Mission Love - Chasing Mr. Right ✓

Thirty- One

Recap: Ryan made dessert. A FREAKING chocolate mousse.

I stalked the length of my room like a caged animal, my feet pounding a frantic rhythm on the floorboards.

"That man is impossible," I hissed, hands flailing as though trying to strangle the air.

The universe, ever a fan of irony, decided this was the perfect moment for a knock at my door. I froze mid-stride, glaring at the offending wood as if it had personally betrayed me. The knock came again, sharper this time.

"What?" I barked, my voice cracking just enough to annoy me.

The door creaked open, and there he was. Ofcourse Ryan. Leaning lazily against the frame like he owned it, a dessert plate balanced precariously in one hand. His smirk was its usual brand of infuriating—cocky and just this side of charming.

I folded my arms tightly across my chest. "What do you want now?"

He ignored the warning in my tone, sauntering in like he hadn’t just intruded on my private indignation.

"Woah! Slow down, tigress," he drawled, a lazy smirk playing on his lips.
"I brought you something."

I squint my eyes, scrutinizing his every little movement.

He held out the plate, and I stared at it with all the suspicion of a medieval knight offered a goblet by his sworn enemy.

"I thought you said you were going to eat it all yourself," I frowned.

Ryan laughed, low and easy,
"I was kidding. Believe it or not, I do have a heart."

"I doubt that." I scoffed, rolling my eyes.

"Unlike someone, I don't pretend."

"I’m not pretending!" I snapped, my voice jumping an octave higher than I’d intended.

"I never said it was you, did I?"

"I-" I froze mid sentence, too stunned to speak a word.

He seized the opportunity to set the plate on my desk with a smug flourish
Stepping back, hands in his pockets, he gave me one last grin—the kind that made me want to hurl the plate at his face.

"Enjoy it. It’s my masterpiece."he muttered performing a royal bow, then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him before I could summon a single clever comeback.

I stood there, my arms still crossed, glaring at the plate like it had personally insulted my ancestors.

"I don’t want it," I muttered to no one, though the rich, velvety aroma of chocolate and raspberry betrayed my resolve almost instantly.
The mousse shimmered under the light, its delicate swirls practically whispering, 'One bite'

I sat on the edge of my bed, arms clamped tighter than ever, determined not to give in. Five minutes passed. Then ten. I glanced at the plate, then at the door.

Ugh- Fine!

With a loud groan enough to startle the neighbor’s cat, I grabbed the spoon and stabbed it into the mousse. It'd be one bite. Just one small bite to prove it wasn’t even that good.

The first taste melted on my tongue, and I swear the world shifted either that or my brain just lost its place. Dark chocolate, rich and smooth, hit first—like velvet had been spun into flavor—followed by the bright, tangy burst of raspberry, perfectly balanced and utterly unforgivable.

My resolve crumbled faster than the delicate chocolate curls garnishing the top.

"Great! F*ck." I muttered under my breath as I glared at the empty plate with a mix of rage and reluctant awe.