“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 toClosedand 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 movingin 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.”
