Page 26 of A Perfect Fit

My reflexes taking over, I grab Isabelle’s arm to pull her away and use my other hand to push Daisy. Daisy crashes sideways onto the adjacent clothes rack, causing a loud thud and sending a domino of clothes falling to the ground.

Isabelle loses her balance, gasping as she crashes into my arms. My senses heightening, I note the way her breath hitches, and as she collides against me, heat simmers in my body, like there’s some kind of dangerous wildfire burning in my veins.

She glances up at me, her brown eyes widening.

I wonder if she felt that, too.

Strangely, I find myself glancing down at her lips. My throat bobs, and I force myself to divert my gaze away. The warmth radiating off Isabelle’s body dissipates as she lets go. Instead, a sudden coldness creeps up my body, like a warm blanket being taken away from you on a cold evening.

This is even worse than that time our hands brushed at the last market.

“Thanks,” Isabelle mutters.

“You’re welcome.”

She walks over to Daisy and props her back up before picking up the dropped clothes and hanging them back on their hangers. She looks calm and completely unaffected by whatever just happened between us, which only makes me feel pathetic.

My jaw tightens. I should leave. I passed on Anna’s card, and whatever Isabelle’s doing now isn’t any of my concern.

I glance at the blue garment she’s picking up, a mesh design with long sleeves and flower embellishments.

For some reason, it looks familiar.

I was scouting for an empty seat in the library at Summerhurst High when I spotted Isabelle sitting alone, her head down and her coloring pencils out.

I walked over to where she was seated and peered over her shoulder.

Isabelle was so focused that she didn’t even notice me arriving. She was sketching a design—a pastel blue dress with long sleeves and flower embellishments.

As much as I hated to admit it, she was talented at drawing.

“That looks good,” I said.

Isabelle froze before she snapped her sketchbook shut and turned to me. “Do you have to make fun of everything I do?”

My lips pursed. “I meant that as a compliment.”

“A compliment from you?” She snorted. “Sure.”

God, she was the most obstinate and infuriating person I’d ever met. If she insisted on being like this, fine.

“Shouldn’t you be preparing for Friday’s debate?”

She stood up and grabbed her backpack, sketchbook, and coloring pencils. “Don’t worry; I’ll make sure to beat you.”

The sounds of laughter in the distance snap me out of my thoughts.

I don’t know why I still remember that memory so vividly when it was eight years ago. And I don’t know why seeing the determination on Isabelle’s face and that same design she once sketched, now transformed into a real dress, tugs at something within me I can’t describe.

Dammit.

Before I can change my mind, I join her in picking up the fallen clothes.

Isabelle whips her head around and stares at me like I’ve grown another head. “What are you doing?”

“Building a snowman,” I sarcastically say. “No, seriously, I’m just trying to help.”

“Thanks,” she mumbles, her face unreadable.