First Kissmas

6. Courtney & Ryder

6

COURTNEY & RYDER

D ear 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 than I 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.

I saw a pretty craftsman-style lamp in one of the shop windows yesterday. It made me wonder about your work, what you’re creating up there on your mountain. I bet your workshop is full of beautiful, one-of-a-kind things.

You don’t need to write back. I know you value your solitude, and the last thing I want is to intrude on that. I just wanted you to know that I’m okay, that I’m building something here. And that I’m grateful. For everything.

Take care of yourself,

Courtney

p.s. The sunrise really is stunning here. I wish you could see it.

Dear Courtney,

Your letter made my day. Hell, my whole week. I won’t deny that I’ve been thinking about you. Every time I drive past the inn in Mudsbury, I remember finding you out in the snow.

I’ve been debating whether to write back. The last thing I want is to distract you when you’re working so hard to build your new life. But I need you to know you’re not intruding. Not at all.

Good to hear you’re settling in. Don’t be too hard on yourself about the mistakes at work. We all make them. Trust me on that. Abby sounds like good people. Trust her laugh. Sometimes the best way to learn is to make every mistake possible.

Funny you mentioned seeing a lamp in a shop window. I’ve been working on a commission for a coastal-themed piece. Found myself wondering if it would fit in your apartment. I’ve been doing that a lot lately—seeing things and thinking about how you’d react to them.

Christmas was quiet, like always. I made my stew. Took my walk. Found myself looking at the tracks in the snow, remembering how your footprints looked that night you came to get me out of my truck.

I’m glad the decorations brighten up your apartment. I probably spent too long picking them out, but I wanted them to be right. Wanted you to have something that felt like yours.

Currently, I have three commissioned pieces in progress. One’s giving me trouble—can’t get the light to fall exactly how I want. It keeps me up at night sometimes, trying to solve it. But that’s normal. Part of the process.

Take care of yourself, Courtney. Don’t feel like you have to keep me updated. But if you want to, know that I’ll always read your letters.

–Ryder

Dear Ryder,

Thanks so much for writing back. Your letter meant more to me than I can say. Sometimes I wonder if I’m foolish for missing someone I only knew for such a short time, but then I remember how you said you think of me too, and I feel less foolish about it.

The apartment is starting to feel more like home. I found a secondhand armchair at a local thrift store—it’s a bit worn, but it fits perfectly in the corner by the window. I also got a small bookshelf from a yard sale. The owner even delivered it for free when she found out I was new in town. People here are like that—surprisingly kind to strangers.

Even my apartment manager has warmed up to me. He fixed my squeaky bathroom door the other day and ended up telling me all about his granddaughter. It’s nice, these little connections. Though I have to admit, some evenings feel a little too quiet. But I guess that’s probably natural when you’re starting over.

I worked New Year’s Eve at the diner. It was actually fun—everyone who came in was in such a good mood. And I only mixed up two orders the whole night! (See? I’m improving.) At midnight, all the fishing boats in the harbor blew their horns. The sound carried all the way up to Main Street. I stepped outside to listen, and in that moment, watching all these strangers hugging and laughing, I made my New Year’s resolution. This year, I’m going to start taking steps toward making my wildest dreams come true.

I think about your workshop often, wondering what you’re creating up there. Did you solve the problem with that troublesome commission? The one where the light wasn’t falling right? If you ever have a delivery near Fairhope, I hope you’ll let me know. I’d love to see you again.

Write back if you’d like. (Is it obvious that I hope you will?)

Yours,

Courtney

p.s. I found an old camera at the thrift store. I’m surprised at how much I enjoy photography—maybe it’ll turn into a real hobby. Since I can’t show you Fairhope’s stunning sunrises in person, I’m enclosing a photo of one.

Dear Courtney,

Your sunrise photo is propped on my workbench now. It’s gorgeous. Keep taking pictures—there’s something special about finding a new way to see the world around you.

It’s really good to hear that the town is treating you well. Those small kindnesses from strangers can mean everything when you’re starting over. Just remember to trust your instincts about people. You’ve got good ones.

It made me smile, hearing about your resolution about your wildest dreams. By that, do you mean the traveling you talked about? Or saving up for your own house someday? I remember you talking about those things that night at the inn.

I solved that lighting problem, by the way. Had to completely rebuild the base, but now it works. I’ve got a commission coming up in March for a restaurant out toward the coast. It’s not exactly close to Fairhope, but I thought about what you said. About seeing each other again. I think about it more than I probably should.

I don’t know if I should tell you this, but I had a dream about you last night. We were sitting together somewhere I didn’t recognize—not Mudsbury or Fairhope. Just talking and laughing like we had all the time in the world. It felt so real that when I woke up, for a moment I thought I could still hear your voice.

Write again when you can. Your letters are the brightest part of my week.

–Ryder

Dear Ryder,

That’s so sweet that you put my photo on your workbench. It makes me smile thinking of my little sunrise keeping you company while you work. I’m still learning how to use this old camera—mostly just pointing and clicking and hoping for the best! But I managed to catch a few nice moments I wanted to share: the harbor at sunset when all the fishing boats were coming in (the colors that evening were incredible), and the town Christmas tree being taken down (a little bittersweet, but beautiful with all the decorations sparkling one last time).

I’m also sending something else. A photo of me. Just a simple selfie I took by my window. I debated for ages whether to include it, but I thought...well, maybe you’d like to have it.

Life at the diner is settling into a nice rhythm. I’ve memorized how all our regulars like their eggs, and I’m even starting to remember orders without writing everything down. Mr. Carson, who comes in every morning at seven o’clock sharp, says I make the best coffee in town, though I’m pretty sure he tells that to all the waitresses. Still, it made my day.

You asked about my wildest dreams. Yes, they definitely include traveling—I want to see everything I can, especially the ocean in different parts of the world. And someday, I’d love to have my own house. Something small but cozy, with a garden maybe. There’s more to my wildest dreams than just that, but I think that’s all I should say right now.

Um, you know what? I’ve dreamed about you, too. More than once. Those dreams make me miss you even more. Is that silly? To miss someone this much when we only knew each other for such a short time?

It’s my day off today, and I’m planning to explore that used bookstore I keep walking past on my way to work. Then maybe a walk along the harbor if the weather holds. The gulls are particularly noisy this morning. I think that means rain is coming.

Thinking of you,

Courtney

Courtney,

I can’t write another careful, measured letter pretending I don’t feel what I feel. Ever since that kiss we shared at the inn, I’ve been holding back, trying to be noble about it. Telling myself I shouldn’t complicate your life when you’re working so hard to build something new. Convincing myself that I’m too old for you, that you deserve someone younger and more available to you, someone who doesn’t live alone on a mountain.

But seeing that photo of you by your window...Christ. I’ve stared at it more times than I can count. You look so beautiful, so full of life. I’ve dreamed about you every single night since I got your letter. I wake up reaching for you, and the emptiness beside me makes me ache.

I’m crazy about you, Courtney. You’ve captured every part of me in a way that terrifies and thrills me. I think about you constantly, wondering what you’re doing, imagining what it would be like to hear your laugh in person again, to hold you like I did that night. I catch myself doing everything with thoughts of you—cooking meals I think you’d enjoy, designing pieces for a home we’d share, storing away little moments I wish I could tell you about.

I know I’m taking a risk writing this. Maybe I’m ruining everything. But I’ve gotten to a point where holding these words back feels impossible. Where every letter I try to write turns into this confession instead.

I have these wild fantasies I can’t shake—cooking dinner with you in my kitchen, showing you my favorite spots on the mountain, waking up with your gorgeous curves pressed against me. They’re impossible dreams, I know. You’re building your own life there, as you should. The last thing I want is to distract you from that.

But I needed you to know. Even if you never write back. Even if this ruins everything. I needed you to know that you’ve completely undone me.

God, I miss you.

–Ryder

Ryder,

Come to me. I’m tired of dreaming. I want us to make this real.

Yours and yours alone,

Courtney