First Kissmas

3. Courtney

3

COURTNEY

I wake to warmth and the unfamiliar weight of someone’s arm around my waist. For a moment, panic rises in my throat—until I remember where I am. Who I’m with. The steady rise and fall of Ryder’s chest against my back brings an unexpected comfort that battles with my instinct to pull away.

His breath stirs my hair, and heat floods my face as I realize how perfectly we fit together, how natural it feels to be held like this. I ease out from under his arm, careful not to wake him. The loss of his warmth hits immediately as my feet touch the cold floor.

The window draws me in. Outside, the storm has transformed everything into a pristine white landscape. Snow thickly blankets the street, with deep drifts piled against buildings.

The realization hits me hard: I’m trapped here. But as I process that thought, relief washes over me. If I’m stuck here, Eli is stuck where he is, too. For now, I’m safe.

A soft knock breaks through my thoughts.

“Good morning, dear.” Mrs. Miller’s voice carries through the door. “Have you seen Ryder? I checked the hallway, but he and the cot are gone.”

I open the door a crack, keeping my voice low. “He stayed in here. The cold was too much last night.”

Her eyebrows lift, but her expression remains kind. “I see. Well, the power’s back on now. I’ve got coffee brewing and breakfast warming in the oven. Come down when you’re ready.”

“Are the roads completely blocked?” I ask, trying not to sound too hopeful.

“They won’t be cleared until tomorrow at the earliest.” She pats my arm. “But we’re well-stocked here. No need to worry.”

After she leaves, I turn back to the room. Ryder is awake and getting out of the bed. Morning light catches the muscles in his arms and highlights the way his t-shirt clings to his broad chest. The sight makes my mouth go dry.

“You can have the bathroom first,” he says, running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. “I’ll get ready after you.”

I grab my things and head to the bathroom, needing space to breathe, to think. To remember why I can’t let myself feel this way about anyone right now.

The inn’s dining room glows with warm light, decorated for Christmas with garlands and red ribbons. A small tree stands in the corner, its vintage ornaments catching the morning sun. The sight stirs something in my chest—a longing for the kind of Christmas morning I haven’t experienced since before my parents died, filled with warmth and laughter instead of tension.

Other guests sit at various tables, their quiet conversations creating a peaceful atmosphere. The smell of coffee and warm food fills the air. Ryder and I find seats at a small table near the window, where we have a clear view of our snowy surroundings.

Mrs. Miller brings us plates piled with eggs, bacon, and fresh biscuits. My stomach growls at the sight. I can’t remember the last time I had a proper breakfast that wasn’t eaten standing up, rushing to avoid my brother’s morning interrogations.

I try to focus on my food, but my attention keeps drifting to Ryder. I keep looking at the strong line of his jaw, the careful way he holds his coffee cup, the different shades of colors in his eyes. The air between us feels charged with unspoken questions.

“You mentioned you make lamps?” I ask, needing safer ground.

He smiles and nods. “I design custom lighting. Started with smaller pieces, but now I get commissions for restaurants, hotels. Last night I was delivering some table lamps to a new bed and breakfast in Hawthorne.”

“What made you get into lamp-making?”

“I’ve just always been good with my hands.” He takes a sip of coffee. “Back in high school, I spent most of my free time in the woodshop. Something about creating things from scratch just clicked with me, and when I discovered I had an eye for design too, it all came together.”

His passion for his work shines through in his voice, drawing me in. I want to know more about this life he’s built for himself. “Do you have a shop in town?”

“No, I work from my place up on the mountain. It’s quiet there. Peaceful.” He pauses. “Just me and my workshop.”

“No family?” The question slips out before I can stop it.

“Nope. Been on my own for quite a while now.” He says it simply, no weight to the words. “Suits me better that way.”

Something about his self-contained life calls to me—the freedom of it, the peace. No one watching his every move or questioning his choices. I wish I could tell him about my own life, about why I understand the appeal of solitude. But the words feel too heavy, too fresh.

After breakfast, Ryder says he’s going to check with Mrs. Miller about any help she needs with the snow. I follow, drawn by his thoughtfulness, wanting to help too.

We find her in the kitchen, organizing supplies.

“This isn’t my first winter storm,” she says. “And I won’t have my guests working. What you two should do is relax. I’ve got board games, cards, books—everything you need for a cozy snow day. And I’ll be baking Christmas cookies later. I expect both of you to help taste-test.”

The thought of a quiet day playing games, eating cookies, and watching the snow sounds like something from another life. A better one. One where I’m not constantly looking over my shoulder.

I glance at Ryder, finding him watching me. The warmth in his eyes makes me wonder if he’s thinking the same thing.

Mrs. Miller directs us to an antique cabinet in the corner of the dining room. Inside, board games fill the shelves, their boxes well-worn and loved.

“What do you think? Should we play Monopoly?” Ryder asks, picking up one of the boxes.

“That could be fun.” Then I spot another game behind it, and my heart skips. The Game of Life. I reach for the familiar box, remembering evenings before my parents died, all of us crowded around the coffee table, my mother’s laughter filling the room. “Actually, would you mind playing this instead?”

“Life?” He smiles. “Haven’t played this since I was a kid.”

We settle at a small table near the window. As I set up the board, delicate snowflakes dance past the glass. Ryder picks the blue car, and I choose the red one.

“College or career path?” I ask.

“College. Might as well rack up that debt.”

I laugh, surprising myself with how natural it feels. We spin the wheel, move our pieces, fill our tiny cars with pink and blue pegs for children. Ryder ends up with twins, which makes him groan.

“Double the daycare costs.”

“At least you got that doctor salary.”

“True. Though somehow you’re still beating me with your teacher’s salary.”

“It’s all about strategy.” I land on another space. “Ha! Pay raise.”

For the first time in longer than I can remember, I feel light. Free. Like I’m just a normal girl playing a board game with a sweet guy, no fear or shadows hanging over me.

When our cars finally reach the retirement space, we’re both surprised to find two hours have passed. As we pack up the game pieces, our hands brush reaching for the same tiny car. I freeze, electricity shooting through me at the contact. Ryder’s fingers linger against mine for a heartbeat too long, and suddenly I’m intensely aware of how close we’re sitting, how his knee brushes mine under the table.

I stand up abruptly. “I bet Mrs. Miller could use help with those cookies she mentioned.”

Something flickers across Ryder’s face, but he just nods. “Sure. I’ll meet you back in our room later.”

I head for the kitchen, where I find Mrs. Miller pulling a tray of sugar cookies from the oven. The warm, sweet scent fills the air, reminding me of childhood Christmases. If she notices my flushed cheeks or shaky hands, she’s kind enough not to mention it.

“Perfect timing,” she says. “These need to cool before they’re frosted. Mind giving me a hand with the next batch?”

Soon we’re working side by side, Mrs. Miller rolling out dough while I cut shapes with metal cookie cutters shaped like stars and trees.

“You know,” she says after a while, “Ryder’s been coming down this mountain for years now, delivering his work. Never seen him quite like this before.”

Heat creeps into my face. “Like what?”

“Interested.” She gives me a knowing look. “He usually keeps to himself. Polite, but distant. Today’s the most I’ve seen him smile in all the years I’ve known him.”

“Mrs. Miller?—”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m not trying to meddle.” She hands me a bowl of frosting. “Just making an observation. These are cool enough to decorate if you’d like to take some up to him.”

I carefully frost each cookie, trying to make them as pretty as possible. Mrs. Miller hums Christmas carols as she works. When I finish, she arranges the cookies on a plate and sends me on my way.

My heart beats faster as I climb the stairs, plate of cookies in hand. When I open our door, Ryder is standing by the window, looking out at the snow. I set the plate on the small table, and he moves closer to take a cookie. For a few minutes, we talk about nothing important—how good they taste, the way the snow has transformed the town outside. All the while, something builds in my chest, an urge to share more of myself with him.

I set down my half-eaten cookie. “I’m going to a small town called Fairhope. I found out about it in a magazine last year. It’s on the coast, small enough to disappear in but big enough to find work.” The words tumble out now that I’ve started. “In the magazine, there was this picture of the harbor at sunset, all these little boats with their lights reflecting on the water. I’ve looked at it so many times, imagining myself there. Building a life where no one knows me or my history.”

“Sounds perfect.” His voice is soft, and he takes a small step closer.

“I wanted you to know. Where I’m heading. Just in case...” I trail off, unable to finish the thought.

“In case your brother finds you first?”

I nod, tears pricking at my eyes.

“Hey.” His hand cups my cheek, his palm warm and rough against my skin. “You’re going to make it there. You’re going to have that beautiful life you’re dreaming of.”

I press my face into his touch, letting my eyes fall closed. When I open them again, the tenderness in his expression steals my breath.

The rational part of my brain screams at me to pull away. To remember all the reasons I can’t do this, can’t feel this.

But I’m tired of being afraid. Tired of letting fear make my choices.

I tilt my chin up, heart thundering in my chest. His thumb traces my cheekbone, and I watch understanding dawn in his eyes. He hesitates, giving me time to change my mind.

All these years, I’ve hated that I’ve never been kissed, that my brother’s control has kept me from so many normal experiences. But now, looking into Ryder’s eyes, I’m thankful that he’ll be my first.

I give him a small nod.

Ryder leans in, and his lips brush mine, soft and sweet, barely there at first. Then I lean into him, and the kiss deepens. His hand slides into my hair as warmth spreads through me. He kisses me like I’m precious, like I’m something to be cherished, and tears prick at my eyes again. Everything else falls away: my brother, my fear, my uncertainty about the future. There’s only this moment, Ryder’s gentle hands in my hair, and the feeling that maybe, just maybe, I deserve this kind of sweetness in my life.