Page 139 of A Perfect Fit

This isn’t the type of boyfriend I imagined I’d be. What if … what if this is just the start of me being a shitty boyfriend and it’s going to snowball into something bigger?

Isabelle deserves stability. She deserves someone reliable. Someone who has his life figured out, has a five-year plan and executes it flawlessly. Not someone who rage quits and then gets their best friend to clean up their mess.

Isabelle’s growing her business, been interviewed by Sparkes Magazine, and her fashion show’s only a few weeks away from now.

I’m supposed to be planning fun dates for her and doing things to make her life easier. I’m supposed to be protecting her, not the other way around. Not … this.

“You’re not good enough for me, Jackson.”

Isabelle’s words from my nightmare last night slam into me out of nowhere, and icy needles prick my body despite the humid weather.

If I keep leaning on Isabelle now while she’s building an empire, what does that make me?

A burden.

I start walking again, slower this time, The Daily Brew only a few blocks away until it’s right in front of me.

I was supposed to tell Isabelle I had a plan after leaving Carter Marketing Solutions. Instead, I’m walking toward her with nothing but chaos.

My heart’s still racing as I swing open the door with shaky hands, spotting Isabelle sitting at one of the tables near the back. She glances up when I enter, a soft smile spreading across her lips.

A heaviness wraps around my body as I walk toward her, grabbing a seat opposite hers.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” I breathe. I tug at my tie, like I don’t remember how to exist comfortably in my own body.

Isabelle holds up the latest rom-com book she’s reading. “That’s okay. I assumed you were caught up at work. Just keeping myself company with my fictional characters in the meantime.”

Work. How am I going to tell her?

“It’s not okay. I should’ve⁠—”

Shit. I forgot to pick up the strawberry jam doughnuts from the bakery. It was on the way, but I got so lost in my thoughts.

My stomach tightens. How many times have I dropped the ball now?

“Hey,” Isabelle gently says, leaning forward to place her hand over mine.

I don’t notice my hands are clenched until she lays hers on top. Tranquility overtakes my body at her touch.

“Stop putting so much pressure on yourself,” she adds. “Take a deep breath.”

I do as she says, taking in a shaky breath and giving her a tiny, grateful smile.

A barista—one of Isabelle’s colleagues—arrives at our table, placing a cup of black coffee in front of me before heading off.

“I got you your usual,” Isabelle explains.

I swallow. “Thank you.”

“How’s your first day back at work?”

My heart starts beating faster. “Bella, I actually … uh …”

Concern swirls in her brown eyes. “Did something happen?”

A conflicting feeling stabs my chest, hurting more than any physical pain I’ve experienced before. It’s as if something is slowly suffocating me, pulling out all my air until I’m deprived of all oxygen.

Today, Isabelle’s wearing a white tank top and jeans, her hair tied into a high bun. She looks so beautiful, steady and grounded, like someone who knows where she’s going.