25. Isla
Chapter 25
Isla
A sher. In a suit.
I will not spend the entire night staring at him. I will absolutely not think about how this feels like something straight out of my most indulgent dreams.
And I will definitely not keep obsessing over how the crisp navy suit fits him way too well, hugging his broad shoulders and tapering at the waist like it was personally tailored to ruin my life.
Or how the white dress shirt underneath is unbuttoned just enough to single-handedly wreck my ability to function.
That’s the thought. The single, all-consuming, brain-short-circuiting thought that has completely taken over my existence since the moment I saw him.
Technically, there are other thoughts. Like how he gave me the most beautiful necklace. Or how he called me a good girl , which felt like it was ripped straight from the pages of my favorite romance novels and now lives in my head rent-free.
But all of those are secondary because I need to get my brain and heart in order.
It’s not like I’ve never seen him dressed up before. I have. Occasionally. But there’s something different about tonight.
Maybe it’s the fact that we’re dressed for each other.
I am one deep breath away from catastrophic system failure.
“Frosthaven’s hottest couple!”
Betty’s voice cuts through the chatter as she practically sprints toward us, her floral hat wobbling precariously. “Everyone’s been talking about you two!”
The moment Asher and I step into the Frosthaven community hall, I’m hit with a tidal wave of pink and red. Heart-shaped balloons bob lazily above tables dripping with glitter, and the air is thick with the scent of sugar cookies and excitement.
I feel my cheeks heat up faster than a microwave burrito. “Oh, we’re just—”
“What my girlfriend means,” Asher cuts in smoothly, “is that we’re just trying to keep things low-key.” He winks at me, and the corner of his mouth lifts in that slow, devastating smile. The kind that could ruin lives and start wars.
My girlfriend.
The word echoes in my head like the world’s most addictive song. I could listen to him say it on repeat, maybe record it secretly, and set it as my morning alarm. Then I’d actually wake up on time.
“Low-key?” Mayor Parker laughs, her antennae bobbing wildly. “Asher Collymore, you’ve been in love with this girl since you were knee-high to a grasshopper! Tell us, how did you finally win her over?”
Oh no. We didn’t prepare for this question. We didn’t prepare for any questions.
“Actually,” Asher says, his words wrapping around me as warm and soft as my favorite blanket, “she won me over back when we were eleven. She stopped traffic to save a stray dog in the rain. The way she cares about everything and everyone—how could I not fall for that?”
He glances down at me, his eyes holding mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch. “I just got lucky enough that she finally noticed me back.”
My heart stumbles, tripping over itself.
“And you, dear?” Mayor Parker turns to me. “What made you finally see what was right in front of you?”
“I, um . . .” I swallow hard. “It’s the way he cares for everyone. Like Mrs. Johnson’s arthritis, or how he modified all those exercises for Mr. Peterson after his surgery, and . . .” I pause. “And his . . . strength!”
Asher lifts an eyebrow.
“I mean—inner strength! Yes. That. But also, he is objectively strong. Not that I think about that a lot—”
I clamp my mouth shut, heat flooding my face. Asher’s lips twitch like he’s fighting back a grin.
“Oh! This is perfect for the town website!” Mayor Parker whips out her phone faster than a matchmaker spotting true love. “We need a photo for the ‘Couples of Frosthaven’ feature. You know, to promote local romance!”
Mayor Parker loves romance. Correction: Frosthaven loves romance.
This is a town that treats love stories like breaking news. There’s literally a weekly feature on the “Sweethearts of Frosthaven” complete with interviews, dramatic retellings, and (probably) an unnecessary amount of heart-shaped clip art.
“Asher, dear, could you—oh!” Mayor Parker beams as Asher’s already-present arm tightens around my waist. “Perfect! Now just a little—”
Asher shifts, turning me slightly toward him. The movement brings us chest-to-chest, and suddenly, breathing becomes an optional activity. His cologne, something woodsy and warm, wraps around me like it’s trying to seduce me into bad decisions.
I’m trying really hard not to bury my face in his chest right now.
“Closer!” Mayor Parker instructs, her antennae bobbing frantically. “This is for love!”
“Is this okay?” Asher murmurs, his breath warm against my ear as he tugs me closer. According to our hastily established fake-dating rules, this definitely falls under acceptable public displays of affection. Though I’m pretty sure my racing heart isn’t part of the protocol.
“Perfect! Now kiss her! Just a sweet one for the camera!”
My entire body freezes. Kiss? Kiss on the lips? We didn’t cover kissing in our hasty rule discussion.
Asher leans in, one hand sliding up to cup my face. He’s not smirking this time. It’s a soft, gentle smile, the kind that makes my heart squeeze.
Do I tilt right? Left? Is there some kind of best-friend-kissing rulebook I missed?
But Asher’s lips don’t go where I expect. Instead, they brush my temple, soft and warm and somehow better than anything I’d imagined.
“Breathe, Peachie,” he whispers against my skin.
“Perfect! Just perfect!” Mayor Parker beams at her phone screen. “These are going straight to the website. You two are naturals!”
My cheeks are burning hotter than Elaine’s Fresh n’ Fluffy’s ovens in the morning rush. I spot an alcove near the refreshment table, partially hidden by one of Betty’s over-enthusiastic heart-shaped balloon arrangements. Perfect for a minor breakdown.
“Come on,” I mutter, tugging Asher’s hand. Several heads turn our way—probably assuming we’re sneaking off for a romantic moment. Which we’re not.
Mrs. Henderson winks at us as we pass, nudging her friend with a knowing look. Great. That’ll be all over her knitting circle by tomorrow morning.
Once we’re semi-hidden by the balloons and a towering display of cupcakes (courtesy of Elaine’s baking), I turn to face him. “You’re getting a little too serious at this boyfriend act, Collymore.”
His eyes sparkle with mischief in the soft glow of the fairy lights strung above us. “Who says I’m acting?”
“Please. Is this how you normally date? Smooth moves and perfect photo ops?”
“Depends.” His hand slides up my back, slowly, stopping just beneath my hairline. The warmth of his touch makes it impossible to focus. “Is it working?”
“That’s not an answer.” I manage to sound almost normal, despite the fact that my nerve endings are doing the cha-cha wherever he touches me.
I mean, purely from a best friend’s perspective, I should know these things, right? Like how he treats his dates, what makes him boyfriend material. You know, for . . . research. Future matchmaking purposes.
“What would you do if this was real?” I ask.
The playful glint in his eyes shifts. “Want me to show you?”
“Oh, you don’t—I mean, only if you want to. I’m just curious because we never talk about this stuff, and isn’t it sort of friend code to know these things? For future reference?”
His hand finds my waist first and tightens slightly. The simple contact sends electricity skittering across my skin. With the faintest pressure, he walks me backward. One slow step at a time until my back meets the wall with a soft thud. The cold surface jolts me, a sharp contrast to the heat rolling off him.
“You can stop me,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that I feel more than hear.
“Show me.” The words tumble out breathlessly, my lungs seemingly forgetting how to function properly. “I’m curious.”
Before I can gather a single rational thought, his other hand finds my face. His palm cradles my cheek gently, contradicting the intensity in his eyes.
A couple passing by does a double-take, and I hear Betty’s distinctive squeal from somewhere in the distance.
I turn toward the commotion, but he tilts my face back toward him.
“If this was real.” His thumb starts tracing slow, dizzying patterns along my cheek. My hands find his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath.
“I’d tell you how beautiful you look tonight.” He leans in closer until his lips skim the edge of my temple. “How that dress makes your eyes shine like stars.”
“I’d make sure everyone knows you’re mine, but more importantly, I’d make sure you know it.” He presses a kiss to my temple. Not like the one for the photo. This one is slower. Warmer.
My finger curls, gripping the fabric of his dress shirt just beneath the lapel of his suit jacket. A slow exhale leaves him, and I feel his chest expand and contract beneath my fingertips. “I’d memorize every little thing that makes you smile, like how you scrunch your nose when you’re reading or that victory dance you do when you make a perfect match.”
My heart is performing a full Cirque du Soleil routine. “Good . . . good memory . . .”
He dips his head, and his lips hover dangerously close to my cheek. “I’d trace constellations on your skin until you fall asleep, and wake you up with kisses every morning.”
My pulse stumbles. “Do you really do that to your real—”
His finger presses gently against my lips, stopping my words mid-sentence. He replaces the touch with a soft, lingering kiss on my cheek that makes my skin tingle.
“And I wouldn’t stop kissing you—morning, noon, and night—until you forget there was ever a time when we weren’t like this.”
Someone drops a plate nearby, the clatter making me jump. But Asher doesn’t move away. Is the room spinning, or is that just me?
“Should we stop?” It comes out embarrassingly breathy.
“I think we should continue. For future reference.” He pulls back just enough to search my eyes.
“Your turn. Is this how you’d act with a real boyfriend?”
“I—” The words stick in my throat. I’m already acting too real. But this is all fake. Isn’t it? At least, that’s what he thinks. That’s what he assumes I’m doing.
“If this was real,” I tighten my grip on his shirt, fisting the fabric between my fingers, and tug him a little closer. “I’d tell you how your smile makes my whole day better.”
His muscles go taut beneath my fingers, but he doesn’t pull away.
“I’d probably drive you crazy with my romance novel collection and my inability to make coffee without spilling it everywhere, but I’d make up for it by . . .”
I rise onto my toes, tipping up just enough to press a light kiss to his jaw. “By kissing you when you least expect it. Like when you’re mid-workout, or explaining proper form, or—”
His hands suddenly grip my wrists, tighter than usual, and his breath shudders just like mine.
I loosen my grip immediately. What am I saying?
If I keep going down this path, there’ll be no Ctrl-Z, no safe exit, no way to pretend I didn’t just basically confess to wanting to kiss my best friend senseless.
“Sorry!” I blurt out, yanking my hands back. “You didn’t hear any of that. Let’s just pretend I temporarily lost my mind. Maybe it’s the sugar cookies. Or the glitter fumes. Is glitter poisoning a thing?”
“Hey, it’s okay,” Asher says, something flickers in his eyes. “We’re just researching for future reference, right?”
“Right. Research. Super useful.” I nod way too quickly. “And also good for the show. For the believability factor.”
Oh wait, we haven’t talked about the exit plan.
“We haven’t . . .” I swallow hard. “Talked about our breakup plan.”
Because that’s what responsible fake-daters do, right? Plan their fake breakup? Also, talking about breaking up will help me remember this isn’t real, no matter how real it feels, or how much I wish it is.
Asher goes still beside me, his jaw doing that tense thing it does when he’s thinking hard about something. One Mississippi, two Mississippi . . . I count the seconds before he relaxes.
“Don’t worry about that now.” Asher’s lips curve into an easy smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “We’ll figure it out. Maybe you can say I’m too boring. Or that I snore. Loudly. And you just couldn’t take it anymore.”
The image of Asher snoring like a chainsaw while I dramatically storm out pops into my head, and before I can stop it, a laugh bursts out.
“Couples, get ready!” Mayor Gladys Parker’s voice booms through the community hall, cutting through the excited chatter. “We’re testing how well you really know your partner. And don’t worry, Betty’s got eyes on all of you!”
“Ready to dominate some bingo?” he asks, eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Bring it on, Collymore.”
“And that’s another bingo for Asher and Isla!”
Turns out being best friends for fifteen years means we’ve accidentally checked off most of the real couple boxes without even trying. “First vacation together?” Check—that disastrous camping trip when we were twelve. “Share clothes?” Well, he did give me his hoodie that one time I was cold (and I maybe, possibly, never returned it). “Finish each other’s sentences?” Unfortunately, yes, especially when he’s about to make a terrible pun.
The funny thing is, we’re beating actual married couples at this game. Mr. and Mrs. Johnson, who’ve been together for forty years, are shooting us suspicious looks from across the room.
Though to be fair, they missed “Know each other’s embarrassing nicknames” (Asher’s mom still calls him “Cubby,” and only I know why) and “Have a song” (it’s not our fault we both got “Sweet Caroline” stuck in our heads that one summer and now it’s ruined forever).
“Congratulations!” Mayor Parker beams, presenting us with our prize—a giant heart-shaped cushion that says ‘Frosthaven’s Perfect Pair’ in glittering pink letters, and two matching “Love Conquers All” coffee mugs that look like they’ve been sitting in Town Hall since 1987.
“For your morning coffee together,” Betty adds with a wink.
The lights dim, and Mayor Parker’s voice crackles over the speakers announcing it’s time for dancing. Couples begin migrating toward the dance floor, where string lights cast a warm glow over everything. Even the heart-shaped balloons look magical instead of tacky now.
We weave through the crowd, and I try to memorize how natural it feels to move together, how his hand finds mine without hesitation. This is dangerous territory. But I allow myself this one night of make-believe, treat it like a dream.
The safest way to date your best friend without actually risking everything.
Near the punch bowl, we spot Samantha and Eric, heads bent close together, probably discussing corporate law or tax regulations. They catch our eye and wave, both beaming. Asher and I share a knowing smile—looks like my failed match created a perfect one instead.
“Isla!” Sarah’s voice cuts through the crowd as she waves enthusiastically, pulling Devyn along behind her. “I have to thank you!”
“For what?”
I can’t help noticing how happy they look together. After weeks of canceled appointments and whispered doubts, seeing Sarah and Devyn’s success feels like validation. Going back to my original matchmaking methods was the right decision.
“For matching us,” Sarah says, squeezing Devyn’s hand. “I never would have given this firefighter a chance if you hadn’t insisted we have that coffee date. Your instincts were spot on—he’s perfect for me.”
“Even if I did show up covered in soot,” Devyn adds with a grin.
“Especially because you showed up covered in soot,” Sarah corrects, going up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
“See?” Asher murmurs in my ear. “Your method works just fine.”
Sarah’s expression suddenly turns serious. “Oh, and I’m so glad I didn’t listen to Kyle. Can you believe he actually called me after I signed up for your service? Tried to convince me to cancel our appointment, saying all these awful things about your matchmaking style.”
I stiffen at Kyle’s name, my hand tightening on the heart cushion. Asher’s arm slides around my waist, pulling me closer and steadying me.
“Let’s not talk about him,” Asher says, his voice light but with a hint of steel underneath. He presses a kiss to my temple, playing his part perfectly. “You know how jealous I get when anyone mentions my girlfriend’s ex.”
I shoot him a grateful look, my heart doing a stupid flip at how well he knows me, how easily he steers conversations away from painful topics. Sarah and Devyn exchange a smile that seems to be everyone’s default expression around us lately.
“I believe I owe this lovely lady a spin around the dance floor.” Devyn turns to Sarah with an exaggerated bow. “Though I can’t promise I won’t leave scorch marks on the floor.”
“Firefighter humor,” Sarah groans, but she’s already reaching for his hand. “Really?”
As they head toward the dance floor, Sarah calls over her shoulder, “Thank you again, Isla! Your matches are pure magic!”
“Let’s get out of here,” Asher murmurs, his breath warm against my ear.
“What? Why? We just won at the couple’s bingo. Don’t we have to stay and defend our title or something?”
I’m not ready for this date to end, even if it’s not real. It feels like I’m Cinderella, watching the clock tick closer to midnight, knowing the magic is about to break.
Soon, we’ll go back to being just Isla and Asher—best friends who don’t hold hands or press soft kisses to temples.
His fingers have intertwined with mine, and he tugs me gently toward the exit. “Because,” his voice is carrying that dangerous warmth that makes my heart stumble, “I have something to show you that’s worth more than any heart-shaped cushion.”