First Kissmas

2. Ryder

2

RYDER

T he cold seeps through my coat as I try to find a comfortable position in the truck. Snow has already built up on the windshield, obscuring the inn’s glowing windows. It would be easier inside, where she is. Warmer. More comfortable, even on that tiny cot. But putting this distance between us is safer.

A knock on my window startles me. Through the gathering snow, I make out her face, her lips already turning blue from the cold. The sight sends a fresh surge of protectiveness through me.

I crack open the window. “Go back inside.”

“Not without you.” Her teeth chatter as she speaks. “The temperature is dropping.”

“There’s no room for me in there.”

“There’s the cot.”

“I’ll take up the whole damn hallway.”

She wraps her arms around herself, snow collecting on her shoulders. “Please. You can stay in my room.”

“You need your space.”

“I won’t be able to sleep, knowing you’re out here like this.”

I study her face in the dim light. The last thing she needs is to feel trapped in a room with a stranger.

“I’m not going back inside until you do,” she says, snow continuing to gather in her hair.

She’s not lying. I recognize the stubborn set of her jaw, the determination in her stance. She stands perfectly still, waiting me out.

I blow out a sigh. “Fine. You win. But I’m only doing this to get you back inside.”

Relief flashes across her face as she steps back, giving me room to open the door. As I’m getting out, the wind nearly knocks her over. I steady her with one hand, then quickly let go, ignoring how the moment of contact stirs something inside me.

The room is small but clean, with a double bed and a small table. A radiator clicks and hums beneath the windowsill. She stands near the door as I get the cot unfolded, her arms still wrapped around herself.

“My name is Courtney,” she says quietly.

The sound of her name hits me harder than it should. “You’re safe with me, Courtney. I promise you that.”

She swallows, her eyes lingering on me for a moment before she speaks again. “I’m going to get changed.”

She disappears into the bathroom with her backpack. The room is small enough that her scent lingers, something floral mixed with cold air. I force myself to focus on making up my spot on the floor. As I get settled, I hear water running in the bathroom, cloth rustling. The domesticity of it twists something in my chest.

Just then, a violent gust of wind rattles the window. Something crashes outside. Courtney bursts out of the bathroom, her eyes wide. She backs away from the window, almost colliding with me.

“It’s all right.” I keep my voice low, steady. “Probably just a branch.”

Her whole body trembles. Not from cold this time.

I grab my phone, using it as a flashlight as I look out the window. “See? A tree limb came down. That’s all.”

But she doesn’t relax. Her eyes dart between me and the window, and I notice how she positions herself near the door. Ready to run.

“Courtney.” I stay where I am, giving her space. Wind howls outside, rattling the windows. “If someone might come looking for you, I need to know. I need to be prepared.”

She wraps her arms tighter around herself. “No one is coming.”

“You sure about that?”

The silence stretches between us. She stares at the floor, and I notice how scared and young she looks despite clearly being in her twenties.

“My brother,” she says finally. “He’s overprotective. Controlling. I couldn’t stay anymore.”

The words come out clipped, measured. A protective rage builds in my chest, but I push it down. She’s not looking for another man’s anger, even if it’s on her behalf.

“Does he know where you’re going?”

She shakes her head. “He was passed out when I left. But he’ll look for me.”

The radiator sputters. The lights flicker once, twice.

“Will he know to look here?”

“He won’t. Not right away. But he has friends everywhere. He’ll call them all. Show my picture. Ask if anyone’s seen me.”

“What will he do if—” The lights go out before I can finish. The room plunges into darkness. Courtney inhales sharply.

“It’s okay.” I use my phone as a flashlight again. A warm circle of light illuminates the space between us. “Storm must have knocked out the power.”

Her face looks pale but composed. She blinks against the light.

“Are you all right?” I ask.

“Fine.” She picks up her things. “I should finish getting ready for bed.”

I adjust the flashlight, pointing it at the ceiling so the light bounces, giving her enough to see by. As she gathers what she needs, I notice her hands aren’t quite steady.

Through the window, I watch the snow fall harder. The storm might slow her brother down when he wakes tomorrow, but it won’t stop him. Men who treat family like property always come looking. The thought settles cold in my stomach as the wind batters against the glass.

While Courtney finishes getting ready for bed, I get settled on the small cot on the floor, pulling the blanket over me that Mrs. Miller left with the cot. My back will hate me in the morning, but I’ve slept in worse places.

A few minutes later, I hear Courtney slide under the covers on the bed.

I lie awake in the darkness, listening to her breathing. She’s trying to hide it, but I can hear her teeth chattering. The sound makes my chest tight. Without any power, the cold presses in through the windows, and the blanket she has won’t be enough.

I pull off my blanket and stand.

“Here.” I lay it over her, tucking it around her shoulders.

“Don’t.” Her voice is quiet but firm in the darkness. “You’ll freeze.”

“I run hot.”

The wind picks up outside, rattling the windows. Her shivering grows worse.

“Would you…” she starts to say, but then stops. I hear her take a breath. “The bed is big enough for both of us.”

My pulse quickens. Every instinct says to keep my distance, stay on the cot where it’s safe. Where I can’t feel the warmth of her, can’t feel her curves tucked up against me.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Courtney.”

“We’re both freezing.” A pause. “Please.”

Goddamn it. I can’t let her spend the night like this.

I move slowly, easing myself under the covers next to her. The mattress dips as I settle in.

A violent shiver runs through her body. I can feel it shake the mattress.

“Come here,” I say softly.

She hesitates. I wait, not moving, barely breathing. Then she shifts closer, and I wrap my arms around her, telling myself it’s just for warmth. Her hair brushes my chin, carrying that subtle floral scent.

Gradually, she relaxes against me, her breathing slowly evening out.

I stay awake long after she falls asleep, acutely aware of her body curled up against my chest. Her hands rest against my shirt, fingers occasionally twitching as she dreams.

Outside, the storm rages on.

My arms tighten around her as a particularly strong gust rattles the windows. She makes a small sound in her sleep and burrows closer.

I know I should pull away. Put space between us. Everything about this situation screams danger, from her brother hunting her to the way my body responds to her closeness. The last thing she needs is one more complication in her life.

I close my eyes, trying to focus on the sound of the storm.

Instead, all I notice is how perfectly she fits against me, how right she feels in my arms.