26. Isla
Chapter 26
Isla
“W here are you taking me, Collymore?” I whisper, trying to sound exasperated instead of breathless as we approach the familiar hill.
In the bright moonlight, I can clearly make out the wooden stairs zigzagging up its slope, weathered boards disappearing into the silver-lit trees above. The full moon bathes everything in a soft, ethereal glow, making the night feel almost magical.
“Patience, Peachie.” His hand is warm in mine as he guides me to the first step. He doesn’t really need his phone’s flashlight—the moonlight is casting enough light to see our way—but he keeps it on anyway, illuminating the worn treads ahead. “Though maybe hold on to me. These heels weren’t made for midnight hill-climbing.”
It definitely seems like he planned this night, right down to the walking shoes he’d tucked into his car and offered me before our climb up the hill. I’d stubbornly refused to wear them because they clashed too much with my dress.
“If you’re planning to murder me on this hill, I should warn you that Mayor Parker has photographic evidence of us together now.”
His laugh rumbles through the moonlit darkness. “Have you been reading murder mysteries?” He steadies me as my heel catches between two boards, his hand warm against my lower back.
The stairs wind through trees that hold a thousand childhood memories—secret hideouts, dramatic storytelling sessions, pinky promises made and kept.
We emerge at the hill’s summit platform, and my breath catches. Below us, Frosthaven sparkles like a jewel box someone spilled across the valley, the moonlight adding an extra layer of silver to the twinkling lights.
“Oh,” I breathe, unable to manage anything more eloquent.
“Better than the heart-shaped cushion?” Asher asks softly, and when I look up at him, the warmth in his eyes makes my heart stumble.
“I don’t know.” I manage to sound casual because it’s safer than the truth. “The cushion had a certain tacky charm. Did you really plan all this just to impress me?”
“Maybe.” His fingers brush through my hair, plucking a stray leaf and twirling it between his fingers. “Is it working?”
I roll my eyes and start pacing in the small space. Asher falls into step beside me. This feels like we’re teetering on the edge of something we can’t take back.
“Remember when we used to come up here as kids?” I ask. “You’d listen to all my made-up constellation stories.”
“Orion was always your favorite,” he says. “The mighty hunter with his loyal dog.”
“With his loyal dog, Canis Major.” I smile.
If we ever get a third dog, we could name him Canis. A big, fat, ridiculous if .
Because first, we’d need a second dog. Who, at this moment, only exists in my wild dream from a week ago. The one where Asher and I were married. With two kids. And another dog. Named Muffin. Because obviously, Mochi needed a sibling. And then, I’d have to casually suggest it and come up with some convincing excuse to trick Asher into raising more dogs with me.
“Are you thinking about Mochi or thinking about getting more dogs?”
“How do you know?” I whip my head toward him. “I didn’t tell you about my dream, right?”
Asher raises an eyebrow. “Well. I’m still waiting on that one.”
A heat wave crawls up my face, curling into my cheeks.
“Nothing too special,” I mumble, hugging my arms like that will somehow protect me from further embarrassment.
We stand in silence for a moment, looking out over the twinkling lights of Frosthaven. The town seems impossibly small from up here, our worries and responsibilities far away.
“Let’s dance.”
“What?” I blink.
He pulls out his phone, taps the screen, and a moment later, the soft strains of Frank Sinatra’s “The Way You Look Tonight” float into the night air.
My heart skips a beat. This is the song his mom insisted on playing while she taught us to dance in their living room when we were little—me stepping on Asher’s toes every other beat while his dad counted “slow-slow-quick-quick.”
Asher extends his hand, a smile playing on his lips. “Real dance. Just a friendly dance.”
This is a bad idea.
A fake dance would be better. Safer. At least with a fake dance, I could pretend it didn’t mean anything. That there were no consequences if I liked it too much, if I did something I absolutely shouldn’t.
“Don’t worry.”
Easy for him to say.
I hesitantly slip my hand into his. Warm. Solid. Big enough to make me want to stay right here forever.
He lifts my hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against my knuckles. And far too effective at making me forget every single worry I had just moments ago.
His hand settles on my waist, while mine finds his shoulder. The slight pressure of his fingers guides me through the familiar rhythm.
It’s all familiar yet somehow brand new. Because the little boy I grew up with is nothing like this tall, strong man, and little Isla hadn’t yet dreamed of spending her whole life with him. That same little girl hadn’t yet learned that people would always abandon her.
The moonlight bathes him in silver, making his eyes brighter and his jawline more defined.
I want to step closer. I want to trace my fingers along his jaw, across his lips, and memorize every inch of him before I lose the chance. Not an appropriate thought. Totally inappropriate. But it should be fine, we are still technically d ating . And as long as we haven’t broken up .
“Did you dance with your girlfriend?”
Asher tilts his head. “Fake one or real one?”
“Sounds like you have a lot.”
“I’ve only ever danced with you.”
He spins me out suddenly, then pulls me back in, closer than before. My breath catches in my throat. We’re so close now that I can see the slight stubble on his jaw, count each of his eyelashes, and feel the rise and fall of his chest against mine.
“You’re better than before,” I say, a bit breathless.
“I’ve gotten better at other things, too.”
Like what?
“Look up,” he murmurs.
A sky full of stars. They seem close enough to touch, scattered across the velvet sky like diamond dust. Beautiful.
So beautiful that I want to collect some. Put them in a jar. Keep them forever. Or, at least take a picture.
Asher steps away slightly, reaches into his pocket, and then tucks something into my hair.
“There.”
I reach up, fingertips brushing against the side of my temple.
Something smooth and delicate. Something that wasn’t there before. I pull it free and look down.
A small, gold star-shaped hair clip.
Asher chuckles. “Figured you might want to collect some stars.”
The music still plays, soft and slow, wrapping around us like a dream. He takes the clip from my fingers, slides it back into my hair,
His hand returns to my waist, pulling me effortlessly back into the dance. “Let’s continue. Dancing under the stars.”
Wait a minute. Dancing under the stars? This feels suspiciously similar to item number two on my Love Bucket List.
First, he rescues a puppy, and we name him together. Now we’re dancing beneath the stars?
Is Asher fulfilling my wishes one by one?
“This feels familiar,” I murmur, studying his face for any hint that he knows exactly what he’s doing.
Asher’s eyes crinkle at the corners.
But there is another memory that comes to mind.
“There were so many stars in the sky the night Dad left.” I swallow hard. “As beautiful as this.”
It’s not something I tell anyone. Because if I don’t say it out loud, maybe it’s not really part of me. Maybe I’m not that girl. The girl whose dad walked away. The girl who wasn’t worth staying for.
“Sorry, Peachie.” Asher’s grip tightens just slightly.
“No. Not your fault.”
I gave myself a Love Bucket List for a reason. Dancing under the stars with someone I love. Because I wanted a do-over. A way to rewrite that night. To take back the feeling of being unwanted. To turn my stars into something beautiful again.
Asher might not be someone I can love. But doing this with him is too perfect. So perfect that I think he’s ruining me for my future boyfriend.
If I ever have one.
“Mom was in the kitchen, pretending to clean while her hands shook. And Conner just stood there with our soccer ball, calling Dad out on his lies. ‘Work doesn’t take all your clothes,’ he said.”
“You know what the worst part was?” I look up at the sky again. “He knelt down, looked me right in the eye, and told me what a great kid I was. How smart and sweet I was.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “But I knew he was lying. If he really meant it, he wouldn’t have left. Would’ve looked back at least once. I asked Mom if I did something wrong. She said no, of course. Conner kept telling me everything was going to be okay, that he’d protect me. But I could hear him as he buried his face in the pillow when he thought I was asleep. And I just kept thinking, if I could be better. Quieter. Smarter. More lovable. Maybe he wouldn’t have had to leave.”
Even twenty years later, I can still hear the click of that door closing, still feel the cold floor under my feet as I stood there.
A single tear slips down my cheek.
I blink up at the sky, willing it to stop, willing myself to push it all back where it belongs. Asher pulls out a napkin and gently wipes it away.
“Let it out, Peachie.” His voice is soft. “It’s okay.”
He pulls me to his chest and pats my back. Tears pour out faster than I can stop them.
I sniff, my voice muffled against his shoulder.
“I really hope Elaine used waterproof eyeliner.”
Asher lets out a soft chuckle.
“And I really hope I’m not leaving a permanent mark on your shirt.”
“I don’t mind, Is.”
The only sound between us is the quiet sniffle of my breath and the steady rhythm of his heart beneath my cheek.
“Collybear . . . what am I supposed to fix? What part of me do I need to change so I’m not always the one people leave? What kind of person do I have to become to stop living the same story over and over?”
“You don’t need to change any part of you, Peachie.”
“What?”
His thumb brushes a slow, reassuring line across my shoulder. “Wear the dress you love. Read the books you get lost in. Cry when you need to. You don’t need to become someone else to be loved, Isla.”
“Then why do people always leave?”
“The people who deserve you won’t run. They’ll stay. I’ll stay.”
His words settle like warmth in my chest, spreading through my body.
“You know why I love matchmaking? Why I love seeing other people fall in love?” I pause. “I think I just do it to prove to myself that love still exists. That it’s real, even if it’s not for me.”
Asher pulls back just enough to look at me.
“It is for you.”
The moon catches in his eyes, and for a second, I see our whole future there. Sunday mornings with coffee and crosswords, Christmas mornings with Mochi destroying wrapping paper, a lifetime of him looking at me exactly as he is right now. And it terrifies me how much I want it.
Almost as much as the horrifying realization that I must look like an absolute disaster. Puffy eyes. Streaked makeup. A complete mess.
“Don’t look at me. I’m really ugly right now.”
He smooths my hair, gently tucking a loose strand behind my ear.
“You could cry in front of me all day, and I’d still think you’re the cutest, most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
“Don’t say that to me.”
“It is the truth.”
“No. You are making this too—”
CRACK!
My stomach lurches as my right foot suddenly drops three inches. I flail, grabbing for anything, Asher’s shirt, his arm, thin air, as my ankle twists and my balance vanishes.
“Oh!” The sound escapes me, half-gasp, half-squeak, as Asher’s arms wrap around me, steadying me before I can topple completely. His chest rumbles against mine with barely contained laughter.
Heat floods my face. “My heel broke,” I mumble, staring at our feet. My right shoe now sports a jagged stump where the heel should be.
Our eyes meet, and laughter bubbles up from my chest, mirrored in Asher’s expression. It starts as a chuckle but quickly spirals into that uncontrollable, breathless kind of laughter we’ve shared since we were kids. The kind that leaves your stomach hurting and tears in your eyes.
“Those walking shoes are looking pretty good now, huh?” Asher’s eyes crinkle at the corners, his dimple deepening as he grins. “Still regretting turning them down when I offered them earlier?”
“Don’t.” I try to glare, but it’s impossible when he’s looking at me like that. “Just . . . don’t.”
I try to step back, to reclaim some dignity, but my broken shoe makes me wobble. Asher crouches beside me, inspecting the damage with that infuriating smirk of his. His fingers brush against my ankle as he examines the broken heel, sending little electric shocks up my leg.
“Looks like you’re officially out of commission,” he declares, eyes twinkling with amusement.
“It’s fine. I’ll just—”
Before I can finish my sentence, Asher stands and scoops me up. One hand under my knees, the other steady against my back. My world tilts as he lifts me effortlessly against his chest. I yelp, my hands fly up, locking around his neck.
The ground vanishes beneath me. My dress bunches awkwardly between us, and I’m eye-level with him. I’m sure my cheeks are burning hot enough to melt snow.
“Asher! Put me down!”
“Not a chance.”