Page 13 of Tasting Sin

“We can play anything you want.” I left her at the table and grabbed the game. Ida told me a long story about her grandson while I set black and red chips on the patterned board. Something about him starting his own business. She called him a landscaping contractor, but it sounded more like he was just mowing lawns.

“Me first,” she said as soon as I had the last piece in place. I laughed, throwing my head back. She picked up a red chip and moved it to a new square. “Your turn.”

So impatient.

I took my turn moving a piece forward while she mirrored it with a smirk on her face. A laugh rolled from me when Ida jumped my first piece, stealing one of my black chips from the board and setting it in front of her. “And we’re off,” she said, celebrating herself early. “You know, my grandson loves to play games.”

“That’s what you were saying.” It wasn’t really worth telling her I wasn’t interested again. She was going to talk about him anyways, and no matter what she said, I wasn’t going to go out on a date with her apparently very charming and doubtfully as handsome as she described grandson.

Ida nodded, not caring that I was only faking interest. “And he thinks you’re a total babe,” she gushed.

“Does he now?” The voice behind me was low and calm, followed by a dry chuckle. I’d recognize that voice anywhere. I gasped, spinning around, but not before Ida’s eyes widened. I caught her giving him a once-over from the corner of my eye.

“What the hell are you doing here, Ronan?” I jumped up out of the chair, lowering my voice. “How did you know I was here?”

He smirked, and it was like a magnet for old ladies’ eyes. They all turned and stared, suddenly providing a large audience for our uncomfortable interaction. At least it was uncomfortable for me. “I have my ways,” he said, winking.

“You can’t be here,” I grumbled, turning away from him and sitting back down. Ida looked appalled, as if she hadn’t spent the last half an hour trying to convince me her grandson and I were a match made in Heaven. Now, she was eyeing me like Ronan and I just got engaged. “Is it my turn?”

Ida scrunched her brow, but I ignored it, picking up one of the black chips and moving it into a space I knew immediately was a bad move. For a moment, she forgot about the man standing behind me long enough to pick up her own piece and jump two of mine. She danced happily in her seat.

“You walked right into that one,” she said, rocking her head side to side and giggling.

Ronan chuckled, and it felt almost like he was standing closer to me. I could practically feel each breath he took. “She’s right, you know,” he agreed, and Ida grinned.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” she said, perking up in her wheelchair and tucking a wispy strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m Ida. And you are?” She fluttered her lashes, and Ronan chuckled, stepping around me and offering her his hand.

“I’m Ronan Moretti. Nellie is an old friend of mine.” He looked at me from the corner of his eye when I groaned.

Ida took his hand, blushing when he gave hers a light shake. “It’s absolutely lovely to meet you,” she said. “Nellie hasn’t ever told me about you. I’d remember it if she did.”

“That’s because we’re not really friends,” I said, attempting to ignore him by taking my turn.

Ida swatted at me, trying to appear playful, but she watched me closely, as if she was concerned I was going to cheat. When she was satisfied I wasn’t going to, she looked over my shoulder and, judging by the way she turned instantly bashful, Ronan was still standing there, probably with the same smug look on his face and posture that told everyone he was in charge whether you knew who he was or not.

“Don’t be rude,” she hissed.

Ronan rounded the table, leaning over the half-played game I no longer had any chance of winning. “Yeah, sugar. Don’t be rude.”

I gasped, quickly scanning the room to find an excuse to get out of the situation. When I didn’t find one, I sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry,” I said, and when Ronan lifted his brows, my stomach flipped.

“Nellie is right, though. We’re not really friends.” My jaw dropped. Was Ronan Moretti admitting I was right? “We’re more like business partners.”

I choked on my breath, sputtering and coughing. “No, we’re not,” I said.

“Well, not yet.” Ronan looked amused—he was having more fun with this exchange than I was, and Ida appeared to be on his side.

“Not now, Ronan.” I shot him a warning glance, earning a laugh in return. He smacked his hand against the table and stood up straight while Ida’s gaze bounced back and forth between us. She clapped gleefully.

“Okay then. Later.” He turned to me, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I’ll come by the bakery tonight, and we’ll talk.”

“I’m not working tonight.” And I didn’t want to talk.

Ronan cocked his head to the side, becoming less entertained by our back and forth. I hoped if I kept going, he’d give up, along with the hope of helping me, whatever that entailed. “Tomorrow, then.”

I shrugged, dismissing him but biting back the small smile that tugged at the corner of my lips. I didn’t want Ronan anywhere near me, so why was it so hard not to smile right now? “I should get Ida back to her room,” I said, standing from the table.

“I’ll walk you both,” Ronan said, grabbing onto the handles of Ida’s wheelchair faster than I could get to them. I sighed. It wasn’t worth fighting him. “Which way?” he asked Ida, leaning down while she giggled like a schoolgirl.

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