RONAN POV
I watched her move around the kitchen as if she belonged there… focused, calm, and bossy in a way that somehow worked. Annoying. Definitely annoying.
And yet… I couldn't look away.
She corrected my grip on the bowl, told me to slow down, and told me I was rushing like it was a competition. I wanted to argue. Hell, I always argued. It was instinct at this point.
But I didn't.
Because as much as she irritated me, Ivy Cross was…. Different.
At twenty-two, she already had a CGPA of 7.2… something I'd heard whispered by professors like she is a damn legend. A genius. The kind of brain people didn't forget. The kind that could actually drag my ass out of academic hell if she wanted to.
And the worst part?
She wasn't trying to impress me.
She didn't flirt. Didn't fawn. Didn't soften her words because I was Ronan Hale. She didn't treat me like a problem that needed fixing. And I didn't know whether that pissed me off or pulled me in.
"You're overmixing," she said without looking at me.
"I'm following the steps," I muttered.
"No, you're attacking the dough," she replied dryly. "It's not your enemy, Hale."
I scoffed. "Everything's my enemy."
She paused, glanced at me, then went back to work like she hadn't just cracked something open in my chest.
Annoying. Brilliant. Infuriatingly calm.
I leaned against the counter, watching her measure ingredients with precision, her brows pulled together in concentration. She had no idea how rare that focus was. No idea how dangerous it was to someone like me.
"Are you always this serious?" I asked.
"When it matters," she said. "Yes."
Something about that stuck.
I didn't say anything else. I just followed her instructions. And for once, I didn't feel like bolting.
Maybe because for the first time in a long while… someone wasn't giving up on me.
I leaned against the counter, arms crossed, trying to look bored…But I couldn't stop staring at her. She worked with the flour and sugar carefully, like she had a plan for every move, but there was something natural and smooth about the way she moved.
Annoying. Frustrating. And… impossible to look away from.
"You missed a step," she said, not looking up, voice calm but sharp.
I frowned. "I didn't."
"Yes, you did," she said, finally meeting my eyes. That glare… it wasn't angry. Not really. It was judging. Like she could see right through me... And I hated it.
I gritted my teeth. "Fine," I muttered, moving to redo it.
She didn't say anything. Just let me fumble through it, correcting me subtly when needed.
And that's when it hit me… Ivy Cross didn't just know her stuff… she owned it. Every move, every word, every little correction she made was precise and confident. She was brilliant. A genius. And somehow, she made me feel like a kid trying to catch up.
I clenched my jaw. I hated that she could get to me like this. Furthermore, I hated her sharp tongue, her little smirks when I messed up, and the way she quietly knew what she was doing… and that it actually mattered to me.
And yet… I couldn't shake it. I was unable to stop watching her.
At twenty-two, with a CGPA of 7.2, she was already leagues above me academically. She didn't need to babysit me, and yet here she was, calmly making me follow her orders. And I had no choice.
She was maddening. And I was hooked.
I shook my head and tried to focus on the flour in front of me. Don't let her see you're impressed, I told myself.
But the truth? I didn't mind if she did..."You're stirring too fast," she said softly, her eyes on me… but her words had an edge.
I paused, spoon halfway in the bowl. "Stop looking at me like that," I muttered.
She just smirked, eyes glinting with that calm confidence I couldn't match.
And damn it… I liked… far too much.
And it pissed me off. I watched her move back to the counter after sliding the strawberry pie into the oven, her hands brushing against the apron, flour dusting the ends of her sleeves. Annoying.
That's what she was… annoying. Constantly jumping to conclusions, asking questions that made my jaw tighten, and yet… I couldn't pull my eyes off her.
Why do you suddenly need a strawberry pie? Are you pregnant? She teased Or did you get someone pregnant? Or is Vienna… "
I groaned and almost rolled my eyes right out of my skull. She really had a talent for jumping to the absolute worst possible conclusions.
"Okay, wow. Chill. No one's pregnant," I said flatly, though a smirk sneaked onto my face anyway. She gave me that look… the one that screamed I don't buy it for a second… and I knew I was not walking out of this conversation without a full explanation.
"So?" she asked, tilting her head, her piercing gaze locked on me.
I groaned inwardly. How is she this relentless?
"One of the NHL scouts is coming over for our game tonight," I said, keeping my tone clipped. "And I heard he likes strawberry pie."
She blinked at me, then smirked. "Wait… are you telling me you're baking a pie to impress a man? Seriously?"
"Chill," I muttered, already regretting that I'd even mentioned it. "It's not like I'm trying to… "
"… win his heart with dessert?" she finished for me, grinning like the world's most annoying detective.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Exactly. That's undoubtedly what I'm not doing."
Her eyes softened as she stared at me for a long moment, and then she walked over, tapping my shoulder lightly.
"He's going to love it," she said, voice gentle, confident. "Trust me."
I couldn't help the twitch at the corner of my mouth. She had that effect on me, this mix of calm authority and quiet certainty. She made me feel like even my mistakes were obvious… and yet fixable, as if she could handle everything, even me.
"I hope you win him over," she added softly, her eyes meeting mine for a fleeting second before she turned back to tidy the counter.
Damn it. Her words hit harder than she could ever know. I'm not thinking about a damn scout, I reminded myself. And yet… There was a flicker in my chest, a weight of expectation, that I didn't want to admit.