Epilogue
I sla Six months later
Golden light filters through my office blinds, painting warm stripes across the mess of photos and statistics sheets scattered over my desk. I tap my pen against my lip, studying the numbers one more time. Eighty-four percent success rate. Not too shabby for a small-town matchmaker who almost lost everything.
“I have to admit,” Diane says, her perfectly manicured nail clinking against her coffee mug, “our methods actually worked better together than I expected. And I’ve grown to admire how hard you pushed to keep things affordable.”
I hide my smile behind my own mug. Coming from Diane, that’s practically a declaration of undying devotion.
“Who would have thought we’d end up working so well together?” I gather the photos of happy couples into a slightly crooked stack.
“Certainly not me.” Diane laughs, and it’s still weird hearing that sound without the sharp competitive edge that used to make my shoulder muscles tense. “Heaven forbid.” Diane’s eyes actually crinkle at the corners. “Did you hear Kyle’s review blog being shut down? Word is he’s moved to Portland.”
“Good riddance,” I say, and I mean it. The weird thing is, I don’t feel anything much about Kyle anymore. No anger, no hurt. Just this vague memory of a person who was once important but now feels like a character from a book I read a long time ago.
Kyle leaving town felt like closing a chapter that needed to end. A necessary step to get to where I am now—dating Asher for real.
It turns out going from friends to something more was the most natural thing in the world. We already did all the couple-y things. Shared breakfasts, inside jokes, movie nights, late-night talks. The only real difference now? Kissing. Lots of it.
After walking Diane to the door, I find Elaine and Roxanne lounging against the hallway wall, looking about as casual as two cats who’ve just knocked a vase off the counter.
“Oh! Isla!” Elaine slaps a hand to her chest, eyes comically wide. “What a completely unexpected surprise to see you here!”
Roxanne’s snort-laugh breaks through her attempted poker face.
I narrow my eyes, hands automatically finding their way to my hips. “What are you two plotting?”
“Plotting? Us?” Elaine gasps, hooking her arm through mine with the kind of grip that makes me think she might be considering a career in professional wrestling. “Can’t two friends suggest dinner without getting accused of scheming?”
“The Riverstone has this special tonight that you absolutely must try,” Roxanne adds, sidling up to my other side.
“The chef is only making it tonight!” Elaine blurts, then winces when Roxanne elbows her so hard I swear I hear ribs crack.
These two couldn’t be more obvious if they were wearing t-shirts that said “WE’RE UP TO SOMETHING” in neon letters. Their idea of subtle is about as effective as Mochi’s attempts to secretly steal socks, complete with dramatic tiptoeing and exaggerated innocence.
“You two are the worst liars in Frost,” I say, “and that’s including Harold, who told everyone his cat did his taxes.”
“Just come to dinner,” Elaine pleads, practically frog-marching me toward the building’s exit. “No questions asked.”
“Fine,” I sigh, letting myself be steered toward Elaine’s car. “But whatever you’re up to, I reserve the right to flee if necessary.”
Twenty minutes later, instead of pulling into The Riverstone’s parking lot, Elaine stops at the edge of Frost Lake. The engine cuts off with a decisive click.
“This doesn’t look like the restaurant,” I deadpan, eyeing the deserted parking area. “Unless they’ve really expanded their outdoor seating.”
“Plans change,” Roxanne says mysteriously, like she’s auditioning for a cryptic fortune teller role. “We should take a walk by the lake before dinner.”
“In my work clothes? What—” The protest dies in my throat as I step out of the car and see what waits ahead.
Oh.
Paper lanterns line a path through the flowering dogwoods that border the lake, their warm glow reflecting in the still water like stars that fell to earth. And at the far end of the path stands a figure I’d recognize blindfolded. Those broad shoulders, that stance with hands tucked in pockets, that patient stillness that has always been uniquely Asher.
My heart does a complicated gymnastics routine in my chest.
When I turn back to question my so-called friends, the car is already pulling away, Elaine’s arm waving wildly out the window like she’s practicing for a parade.
“Traitors!” I call after them, but there’s no heat in it. Just a breathless kind of wonder that makes my voice shake.
Heart racing faster, I take my first step onto the lantern-lit path. Each lantern holds a photograph—moments from our shared history captured in amber light.
There we are as kids, mud-splattered and grinning after he helped rescue my books on moving day. There we are as teenagers at the old skating rink, me clinging to his arm with a death grip while he pretends my fingernails aren’t permanently disfiguring his bicep. And—oh my goodness—is that the time I fell headfirst out of the peach tree in his backyard, and he somehow managed to half-catch me, both of us ending up in a sticky, juice-covered heap?
I run my fingers over the photo, a lump forming in my throat. He’s kept every ridiculous, wonderful, embarrassing moment of us.
Further along are newer memories: Mochi’s adoption day, his tiny body cradled between us. Asher and I at the gym’s Senior Program launch, his arm warm around my waist. The two of us with flour-covered faces from our disastrous attempt at making croissants.
Walking this path feels like traveling through the story of us—friendship deepening into something more profound with each step I take. My chest tightens with emotions too big for words.
I reach him.
“Asher,” I whisper.
“Hi, Peachie.” His smile is the most gorgeous thing in the world. His eyes crinkle at the corners, the turquoise somehow deeper in the lantern light.
“Did you do all this?” I gesture to the glowing pathway, though it’s obviously a ridiculous question. Who else would hang photos of us as gangly preteens for the world to see?
“With a little help.” He takes my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles in that way that still sends electricity racing up my arm. The calluses on his palm are familiar, comforting. “I wanted to show you something.”
He leads me to a small clearing where an antique table stands set with candles. In the center lies a pink sheet of paper, the childish handwriting instantly familiar.
My Love Bucket List.
Except now, it’s already been renamed.
At the top, in neat handwriting that definitely isn’t mine, are the words:
Isla & Asher’s Love Bucket List
I swallow hard. Somehow, just seeing our names together like that makes my chest feel too full and too soft at the same time.
“I believe we have some unfinished business.” Asher lifts the paper. “Let’s see . . . Number one: Raise a puppy and name him/her together.”
A familiar bark sounds from behind a nearby tree. Mochi bounds toward us, sporting a tiny bow tie that somehow makes him look both ridiculous and adorable.
“Check,” Asher says, grinning that dimpled smile that still makes my heart do flip-flops. “Number two: Dance under the stars. Did that.”
“Have you been working through my Love Bucket List on purpose? All this time?” I brush my thumb over the little dip in his cheek.
“From the moment I found it, I decided then that I’d give you everything on this list. You deserve someone who puts your dreams first.”
“You sneaky, wonderful man,” I blink back tears.
“But there’s one we haven’t done yet.” He sets the paper down gently. “Before we get to that, I want to add one of my own.”
He locks eyes with me. Lowers to one knee.
My breath catches mid-inhale. The sound of the lake, the distant hum of insects, even the faint rustle of lanterns swaying in the trees—all of it fades. My vision narrows until it’s only him, right there in front of me.
“Isla Ennis,” he says, his voice steady, but his throat moves like he’s swallowing something thick. “Loving you has been the easiest, most natural thing I’ve ever done. Even when we were just friends, even when I wasn’t sure you’d ever see me as more, loving you felt like breathing. Necessary.”
He pulls a velvet box from his pocket, opening it to reveal a ring with a perfect mint-colored stone that catches the lantern light.
Tears spill down my cheeks, hot and unstoppable. I don’t even try to wipe them away.
“I want to be the one waking up next to you every morning,” Asher says, his voice getting rougher. “I want to be the one who brings you tea when you’re stressed about work. I want the kids, the dogs—preferably three—the laundry, the mess. All of it. With you.”
“I never told you that dream from months ago . . .” I cover my mouth.
“You said it in your sleep.”
“Oh . . .”
“I didn’t know when you moved in next door that I was going to fall for you. I didn’t know if I’d be lucky enough to have forever with you when we first signed that silly friendship pact. And I don’t know how many times I’ve dreamed of kissing you like you were already mine. But I do know this—loving you has been my constant for so long, I’ve forgotten what it ever felt like not to.”
“Why didn’t I go with waterproof today?” I swipe under my eyes as more tears spill.
Asher’s smile curves softly. “Isla Ennis, love of my life, will you marry me?”
“Yes,” I nod, barely able to form a word. “Yes! Of course, yes!”
The night sky erupts with fireworks, blooming against the darkness like electric flowers.
But I barely get a chance to watch them. Asher slips the ring onto my finger and kisses me. Slow, certain, and utterly consuming. Like every spark in the sky just detoured to set my heart on fire.
“Kiss under fireworks,” Asher murmurs against my lips, pulling me close as another burst of fireworks lights the sky. “Checked off the last item on your list.”
The moment doesn’t feel like a beginning or an end. It feels like finding the place I've been searching for all along. The arms that held me through heartbreak. The laugh that always found me when I forgot how to smile.
For so long, I believed my own romantic relationships were destined to fade. Friendship was the only thing that would last, so long as I didn’t mess it up by catching feelings.
But it wasn’t until I finally got brave enough to stop fighting what my heart had been wanting all along that I realized something else.
The best kind of romance happens right in the middle of the friend zone.
It's the kind that grew quietly, constantly, like Asher's family peach tree spreading its branches wider with each summer—until one day, forever was the only thing that made sense.
The magic of it all is so overwhelming that it takes me a second to register the cheers erupting from the trees surrounding us.
“Did you invite the entire town?” I ask as Asher sweeps me into his arms, my feet leaving the ground as he spins me in a circle.
“Half of them invited themselves. Betty’s been staking out this spot since noon.”
Betty steps out, brushing leaves off her skirt. “Okay, can I just say it now? I’ve known this would happen ever since the day Asher convinced me to offer that once in a lifetime special rental deal to Isla, in exchange for a year of free gym membership.”
I whirl around to stare at Asher. “You bribed my landlord?”
“Technically, I negotiated.”
More laughter breaks out as the townspeople emerge from their not-so-secret hiding spots. It’s like watching clowns pile out of a tiny car—they just keep coming.
Connie and Fred appear with champagne bottles. Elaine and Roxanne rush forward to hug me, both crying and talking over each other so fast I can’t make out a single word. Mrs. Henderson is somehow already showing photos she’s taken to anyone who will look.
“Town Facebook group’s going crazy,” Conner announces, holding up his phone like a trophy. “Though I think it’s mostly because some people owe money in the betting pool.”
“You bet on us again?”
“Xander did too,” Conner says, not even pretending to be sorry.
“I strategically invested.” Xander appears behind him with a rare smile.
“Conner created a whole bracket system.” Elaine throws her hands up.
“Which I regret absolutely nothing about.” Conner smug. “My odds were amazing.”
Elaine huffs. “I lost twenty bucks because I said Asher would chicken out and propose next year.”
“You are both uninvited from the wedding.”
Elaine grins. “That’s fair. But can I still come for cake?”
Asher chuckles, his arms tightening around me as he presses his lips on mine again.
“I can’t believe this is real,” I murmur against his lips.
“It’s always been real, Peachie.” He brushes his nose gently against mine. “We just finally got brave enough to admit what our hearts have always known.”
Elaine
Isla says yes. The ring goes on. They kiss.
There are gasps and cheers and a few tears. I clap too. Beam. Sniffle into a tissue I swiped from Roxanne’s purse. The music starts up from a Bluetooth speaker, exactly as rehearsed. All that secret planning actually worked.
It is perfect.
And I am happy for them. Really, truly happy. We helped Asher pull this whole thing off. I knew it was coming.
I was prepared.
Mostly. Kind of. Not at all.
Because watching your best friends finally have their moment, the childhood best friends to lovers, a fairy tale by the lake kind of moment? That hits different when your own life looks like a Pinterest board of crumbling fondant, overdue invoices, and a bakery mixer that just made a noise like a dying llama.
Yeah. Crisis mode.
And maybe it is not just the fondant or the invoices. Maybe there is something else twisting in my chest, something I do not really want to name.
Something that looks a little too much like what Isla and Asher just promised each other.
But it is fine. I am fine.
I just need a piece of cake.
Preferably with enough frosting.
I beeline toward the food table, clutching a napkin and an unhealthy amount of hope.
And there it is. The last slice.
Corner piece. Double frosting. Sponge like a dream. Sitting on its little glass pedestal like a sugary, emotional support icon.
I grab the knife, ready to commit dessert-based larceny.
A hand slides into view and lifts the plate right out from under me. It’s big and tan, veins flexing just enough to be obnoxious. The kind of hand that’s gripped hockey sticks, signed endorsement deals, and probably closed some ridiculous business deal over brunch.
I don’t even have to look up.
Conner Ennis.
The world’s most aggravating best friend’s twin brother.
I never understood how twins could come out so completely differently. Isla has warmth, loyalty, and a perfectly reasonable sense of humility. Conner has a permanent smirk, ego, and cheekbones that have been personally offending me since fourth grade.
We were in the same class every year. Same school projects. Same science fair table. He never missed a chance to sabotage my poster board, borrow my pencil, or charm the teacher into letting him go first.
And now here he is. Stealing the last piece of cake like it is just another day of ruining my life for fun.
He stands across from me, smug as sin and holding a fork. “You weren’t about to take this, were you?”
“You don’t even like cake,” I snap.
“I like justice,” he says, already cradling the plate like a newborn. “And I got here first.”
“I was literally cutting it.”
“You paused.”
“I was admiring the frosting!”
“Amateur move, Cupcake.” He stretches his arm up, holding it over his head like a human vending machine that only serves heartbreak. “You want it? Come get it.”
“Put it down.”
He grins. “You know the rules. Possession is nine-tenths of the law.”
“And the other tenth is common decency, which you clearly skipped in kindergarten.”
He smirks, slow and smug. “Didn’t skip. Got detention.”
“Put it down, pastry thief. ”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “You know, I missed this. You yelling at me over baked goods.”
“You know what I missed? Not you.”
I lunge. He jerks his arm up, stepping back like he’s still on skates, fast and fluid. I grab for his wrist. He pivots, shifting the plate just out of reach, and now we’re circling each other like this is a dessert-themed dance battle I definitely didn’t sign up for.
Snag.
Something catches at the hem of my dress. A soft tug that tightens into resistance. I glance down just in time to see a strand of the fishing net wound around my ankle like it’s trying to take me down with it. Who even thought this was a good idea? Rustic-chic?
My foot twists. The plate tilts in Conner’s hand as I reach again. Then everything shifts. The ground. My balance. The entire universe. A strong arm catches around my waist as I fall, but not fast enough to stop what’s coming.
WHAM.
I crash straight into something solid, warm, and sculpted. Like slamming into a brick wall that smells like sandalwood and smugness. The plate squishes between us. Cake launches like a frosting-filled grenade.
There’s icing on my face, down my arm, somehow inside my bra. I blink through the sugar crusting on my lashes.
Conner is flat on his back beneath me. His coat is smeared with pink buttercream. A strawberry wedge clings to his lapel.
There’s a long, stunned pause.
Before I can decide whether to scream or combust, Conner moves.
He lifts his hand, fingers gliding along my cheek with infuriating focus, catching a thick line of buttercream. My skin buzzes, clearly having zero memory of whose hand that is or how much I’m supposed to hate it.
With the self-satisfaction of a man who probably congratulates himself in the mirror, Conner brings his fingers to his mouth and licks the frosting off in one slow, unbothered sweep.
“Sweet as ever, Cupcake.”
Thank you for reading Fake Dating My Best Friend!