Page 37 of Sinner’s Game

“You are a fount of amazing facts. I never would’ve guessed.”

“No, you just assumed that I was hollow and one note. Too wrapped up in my action hero, bachelor ways to even have flour and sugar.”

I grimace. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Did I?” The twinkle in his eye gives him away. “Well, maybe I did. But it was fun egging you on.”

“It was fun deserving it,” I respond, laughing as I stand up to follow him to the kitchen.

I’m not sure if he started this whole banter knowing that it would soothe me, but whatever the reason, that’s the result. My world may have been knocked off kilter, but at the moment, it feels very much back on track.

The house has an open floor plan, and once we reach the kitchen, he settles on one of the stools at the island. “I can pull out the ingredients for you, if you want.”

“Nope. This is my jam. I’ve got it. Just tell me where you keep things.”

“As you wish,” he says, then settles onto the stool to watch me grab and mix together the ingredients for oatmeal raisin cookies, a recipe I make so frequently that I could do it in my sleep. To my surprise, he has everything I need.

Although, actually it’s not a surprise. But it would have been half an hour ago.

“You’re staring,” I say as I use a wooden spoon to mix the batter.

I glance quickly in his direction, and I think I see a gleam in his eye when he says, “I like to watch.”

I roll my eyes and focus on the dough. This is something I genuinely love doing. It’s soothing. The ritual of it. The creativity. Honestly, if I didn’t love making bags so much, I could happily open a bakery.

For that matter, maybe I should start selling special bags filled with cookies. A half dozen in a little sleeve that you sling over your arm. It could be a thing.

“You’re smiling.”

I shake my head. “Just being silly. Thinking about designing a purse that’s primary purpose is to carry cookies.”

“Very innovative. And it’s nice to see you smile.”

“I’ve been smiling.”

He shakes his head. “Not like this. Not since we found the body. Your smiles have been polite. Conversational. This one is joyous. I can’t say I blame you, but I’m glad to see it again.”

I’m not sure what to say. Either about my mood or about the fact that he sees me so clearly.

So I simply nod, then clear my throat and get back to work. “You really do have a well-stocked kitchen.”

“Action hero. Cook. Just like you said.”

“You really cook? Or is this just for when you have women over? Cook them a nice meal before the, you know, whatever.”

I want to call back the words the moment I’ve said them, but thankfully, he only looks amused. “The whatever is the good part. And I think I already explained that I don’t do the dating thing. That means I don’t do the cooking thing. Not for women, anyway. But I do cook for me.”

“All the more reason to consider myself lucky, I guess,” I say. “After all, I’m getting cookies.”

“Yes. You are.”

Silence fills the kitchen. I’m not sure what he’s thinking, but my mind has gone immediately to all the things that I don’t get with Ronan. Things I shouldn’t want but do. Things that are outside my comfort zone but right now are so tempting. Maybe it’s the reminder of my mortality. Maybe it’s fear.

And maybe that’s all just an excuse. But I want to be in his arms. I want him to kiss and soothe me. But I know that won’t happen. Because what Ronan wants from a woman is a fast fuck. Scratching an itch and moving on.

What I want with a man is a future.

“—apple pie.”