Page 10 of First Kissmas
And I know how much it’ll kill me to say goodbye when we reach Fairhope. But that doesn’t matter right now. All that matters is keeping her safe.
“I’m driving you to Fairhope,” I say firmly. “End of discussion.”
5
COURTNEY
The further we get from Mudsbury, the more my shoulders relax, the weight of my troubles lifting with each mile marker we pass. After hours of watching unfamiliar landscapes blur past the window, we finally reach Fairhope. The sight of the small coastal town steals my breath away—it’s exactly like the magazine photo I’ve been dreaming of for the past year, all quaint storefronts and harbor views with fishing boats bobbing gently in the distance.
But my excitement for the fresh start is tinged with anxiety. I need to find housing and work fast. And guilt weighs heavily on me—Ryder has done so much for me, driving me all this way. I sneak a glance at his profile as he navigates the unfamiliar streets. His jaw is set with determination, hands steady on the wheel just as they were that first night he picked me up.
My attention drifts back to the storefronts we’re passing by. A three-story brick apartment building catches my eye, with a sign out front in faded red letters advertising an apartment for rent. I point toward the sign. “Can we stop?”
Ryder smoothly pulls into an open spot. Before I can reach for the door handle, he’s already out and scanning the street, his broad shoulders tense as he takes in every detail of our surroundings. The protectiveness is sweet, but it also reminds me that soon he’ll drive away, back to his peaceful life on the mountain.
He opens my door with a gentle smile. “Coast is clear.”
I find the building manager’s buzzer, pressing it before I can overthink it. It takes a while before a gruff voice crackles through the speaker. “Yeah?”
“Hi, I’m here about the apartment for rent?”
A sigh. “Give me a minute.”
Heavy footsteps approach from inside, and then the door swings open to reveal a middle-aged man in a worn denim button-down, looking slightly annoyed at having his afternoon interrupted. His expression shifts as he takes us in.
“You two looking for a place together?” He gestures between Ryder and me. “Because I’ve got a bigger unit opening up next month that might suit you better?—”
“Just me, actually.” The words come out too quickly. But the manager’s assumption sends an ache through my chest. I imagine sharing a home with Ryder, waking up to his smile every morning, building a life together—a fantasy I can’t afford to indulge in, especially since he’s made it clear with his careful distance that our kiss was just a moment of impulse. He’s been different since then, more reserved, maintaining a buffer of space between us. Not that I blame him. I’m young, inexperienced, carrying too much baggage.
The manager shrugs. “Single’s fine too. Follow me.”
We climb two flights of worn wooden stairs. Ryder stays close behind me, and I can feel the tension radiating from him as he assesses every corner, every shadow.
The apartment is on the third floor, tucked at the end of a long hallway. When the manager unlocks the door, my heart leaps. The space is small, just one main room with a tiny kitchen alcove and a separate bathroom. The hardwood floors are scratched, the paint is chipping in places, and the windows could use a good cleaning. But sunlight streams through those windows, filling the space with warmth, and all I can see is possibility.
Freedom.
“Are the utilities included in the rent?” I ask.
“Heat and water are. Electric’s on you.” The manager leans against the doorframe. “Laundry room’s in the basement, two dollars a load. Building’s secure, good locks. No pets, no smoking.”
While I peer into kitchen cabinets and check the water pressure, Ryder examines the locks on the windows, checks the smoke detector, and inspects the radiator.
“How’s the neighborhood?” he asks.
“Quiet. Mostly retirees and fishermen’s families.” The manager scratches his chin. “Had one break-in about five years ago, but we upgraded all the security after that. No trouble since.”
I run my hand along the kitchen counter, imagining making coffee here in the mornings, coming home after work to a space that’s entirely mine. No one monitoring my movements, no onequestioning my choices. The thought alone makes the apartment feel twice its actual size.
“I’ll take it,” I say, before doubt can creep in.
The manager nods. “I’ll need first and last month’s rent up front.”
My stomach tightens. “Is cash okay?”
He studies me for a moment, and I force myself not to fidget under his gaze. “Don’t care how you pay, long as you pay on time.”
I dig into my backpack for my envelope of carefully saved cash, counting out the required amount. My savings take a significant hit, but it’s worth it for this first taste of real independence.