Page 98 of A Perfect Fit

“Well, everything’s good in moderation,” Andrew says with a chuckle. “Too much caffeine can’t be good for your body, though.”

“I’ll try my best not to overdo it,” I joke.

“Will your mother be coming to visit you anytime soon?”

“She’ll … yeah,” I say, shuffling my feet and caught off guard by the change in topic. “She’ll be visiting New York in the coming weeks.”

Andrew nods. “That will be nice.”

“Yeah.” I check the time on my watch, ignoring the strange sensation in my gut. “Well, I should get going. Have a good weekend, Andrew.”

Andrew gives me another nod. “You too.”

“According to the weather app, there’s going to be a severe thunderstorm tonight.”

I toss a glance at Isabelle, who’s sitting next to me in the car as Tony drives us to her parents’ place.

“A severe thunderstorm?” I ask.

It’s been cloudy most of the day, but there haven’t been any other clear signs of rain yet.

“Uh-huh.” Isabelle leans back in her seat. “But who knows? I never trust the weather forecast.”

“Maybe we’ll be stranded at your parents’ house for the night.”

Isabelle waves a hand. “Oh, I doubt it’ll get to that.”

She starts reapplying her pink lipstick, and I tell myself to stare at the traffic outside instead of thinking about her lips and the times I felt them against mine.

Spoiler: it’s difficult.

In Chicago, I tasted and felt her need. From the way she kissed me back and looked at me that night with adoration in her eyes. And, God, those soft lips⁠—

“Are you okay?” Isabelle places her lipstick back inside her purse. “You seem distracted.”

“Just thinking about how I’m going to make a good impression on my future in-laws,” I say, mentally patting myself on the back for managing to sound casual.

Isabelle rolls her eyes. “Don’t worry; they’ll probably love you.”

I flaunt her a grin. “That confident in me, huh?”

“We’ll see.”

I’ve never met any girl’s parents before, but I’m not worried about being Isabelle’s boyfriend—fine, fake boyfriend—tonight. In fact, I’m confident about that. But I’m slightly nervous because I have a gut feeling that tonight has the potential to be a turning point for Isabelle and me.

“Is there anything in particular I should know before I meet your family?” I ask.

“Well, there’s my sister, Ivy, who you’ve already met. Her fiancé, Ben, will also be there. They’re both lawyers, and my parents are also lawyers. My dad is quite chill, but …” Isabelle falters and plays with the end of her cream sundress. “My mom can be intense.”

I give her hand a squeeze. “It’ll be okay. I’ll be with you the whole time, and your mom won’t scare me.”

A tiny smile graces her lips. “I know.”

Isabelle deserves to have someone who will be there for her endlessly, unconditionally, and I want to be that person. I want to call her mine.

I was too stubborn to realize my feelings for her eight years ago, but now, I refuse to waste even a second being in denial about how I feel about her. For Isabelle—my Isabelle—I’m willing to do everything and anything so that I deserve to call her mine.

Ten minutes later, we’re standing outside the door to Isabelle’s parents’ townhouse. Isabelle takes a deep breath, rings the doorbell, and takes a step back.