Page 84 of A Perfect Fit

My phone rings inside my pocket, and I reluctantly check it to see it’s a FaceTime call from Aaron.

“Go take it,” Isabelle says.

“I’ll be quick.”

As Isabelle walks back to our table, I head outside the room to take Aaron’s call.

“Hey,” I say, picking up.

Aaron’s cheery face appears on the screen. He’s in his kitchen, his phone propped up as he places a few blueberries inside a bowl of yogurt. “Did we win?”

“We did.”

“Woo-hoo!” He takes a scoop of his yogurt, placing it inside his mouth. “Okay. Now that that’s out of the way, how’s my favorite couple doing?”

I run a hand through my hair. “You were right.”

A huge shit-eating grin forms on his face. “Right about what specifically? I’m right about many things.”

“I have feelings for Isabelle,” I admit. “And I had feelings for her all along.”

It feels good to say it out loud, even though Aaron’s no doubt going to roast me for not realizing my feelings earlier.

“I knew it!” Glee spreads across his face. “I can’t believe you finally came to your senses. Oh, I feel like such a proud dad right now. This deserves a celebration.”

“You’re so dramatic,” I groan, but I’m biting back a smile. His support means a lot.

“Well, I guess I was dramatically right then.” A frown touches Aaron’s face. “Wait, does that make sense?”

I chuckle. “Yep. Anyway, I’d better get going.”

“Remember, you still owe me a hundred bucks,” Aaron says before we hang up.

Heading back inside the ballroom, I spot Isabelle chatting with another woman among the sea of people and rejoin her.

In any crowded room, her face is the first one I search for.

“I have to head to my room to grab something,” Isabelle says.

We’ve spent the last forty minutes networking with others, which means I haven’t had proper alone time with Isabelle since our dance. But I can tell something’s occupying her mind.

“Is everything okay?” I ask.

She nods slowly. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” I say, still not entirely convinced. “We can call it a night if that’s easier. There’s no pressure to stay any longer.”

The event’s starting to wrap up, and the room is already less full than earlier tonight. We have a morning flight tomorrow, and as much as I wish the night wouldn’t end, I want Isabelle to get enough rest.

“Okay,” she agrees. “That sounds good.”

My chest tightens as we leave the ballroom and head for the elevator, riding it in silence to the eighteenth floor.

Is this her way of saying she just wants to go back to her room?

The elevator opens with a ding, and I gesture for Isabelle to step out first.

“Thank you for tonight,” I say.