Page 85 of A Perfect Fit

“You too.”

I pull her into a hug, savoring one last moment of physical contact before we part ways. When we pull apart, I watch Isabelle’s retreating figure as she heads down the hallway, a lump forming in my throat.

Once I’m inside my room, I take off my tie and suit jacket, heading to the bathroom to brush my teeth, but my mind’s restless, and I’m still replaying everything that happened tonight—seeing Isabelle wearing that dress and realizing my feelings for her, my awards speech, our dance …

I’m grabbing a towel when there’s a sudden knock at the door.

“Hey, Jackson?” It’s Isabelle’s voice. She sounds nervous. “Are you free?”

My heart skips a beat and then another. “Of course.”

When I open the door, Isabelle’s still in her dress from tonight, and I think she’s taken off her heels because we’re at our usual height difference again. She’s also holding a white cotton tote bag.

“Hi,” she says, fiddling with the straps of the bag.

“Hey,” I breathe. “What’s up?”

Isabelle lifts the bag toward me. “I just wanted to give you this.”

My gaze darts to the bag, then back to her, an expanding feeling in my chest, like a flower blossoming in spring. “You got me a present?”

She draws her bottom lip between her teeth. “Have a look inside.”

I take out the item from inside, revealing a navy-blue sweatshirt with the letters JC embroidered in tiny white print at the top-right corner.

It’s gorgeous. My Bella—my thoughtful Bella—must’ve had this custom-made when she purchased it.

Isabelle takes a deep breath. “It’s been a very long time since I made men’s clothing, so⁠—”

“Hang on,” I interject, my voice breathless and my heart racing. “You made this?”

Isabelle nods, her cheeks tinting pink. “Originally, I was going to make you a suit since you love your suits so much. But that didn’t work out, and I wanted to have it done in time for tonight. Then I thought you already had a ton of suits, so maybe I’d make you something more casual instead, like a sweatshirt.”

I stare at her as I take in her words, my pulse still accelerating like crazy.

Isabelle made a sweatshirt for me.

She thought of me. She spent time designing it, picking out the color and material, and bringing the design to life with her talent and craft. She put in time and effort to make a piece of clothing for me when she could’ve been doing something else.

“If it’s not your style, that’s all good,” she adds with a small laugh when I don’t speak. “I won’t get offended.”

Pain rises in my chest at her brushing off her hard work. “Don’t say that. It’s so beautiful. Thank you. It’s the best gift I’ve ever received, and it’s perfect.”

You’re perfect.

I pull the sweatshirt over my head to demonstrate.

It feels warm and cozy, and it even smells like her. This is my new favorite piece of clothing, and I don’t ever want to take it off.

Isabelle eyes me up and down, biting her lip. “How is it?”

My voice is unwavering when I speak. “A perfect fit.”

A relieved smile curls on her lips. “That’s good. I was worried that maybe it’d be too small or too big. Oh, by the way, there’s one part near the collar where the stitching might look a little out of place, so feel free to ignore that …”

“Bella,” I say, but she continues talking.

She definitely has a habit of rambling when she’s nervous.