IVY POV
We stared at each other, neither of us backing down. I could feel my leg shaking, a nervous tremor I couldn't stop no matter how hard I tried. My heart was pounding so loud I was sure he could hear it.
Then Walter stepped between us, leaned in, and whispered something in Ronan's ear.
What happened next shocked me.
"Please… please," Ronan said, his jaw tight, teeth gritted like the word physically hurt him.
I froze.
Did he really just say please?
The great, untouchable Ronan Hale had just begged.
"It's that better?" he added, his voice cold, like he hated every second of it.
I blinked, then lifted my chin. "Even if it's half-hearted, I'm not a douche like someone," I said, brushing past him as I moved toward the counter.
That's when Vienna spoke.
Her voice was small and high-pitched, irritating in a way I couldn't explain. Why did she sound like that?
"Baby… this isn't really my scene," she said, clinging to his arm. "I need to get going. Be fine, okay?"
"Yeah," he murmured, leaning down and kissing her lips.
Something in my chest pulled tight as I watched them. I didn't know why. I didn't want to know why. But it hurt in a way I didn't understand.
Walter's voice snapped me out of it. "Here… an apron."
I took it from him. "Thank you," I whispered.
My eyes lifted without permission and met Ronan's. For half a second, we just looked at each other.
Then he turned away, already walking Vienna out to her car, his hand at the small of her back.
I stood there in the kitchen, apron in my hands, heart doing something it had no business doing.
Ronan came back about five minutes later.
By then, Walter and I were already measuring out flour and clearing space on the counter. I had tied the apron around my waist, my sleeves rolled up, trying to focus on what I knew best… baking. Something simple. Something I could control.
I could feel him before I saw him.
The air shifted. Heavy. Charged.
I glanced up and found Ronan leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, watching us like he owned the room. His expression was unreadable, his eyes dark and sharp, like he was studying every move I made.
"We're starting with the basics," I said, breaking the silence, even though my heart was thumping. "If you want this pie to turn out right, you're going to have to actually listen."
He didn't respond. Just pushed off the doorframe and walked closer.
Walter cleared his throat. "I'll let you two handle it," he said gently, stepping back but staying close enough to watch.
Ronan stopped beside me, close enough that I could smell him… clean, expensive, and dangerously distracting.
"So," he said low, eyes on the flour. "What's first, tutor girl?"
I exhaled slowly, squared my shoulders, and handed him the measuring cup.
"Try not to mess this up," I said.
His lips twitched. Just barely.
And somehow, that tiny reaction made my pulse spike.
I placed the bowl down and looked straight at him.
"If I help you do this perfectly," I said firmly, "you have to be serious with your tutor sessions."
He looked at me, eyes narrowing slightly, like he wasn't used to being given terms.
"If not, I'm out." I let the flour drop back into the bowl, dust puffing into the air as I stepped back.
He scoffed. "Yeah… for fuck's sake. You've got quite a temper."
"Do you promise?" I asked, not backing down. My heart was beating fast, but my voice stayed steady.
He stared at me for a long moment. Then he nodded.
"Hold on," I said quickly.
I rushed to the sink, washed my hands, then slid my phone out of my pocket. My fingers trembled just a little as I pressed record.
"Say it again," I said. "I want it on record."
He blinked. "You can't be serious."
"Would you trust you if you were me?" I asked quietly.
He didn't answer at first. Just looked at me.
Then he sighed, clearly annoyed.
"I, Ronan Hale, promise to focus on tutoring from now on. No more cancellations."
I smiled and slipped my phone back into my pocket. "Thank you."
I picked up the bowl again, suddenly lighter, calmer.
"Now," I said, glancing up at him, "let's begin."
I turned back to the counter, trying to ignore the way my heart was still racing. I handed him the mixing bowl.
"Okay," I said, calmer now. "First rule of baking… measure properly. No guessing."
He took the bowl like it might explode. "You sound like Professor Reyes."
I shot him a look. "And you sound like someone who's never followed instructions in his life."
A corner of his mouth twitched, but he didn't argue.
I showed him how to level the flour with the back of a knife. He copied me… slow, focused, surprisingly careful. Some of the flour spilled anyway.
"Close enough," he said.
"No," I corrected, gently nudging his hand. "Try again."
Our fingers brushed.
I froze for half a second. So did he.
The air felt thick, charged, like something unspoken had just passed between us. I pulled my hand back quickly and cleared my throat.
"Good," I said, pretending nothing happened. "Now add the sugar."
He did, watching me from the corner of his eye. "You're different when you're teaching."
I frowned. "Different how?"
"Less annoying," he said.
I snorted. "That's the nicest thing you've said to me."
He huffed out a quiet laugh… short, unexpected.
We worked in silence for a few minutes. Mixing. Measuring. Following steps. It was… strangely normal.
Then he spoke again, quieter this time. "You really think this will work?"
I looked at him, at the flour on his sleeves, the tension in his shoulders.
"Yes," I said honestly. "If you stop fighting it."
He didn't reply. Just nodded once.
And for the first time, I thought…maybe this wouldn't be a complete disaster after all.