Page 151 of A Perfect Fit

I successfully hosted my first fashion show. Joy traces every inch and corner of my heart, and I know sixteen-year-old Isabelle would be proud of me, too.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

ISABELLE

As soon as the show is over, I’m dragged into conversation after conversation. There are congratulations and questions from people who are interested in learning more about the inspiration behind each piece. Fellow small-business fashion designers who are interested in hosting their own show. Old classmates from fashion school who came to support me—some now working at large fashion labels, others in marketing and fashion event coordinating, and one person working as a costume designer.

I chat with everyone who approaches me, giving them my undivided attention.

But in the back of my mind, there are thoughts of one person.

Jackson.

He hasn’t approached me yet, but every time I look for him, I spot him standing by himself near the back, a mix of wistfulness and pride in his eyes as he stares at me. Like he wants to talk to me, but he also wants me to talk to my attendees and savor all the success of tonight first.

The warehouse is nearly empty two hours later as most people leave.

Jen appears to my side, a glass of champagne in her hand, her blue eyes gleaming with delight. “Look at you go, you social butterfly.”

I chuckle. “My introvert self is shocked.”

Footsteps echo, and Jen’s eyes dart to someone behind me.

Even without turning around, I feel Jackson’s presence, the scent of his fresh cologne wrapping around me, so familiar that it hurts.

Slowly, I face him, my breath catching in my chest. He’s holding the bouquet and paper bag he brought at the start of tonight.

Jen clears her throat. “I’m going to grab some more food.” She touches my shoulder and heads off, leaving me and Jackson alone.

Jackson’s expression cracks open with something tender. “Congrats on your first fashion show, Isabelle. I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you,” I say, a thickness in my throat.

He hands me the flowers and paper bag. “These are for you.”

I smell the peonies and peek at the strawberry jam doughnuts inside the bag. “They’re gorgeous. Thank you.”

“Of course.”

I place the items on the table next to me and hesitate, fiddling with my fingers. “Earlier tonight, I thought you weren’t going to show up.” The burning sensation in my eyes threatens to return, but I glance at the ceiling, willing it to go away.

Regret fills his eyes. “I’m sorry I was late. After I left the bakery, there was a kid who fell on the sidewalk while he was waiting for his mom and started crying when he scraped his knee. I stayed with him until his mom came. And I was going to text you, but then I thought …” He swallows. “I wouldn’t have missed your big night. Even if I was only watching from the back.”

“Oh,” I sheepishly say. “Well, I’m really happy you came.”

Tonight’s show wouldn’t have been possible without him, and our breakup doesn’t change that.

Jackson shuffles his feet, his jaw tightening like he’s considering the right words to say. “How have you been?”

I deliberate on my response. “I’ve been … managing. Work’s been busy. How about you?”

It pains me that we’re resorting to small talk like strangers.

“I’ve been missing you every day.” Jackson’s eyes connect with mine, a downcast expression washing over his face. He takes a deep breath. “I’m so sorry. I made the biggest mistake of my life, pushing you away. I know I hurt you, and I can’t apologize enough for that.”

The familiar ache in my chest returns, the one that’s been my closest companion over the last few weeks.

“You did hurt me.” My voice is a pained whisper. “But I told myself you were going through a difficult time and that you needed space. I wanted to be there for you, Jackson.” A tear slips down my cheek, and I wipe it away. “I just wish you’d let me.”