Chapter 24 #2
The memory of his goodbye kiss in the doorway lingered, steady and sweet, like a secret she wasn’t ready to let go. “Better than I expected, actually. He kissed me goodbye today. In his office doorway. In full view of everyone still there.”
Lucy’s jaw dropped. “No. Way.”
“Yes way,” Devney said, unable to keep the happiness from her voice. “And he sent my desk into floristry overload this morning. Sunflowers. Dozens of them.”
“Okay, I’m officially swooning,” Lucy said. “But I’m still reserving the right to interrogate him when he gets here.”
“About that,” Devney began, “he’s joining us as soon as he finishes a call with Tokyo.”
“Perfect,” Lucy said, glancing at her watch. “That gives us about forty-five minutes for you to tell me everything that happened on Martha’s Vineyard. I want details, Sinclair. Not the sanitized version you texted me.”
“It wasn’t sanitized,” Devney protested.
“’Things worked out. Coming home tomorrow.’ That was your entire text,” Lucy deadpanned. “Now, start talking.”
Devney took a deep breath and, between sips of tea and bites of madeleine, told her everything—the desperate journey to the island, her conversation with Eleanor, the shock of learning he was there too, and finally, their honest confessions on the veranda.
“When he said what he did. I didn’t even know what to say,” she said. “It felt like he was offering me back what I hadn’t realized I’d been missing.”
Lucy’s eyes were suspiciously bright. “That’s romantic for a man who probably color-codes his sock drawer.”
“He does,” Devney laughed. “But he’s also much more than that. He’s considerate and passionate and surprisingly vulnerable when he lets his guard down.”
“And clearly in love with you,” Lucy added, genuine emotion tempering her usual sharp wit.
“Yeah,” Devney said, looking down into her mug. “I’m still getting used to that part.”
“Tell me the truth. How was it really at the office? Really?” Lucy asked, her voice growing more serious. “I know you’re putting on a brave face, but walking back in there after what happened…”
Devney sobered, cradling her mug between her hands. “It wasn’t easy,” she admitted. “There were a lot of stares, whispers. But Ronan was incredible. He handled it all with confidence, like he didn’t care what anyone thought, as long as we were together.”
“Wow,” Lucy murmured. “That doesn’t sound like the workaholic control freak you’ve been complaining about for six months.”
“He’s different,” Devney said. “Or maybe he’s the same, and I’m seeing more of him now. Parts he kept hidden before.”
“The parts worth falling in love with,” Lucy supplied, her usual snark replaced by genuine emotion.
“Yeah.” Devney said. “Those parts.”
They spent the next half-hour catching up—Lucy filling her in on bakery drama and a potential expansion to a second location, Devney sharing more details about the aftermath of their Martha’s Vineyard revelations.
The conversation flowed easily between them, punctuated by laughter and the random customer entering the bakery.
As Lucy began closing up shop, she flipped the sign to Closed and started counting the register. Devney helped wipe down tables and straighten chairs, falling back into the routine they’d established during countless evenings when she’d stop by after work.
“So,” Lucy said, hanging up her apron as they finished the closing routine, “what’s the plan with Ronan? Are you moving in together? Planning a real engagement? Adopting a cat named Spreadsheet?”
Devney choked on her last sip of tea. “We’re taking it slow,” she said once she’d recovered. “Well, slow-ish. He gave me a key to his place yesterday.”
“A key?” Lucy’s expression showed her surprise. “That’s significant.”
“I know. It has a little sunflower charm on the keychain.”
“Oh my God,” Lucy groaned, though her eyes were twinkling. “He’s turning into a romantic. This is your doing, isn’t it? You’ve corrupted him.”
“Maybe a little,” Devney conceded. “But he’s still Ronan. He had a spreadsheet for our first date options.”
They dissolved into laughter that was unrestrained, carrying with it a sense of release and repair, the kind that only best friends share. As they were recovering, the bell above the door chimed, drawing their attention.
Ronan stood in the doorway, looking simultaneously imposing and out of place in his perfectly tailored suit. His gaze swept the bakery once before landing on Devney, the subtle shift in his eyes a little more open, a little less defended, still having the power to make her pulse race.
“Come on in,” Lucy called from behind the counter. “We were expecting you.” She glanced at her watch. “Six fifty-five. I’m impressed.”
Ronan stepped into the bakery, closing the door behind him. He crossed to where Devney sat, leaning down to press a brief kiss to her temple before turning to face Lucy. “You must be Lucy,” he said, extending his hand. “I’ve heard a great deal about you.”
Lucy grasped his hand with a firm shake. “And I’ve heard volumes about you, Mr. Wilder. Some of it recently revised.”
The corner of Ronan’s mouth twitched. “Ronan, please.”
“Ronan,” Lucy amended, gesturing for him to sit. “Fair warning—I’m going to ask you extremely personal questions over dinner, and I expect honest answers.”
“Lucy!” Devney said, shooting her friend a warning look.
“What?” Lucy shrugged, unrepentant. “He’s dating my best friend. Standard best-friend protocols apply.”
Ronan didn’t seem bothered by Lucy’s directness. If anything, he appeared amused. “I see your point,” he said, his tone serious, though a new light danced in his eyes. “I’d expect nothing less from anyone who cares about Devney.”
Lucy quickly covered her surprise and said, “Well, good. I made reservations at Vincenzo’s for 7:15. We should head over now if we don’t want to lose our table.”
“I’ll get my coat,” Devney said, rising from her chair. As she passed Ronan, his fingers tightened around hers in a reassuring way.
“How was Tokyo?” she asked.
“Impatient,” he replied with a slight shrug. “But manageable. Gabriel’s handling the call follow-up.”
“You delegated?” Devney asked, feigning shock. “Who are you, and what have you done with Ronan Wilder?”
That look surfaced again—the one that made her pulse skip and her thoughts scatter. “I’m learning to prioritize,” he said, his low voice firm and unwavering. “Some things matter more than quarterly projections.”
“I’m honored to rank above spreadsheets,” she teased.
“You aren’t on the same chart, Devney,” he said, his voice dropping. “Spreadsheets are a tool to build a business. You are the reason the business is worth building.”
“If you two can tear yourselves away from whatever intense thing you’ve got going on,” Lucy interrupted from the door, coat and purse already in hand, “we have twelve minutes to make it across the street before they give away our table.”
Dinner at the small Italian restaurant was a revelation.
Devney had expected awkwardness, stilted conversation, perhaps even some minor disaster.
Instead, she watched in amazement as Ronan and Lucy fell into an unexpected rhythm—her friend’s blunt questions met with his progressively more open and candid answers.
“So,” Lucy said, twirling pasta around her fork, “when did you realize you were in love with her and not playing a role?”
Devney choked on her wine. “Lucy!”
“When she made soup in my kitchen,” Ronan answered. The simple admission silenced both women. He looked at Devney, vulnerability in his gaze. “I had a fever. You were in my kitchen making your grandmother’s soup. It felt like home.”
The restaurant around them seemed to fade away.
“That’s—” Lucy began, then cleared her throat. “That’s romantic.”
“It wasn’t meant to be,” Ronan said, his eyes still on Devney. “It was the truth.”
The rest of dinner passed in a blur of shared stories and unexpected laughter.
Ronan revealed glimpses of himself that Devney was still discovering—his dry humor emerging more frequently, his observations genuine rather than calculating.
By the time they finished dessert, Lucy was looking at him with grudging approval.
“Well,” she said as they stepped outside the restaurant into the cool evening air, “I have to admit, you’re not what I expected, Ronan Wilder.”
“Is that a compliment?” he asked.
“Let’s call it an observation,” Lucy said, her voice all mischief and zero apology. She turned to Devney and wrapped her in a quick hug. “Call me tomorrow,” she whispered. “He’ll do.”
Devney laughed, hugging her back. “I’ll take that as your official blessing.”
As Lucy headed back toward the bakery, Ronan guided Devney to his car, his hand at her back offering firm, reassuring support.
They drove in easy silence for a few minutes, the city lights streaking past. The air outside had cooled, but the heat between them held.
“Your friend is formidable,” Ronan said, as he turned onto her street.
“She likes you,” Devney said, glancing over at him. “That’s high praise from Lucy. She doesn’t approve of anyone.”
“I’m honored,” he said, and she knew he meant it.
When they pulled up to her building, he turned off the engine but made no move to get out.
“Coming up?” she asked, her heart racing despite how natural the question felt.
“I was hoping you’d ask,” he said. “Though I should mention, we’ve been making excellent use of my bed. Yours deserves some attention too.”
She laughed, the sound bright in the quiet car. “Equal opportunity sleeping arrangements?”
“Something like that,” he said, getting out and circling to open her door.
In the elevator, the tension was different than before, this time the confident anticipation of lovers who knew what awaited them.
“I love you,” he said as she fumbled with her keys. “I should’ve said it on Martha’s Vineyard. I’m saying it now.”
“I love you too,” she said, finally getting the door open. “All of you.”
He followed her inside, and this time there was no hesitation, no pretense. Just them, real and together, with all the time in the world.