and feeling it now makes my chest tighten. Getting close to her has never been harder.
“Our friendship comes first,” she says quickly, stepping back and smoothing her skirt. “Let’s not make the same mistakes as yesterday.”
But she doesn’t say what yesterday meant to her. And maybe that’s her point. If she pretends nothing happened, she can pretend there’s nothing between us. That we can just let it pass.
But I know what I saw in her eyes.
And she doesn’t know me as well as she thinks she does.
“Okay.” I set the scattered papers on her desk. The word feels like swallowing broken glass, sharp and bitter.
Her shoulders tense, and she busies herself rearranging papers that don’t need rearranging.
“Do we need some specific rules?” I perch on the edge of her desk. “You’re the expert, after all.”
“Right. Yes. Rules.” She grabs her pen and notebook, the one with all the little hearts she doodles during our movie nights. “According to my research—”
“Research? Have you been studying how to fake-date?” I can’t help grinning, knowing that her research is really just her ever-growing stash of romance novels.
Her cheeks flush that soft pink. The one she always gets when she’s deep into one of her favorite books. I could name every shade of blush she’s ever had and tell you exactly what’s running through her mind.
“I have extensive research experience!” she huffs, but the color deepens. No way am I ever getting tired of that.
“Ah, yes, your professional studies. Though if I remember correctly—” I bite back a grin. “—don’t all those fake relationships end with the couple falling madly in love?”
The flush spreads down her neck, disappearing beneath her collar. My fingers itch to trace that blush, to discover just how far it goes. She clutches her notebook tighter, like a shield between us.
“That’s—that’s completely different.” She stammers, pulling back slightly in her chair. “Those are fiction. This is real life.”
“Is it?” I step closer, drawn by the way she catches her bottom lip.
She swats my arm. “Rule number one: no unnecessary touching.”
A strand of hair falls across her face as she scribbles in her notebook. I tuck it behind her ear.
“How about this?” My fingers linger against her cheek.
Her breath hitches. “That! That right there is exactly what we’re not doing!”
“But how will anyone believe we’re dating if I can’t touch you?” My hand stays where it is, thumb tracing the curve of her cheekbone. The softness of her skin is addictive.
Her eyes follow my finger, my arm, and meet my gaze, her body not moving an inch.
“A real boyfriend would do this all the time.” I keep my touch light.
“We—we just agreed to be just friends.” She remains still. “This isn’t . . . we can’t . . .”
“Can’t what?” I pull my hand back.
Her fingers lift to the spot I just touched. “Uh . . . I guess minimal touching is required. Minimal.” She clears her throat. “But only when people are watching.”
“Next rule?”
“Appropriate physical distance.”
“Define appropriate.” My fingers wrap around her wrist as I pull her up from the chair. I ease her closer, just enough that the heat between us becomes impossible to ignore.
Her breath catches. “This is exactly what I mean about distance—” She steps back fast, trying to put space between us, but collides with the bookshelf, wincing.
“Ouch . . . We need to establish a clear bound—” Her “Professional Matchmaker” mug wobbles precariously on the edge of her desk.
I snag it with my free hand, without breaking eye contact, heat pooling low in my stomach as she bites her lower lip.
“If we’re going to convince people,” I set the mug safely aside but keep her trapped between me and the bookshelf, “they need to believe we can’t stand being apart.”
She swallows hard, her eyes darting anywhere but mine.
“We might even need some practice. According to research .” I cage her in, hands planted on either side of her.
Her lips part slightly. “Right. Yes. Definitely. Research shows that practicing is in need. We probably need some.”
“Teach me.” I tilt her chin up.
“Um . . . You can . . .” She reaches for my wrist, guiding my hand to her waist. “Put your hand here.”
I let my palm settle there, my fingers flexing slightly, feeling the soft curve beneath them.
“And . . . um . . . your other hand could . . .” Her voice wavers as she guides my other hand, placing it on her waist, mirroring the first.
I hold her waist with my hands. The warmth of her skin seeps through the fabric of her blouse. I don’t move, don’t squeeze, don’t push. I just wait.
And so does she.
“I . . . I think that is good enough.”
Her hands have somehow ended up gripping my shirt. Whether to push me away or pull me closer, I’m not sure she even knows.
“What about hand-holding?”
“I guess . . . it is needed . . .”
I gently uncurl her fingers from my shirt, my thumb skimming over her knuckles as I ease them open. Her hands are warm, impossibly soft, and much smaller than mine, so small that something tightens in my chest, wanting to protect her for a lifetime.
She slides her palms against mine, and I lace my fingers through hers, feeling the slight hitch in her breath.
Slowly, I guide our joined hands outward, one to each side, until our arms extend just enough to frame the space between us.
Her fingers are tightening and loosening. My stomach clenches, and a rush of heat spreads through my chest. I tighten my jaw to keep myself from pulling her closer and crossing the line we’ve just drawn.
“What do you think?” She takes a shaky breath.
“Looks pretty convincing to me.” I trace my thumb over her knuckles.
“What about . . . do we need to . . . you know . . .” She hesitates, her cheeks flushing a darker pink. “Kiss?”
“Depends on you.” I step closer, eliminating what little space remains between us. The heat of her body seeps into mine, making it hard to think straight.
She wets her lips, the tip of her tongue tracing a slow path across her upper lip.
My heart stutters, slamming against my ribs.
“Oh!” The door bursts open, and Mayor Parker sweeps in, her hot pink suit practically glowing. “Don’t let me interrupt the happy couple!”
Isla startles like a cat caught stealing food off the counter. I hold on to her hand, mostly to keep her from making a run for it.
“Mayor Parker,” I greet with my best smile. “What brings you here?”
The mayor beams, her eyes darting between us like she’s watching a tennis match. “Well, if it isn’t Frosthaven’s favorite couple! I couldn’t resist popping in to see our town’s latest lovebirds.”
Isla makes a strangled sound that could be a laugh or a groan. I squeeze her hand, making sure she’s not about to bolt or faint.
“What can we do for you, Mayor?” I ask.
“Oh, I’m so glad you asked!” Mayor Parker claps her hands together. “As you know, our monthly Couples’ Bingo Night is coming up, and we simply must have our newest sweethearts there!”
Couples’ Bingo. The third Tuesday of every month. Because in Frosthaven, celebrating romance isn’t optional. It’s practically a civic duty.
But I don’t complain. This actually comes at a great time for us.
Isla’s eyes go wide. “Oh, we’re not really—”
I cut her off smoothly. “We’d be honored, Mayor. Wouldn’t we, babe?”
The word feels both foreign and yet so right on my tongue. Like trying a new protein powder flavor and realizing it’s actually the one you’ve been looking for all along.
Isla stiffens beside me, her fingers curling tighter around mine.
Maybe she likes the nickname. I know I do.
“Wonderful!” Mayor Parker claps again. “The town loves a good love story. And you two . . .” She sighs dreamily. “Well, let’s just say you’re the talk of Frosthaven!”
I bite back a laugh. “We’re just happy to be part of the community, Mayor.”
“Oh, you’re more than that, dear,” the mayor gushes. “You’re our very own fairytale come to life! Friends to lovers? It’s like something out of a movie!”
Isla’s face is turning an impressive shade of red.
“We appreciate the invitation, Mayor. We’ll be there with bells on.” I grin.
“Excellent!” Mayor Parker heads for the door, then pauses. “Oh, and don’t forget, there’s a prize for the winning couple!”