Page 58 of Play Pretend

“Head back there,” she told me, pressing the button on the desk. “He’ll be happy to see you. Go down the hall, take a left, and he’s the last door.”

A buzzer rang through the lobby, and I hurried to the door on the opposite side of the room and yanked it open. I gave her a quick wave before disappearing into the hallway.

The walls and tiles looked the same as they did in the lobby, but bulletin boards lined the walls, all overflowing with papers. I scanned them as I passed, but nothing caught my attention. Finally, I turned and stared at the open door at the end of the short hallway.

Ronan was sitting at his desk, his head resting on his hand. He looked more stressed than I’d ever seen him before, and I tightened my grip on the bag. I’d just drop this off for him, then leave him alone.

With a deep breath, I strode down the hall. Each step closer sent a zing of excitement through my body. My blood thrummed, and my palms sweat, but I forced myself to keep walking.

I stepped into the doorway, but he didn’t look up. He stayed staring down at the papers on his desk, his dark brows pinched tightly together. An anxious lump formed in my throat as I lifted my hand and tapped my knuckles against his door.

His head snapped up, and for a fleeting second, his eyes slashed through me like a knife. I didn’t know who he was expecting to see, but I was happy I wasn’t them. Then he realized it was me, and everything about him softened.

Slowly, his shoulders lowered, and the tension in his face relaxed. The crease between his brows smoothed out, and the tightness of his lips slackened. And the smile he gave me—it sent my heart soaring into my throat, and I couldn’t keep the smile off my own face.

“You’re here,” he said softly. “I didn’t think you’d really come.”

I tilted my head to the side. “You needed coffee.” I shrugged. “Of course I came.”

He got to his feet and gestured to the chair across his desk. “Sit. Please.”

My feet tangled under me as I jolted a step forward, nearly falling to the floor. Ronan lurched toward me, his arms outstretched despite the desk between us. I smoothed my hand over my hair, giving him a weak smile as I more calmly made my way to the chair.

“I was working on a new chocolate tart recipe when you texted,” I explained, setting the paper bag and cup on the desk. “I haven’t tried it yet, so I hope it’s okay.”

“I’m sure it’s delicious.” He grabbed the bag and sank into his chair, eagerly ripping it open. “Oh, they’re small.” A laugh bubbled up my throat at the sound of his disappointment, but I forced myself to bite it back.

“Yeah, they’re mini tarts.” I tucked my hair behind my ear as I watched him gingerly lift a tart from the bag. It was crumbly, and I knew I needed to rework the crust before he even took a bite. But the toasted marshmallow and slivered almonds were still on top, so that was a win.

His eyes met mine as he popped the whole thing in his mouth, his jaw working as he chewed. He had a lot of faith in me—it could’ve been disgusting. But from his expression, I didn’t think that was the case.

“Oh my god,” he groaned. “That’s so fucking good. S’mores? And there’s something else.”

I eagerly nodded as I sank into the chair. “Orange blossom,” I said, and he made a face like he was impressed. “I wanted to add lavender, but we already have the lavender cinnamon rolls, so I thought we needed something new.”

“The only thing I’d change is…” He popped the other in his mouth, and my anxiety skyrocketed as I watched him slowly chew. “Make them bigger.”

A small, breathy laugh escaped me, and I relaxed back into my seat, the leather creaking with my movements. “These are samples,” I told him. “Just to test the recipe. The final version will be our usual tart size.”

He nodded as he crumpled the bag into a ball and tossed it into his bin. As he relaxed, he rested his hands on the desk, the tips of his fingers tapping against the wood. He always did that—tapped against something or locked his truck multiple times. ButI didn’t want to bring it up. Maybe he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

“I wasn’t sure how you like your coffee,” I blurted, needing to fill the empty silence. “It’s black, but I figured you had sugar and cream here?” I glanced around, suddenly unsure. Was that something they kept in a police department? Probably not. They’re all masculine men, and sugary coffee was probably too girly for them.

“Everyone says I have a cup of sugar with a splash of coffee,” Ronan said. I blinked at him. Somehow, I thought he would be a coffee black kind of guy. No nonsense. Straightforward. But there seemed to be more to him than I initially thought. “How do you take yours, shortcake?”

I rolled my lips between my teeth to fight my smile. “Brown sugar with a healthy dose of oat milk.”

“You have a sweet tooth too, then?” he asked, and I nodded.

“My mom was always so worried my teeth would rot out of my head from the amount of sugar I ate when I was a kid,” I said, huffing out a laugh.

“My mom used to say the same thing.” We grinned at each other, and this time, the silence that fell over us wasn’t uncomfortable. “Thank you for coming.”

“No problem.” I chewed my bottom lip as I looked around his office. It was nearly as bare as his house was. Nothing but work-related things on the walls, and his desk was covered in papers. There was nothingpersonal, nothing that showed me who Ronan was. It was just a place for him to work—just as it seemed his house was nothing but a place for him to sleep.

Nothing was permanent.

I swallowed thickly as I drummed my fingers against my thighs. How long before I overstayed my welcome? If I left too soon, it would be rude, but too late would be awkward. Seconds ticked by, the clock on the wall the only sound in the room.

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