Page 12 of First Kissmas
“More like desperate.” But I can’t help smiling back.
The food arrives quickly—a burger for him, chicken sandwich for me. As we eat, a new Christmas song plays overhead, drawing my thoughts to what day tomorrow is.
“What are your Christmas plans?” I ask, trying to sound casual.
Ryder takes a sip of coffee. “Nothing too involved. I have a tradition of making beef stew and taking a long walk around my property.”
“That sounds lovely.” The image of spending Christmas with him fills my mind—helping him cook, walking together through the snow. But it’s an impossible fantasy. I check my watch, pushing the thoughts away. “I should probably try to get a few things for my apartment before everything closes.”
Ryder nods. “We can check out that home goods store we passed.”
Guilt gnaws at me as I realize how much of his day I’ve already taken up. “You really don’t need to stay any longer. I have a place to live and a job lined up. You can go. Really.”
But he just smiles gently, stirring his coffee. “I’ll head back after we find you some basics for your place.”
An hour and a half later, we’re hauling my purchases up the flights of stairs to my apartment. I wasn’t able to afford much—an air mattress, a few cooking tools and dishes from the discount bin, and a few other necessities. But it’s enough to get by until my first paycheck. The bare minimum needed to start a new life.
“Last bag,” Ryder says, setting down a shopping bag I don’t remember packing at checkout. Curious, I peek inside and find a collection of Christmas decorations: string lights, shimmering glass ornaments in red and gold, lengths of garland, and a small tabletop tree. Each item has been chosen with obvious care, and it’s just enough to make an empty apartment feel like Christmas.
“You got all of this for me?” I ask, emotion filling my chest. No one has thought about Christmas for me since my parents died. Eli treated it like something to get through.
“Couldn’t let you spend Christmas in your new place without some decorations, right?” Ryder’s voice is tender, almost shy, as he runs his hand through his hair.
Without thinking, I throw my arms around him. “Thank you.” The words feel inadequate—between the rides in his truck, the protection, and his unwavering support, he’s done so much for me.
Ryder’s body goes stiff against mine, reminding me of all the reasons I shouldn’t be hugging him like this. I need to be mindful of the careful distance he’s maintained, the way he’smade it clear that this is about helping someone in need, nothing more. I step away quickly, my face burning. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have?—”
“It’s okay.” His voice is tight, controlled, the tenderness from moments ago replaced with something more guarded. “But I should get going.”
“Right. Of course.” I nod. “Drive safe.”
On his way out, he pauses at the door, his hand resting on the handle. The afternoon light catches the calluses on his hands—working hands that have been so gentle with me. “If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to reach out. I mean that.”
“Thank you, Ryder. Thank you so, so much. For everything.” I pour every ounce of gratitude I can into the words, hoping he understands what his kindness has meant to me.
When the door clicks shut behind him, the tears I’ve been holding back spill over my cheeks. My throat burns as I press my palm against the door, his footsteps fading down the hallway.
Fuck. Why does this hurt so much?
I can’t seem to move away from the door, can’t bring myself to turn around and start my new life. The apartment behind me represents everything I’ve dreamed of—freedom, independence, a fresh start. But right now, all I can think about is what I’m losing.
Despite knowing it’s pointless, I yank open the door and race down the stairs, taking them two at a time.
But when I burst out onto the street, Ryder is already gone.
6
COURTNEY & RYDER
Dear Ryder,
I’ve rewritten this opening paragraph so many times. I keep telling myself this is silly—you’re probably busy with commissions, creating beautiful things in your workshop while I sit here agonizing over whether to even send this.
But every morning when I wake up and see the Christmas decorations you gave me, I think of you. It was so thoughtful of you to buy these for me, Ryder. (The red glass one is my favorite. It catches the light in a way that makes my whole apartment glow.) So I finally decided to be brave and write.
I want you to know I’m doing well here. The apartment is starting to feel like home, especially with the decorations. Christmas was quiet but peaceful—I walked down to the harbor, made hot chocolate, read by the window. No snow here, thankfully. I think I’ve had my fill of snowstorms for a while.
The diner job started yesterday. I’m terrible at it so far—I’ve already broken a coffee cup and mixed up more orders thanI can count. But my supervisor Abby (who served us that day) just laughs it off. She says everyone drops things their first week. I’m learning that making mistakes doesn’t mean disaster. That’s...new for me.