Page 25 of A Perfect Fit

Stop staring, Jackson.

Dodging a few tourists, I walk to Isabelle’s booth. There’s a stack of pamphlets on the table, titled Designed by Isabelle Fashion Show.

Isabelle doesn’t notice when I’m standing behind her. She’s sprayed on perfume, too—something fruity and floral, like a mix of oranges and jasmine. It complements the dress she’s wearing and reminds me of spring.

“Come on, Daisy,” Isabelle says to the mannequin while trying to steady it. “Stay still.”

I raise a brow. Is she seriously talking to a mannequin right now? “Are you⁠—”

Isabelle lets out a startled yelp and nearly stumbles backward.

“Goddamn, Isabella,” I mutter, my hands resting on her shoulders to steady her from falling.

She spins around, giving me a scowl. She needs to stop scowling like that every time she sees me, or a permanent glower will form on her face. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“Sorry to interrupt your little chat,” I say. “I’m curious, though, do you always go around naming and talking to inanimate objects?”

She purses her lips. “Yes, and stop judging.”

I lift a hand in defeat. “I wasn’t.”

It’s not a lie. It’s somewhat cute, the way she was talking to Dais—I mean, the mannequin.

Isabelle rubs her temples and sighs. “What are you doing here?”

“Patience,” I drawl. “I was just getting there.” I take out the envelope from inside my pocket. “This is for you.”

She stares at the envelope. “What’s this? A love letter?”

I snicker. Me writing Isabelle a love letter? Yeah, right. There’s a greater chance I’ll end up on Mars tomorrow.

“Nice to know that’s where you mind went to, but no. Take a look inside.”

Isabelle hesitates before opening the envelope and peering cautiously inside, like she’s scared cockroaches might suddenly jump out.

The apprehension on her face fades and is replaced by a flicker of warmth as she opens Anna’s card.

“Anna made a card for me?”

“Yeah,” I say, touching my neck. “Anna’s wanted to be a fashion designer since she was five, and she thinks you’re an inspiration. She wanted me to give this to you since we’re … you know … apparently friends.”

I don’t know why I’m suddenly getting all flustered. That’s never happened before when I’m around her or anyone else, for that matter. Thankfully, Isabelle doesn’t comment on it.

“She’s so sweet,” she says. “Tell Anna I said thanks.”

I stuff my hands in my pockets. “No problem.”

Silence follows, and this might be the longest we’ve ever gone without poking at each other. With words, I mean.

Isabelle clears her throat. “Well, I guess⁠—”

“Fuck,” I suddenly curse, my gaze drifting to the sight behind her.

The mannequin, Daisy, looks unsteady and about to topple over at any moment now. I can’t believe I’m also referring to it as Daisy—I refuse to join Isabelle in naming inanimate objects—but that’s beside the point.

Isabelle’s eyes narrow. “What?”

“Watch out!” I say as Daisy starts plummeting toward the ground and is very close to hitting Isabelle.