Page 2 of Play Pretend

As if on cue, he said, “Vanessa and Grant are moving into their new house soon.”

I closed my eyes and let my head fall back against the couch. My teeth sank into my bottom lip, the bite of pain pushing away the emotion threatening to climb into my chest.

“I wish you could see it,” he continued.

“It looks gorgeous from the photos you’ve sent.”My words came out ragged, each syllable forced past my stiff lips.

I pried my eyes open, staring at the rainbows refracted across the ceiling from the film on my window. Decaying vines crawled up the walls and stretched across the ceiling, held in place by small hooks, like a floating, dying garden. They drooped, lifeless, but I knew I could revive them. I just needed to try a little harder.

“It’s four bedrooms, so they—”Can grow into it, I mentally finished.

“And—”Three bathrooms.

“A fire pit outside that’ll be perfect for—”Summer cookouts.

He droned on, describing a house I’d already heard about a million times. I hadn’t seen the place in person, yet I knew every inch of it. It wasn’t the house itself that stung, but the approval in his tone—thepride.

Twisting, I glanced over my shoulder through the window. Ronan stacked the chopped wood into a neat pile before grabbing another log and setting it up. His fingers tapped along the wooden handle, then he lifted it above his head.

What would it be like to be loved by a man like him? A man who didn’t take the easy way out, who put in the hard work. Someone who wouldn’t make me feel like second best or too much trouble. Someone who would see me as something more than a burden.

Someone who wouldn’t make me feel guilty for expecting the bare minimum—for wanting my basic needs met.

Ronan slammed the axe into the ground and lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face. The sight of his chiseled abs, lightly dusted with hair, sent a wave of heat through me.

As if sensing my gaze, he looked around. I ducked lower behind the couch, my heart hammering in my chest. Our eyes met through the window—or at least I thought they did. Did he know I was watching him?

It was dark in my apartment, and the frilly, off-white curtain separated us, hopefully hiding me.

Maybe he felt my gaze burning into him. Maybe he felt my desperation—not for his body, or even his attention, but the desperation to get off the fucking phone with my dad.

“You’re still working at the bakery?” My father’s words pulled me back again, and I exhaled slowly.

“Yeah, Dad. I still work there.”

“And you still like living there?”

“Yep. I love it.”

A beat of silence stretched between us, and I knew what was coming before he even said it. “So, there’s no chance I can convince you to move back home?” His laugh was tight, strained, but I didn’t so much as smile.

It was a conversation we’d had since the second I announced I was leaving. At first, he’d thought it was a joke, a pipe dream. But then my car was packed, I was heading out, and he realized it was all real.

Sometimes I wondered if he kept asking because he missed me, but the logical part of my mind knew the truth: he wanted control. Maybe not even consciously, but somewhere deep down, he had to know that his only driving force in life was to control everyone around him. He couldn’t fathom anyone surviving without his constant input, his meddling, his unwanted advice.

Yet…here I was.

Perhaps notthriving, but I wasliving. And that was more than I could say for him—or for anyone I left behind.

“No,” I said gently. “This is my home now.”

It had been for years.

More silence followed, heavy with unspoken arguments. When would he accept this place as my home? Ohio had always felt like prison, but Cedar Ridge—Maine? It felt more like home than anywhere ever had.

“It just seems like you never do anything,” he said, his words snaking around my throat, tightening until I could barely breathe. “You work and go home. You don’t do anything. You don’t go anywhere?—”

“I go to the lighthouse all the time,” I interrupted, and he scoffed.

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