Dad tells more stories. About Mom and Christmas mornings and summer barbecues. About the scrawny kid Connor brought home who never wanted to leave. His voice is warm, rich with memory, and I lean into Ryder's shoulder without meaning to.
He shifts closer. Not obvious. Just enough that more of us is touching. Hip to shoulder to knee. Heat radiating through layers of clothing.
Around nine, Maisie climbs into Ryder's lap. She's already half asleep, thumb in her mouth, bunny tucked under one arm. He holds her carefully, like she's made of glass. Something soft moves through me watching him with her. Something dangerous.
I rest my hand on his forearm. Just touching. Just there. His pulse jumps under my fingers.
Connor and Emma take Maisie up around ten. Dad follows with a yawn and a warning to bank the fire before we come up. The house settles into quiet. Just wind and snow and two people who should go to their separate rooms but don't.
We were supposed to go somewhere private tonight. His promise of "tomorrow" still echoing from last night at the shop. But the storm had other plans. Now here we are, alone by firelight with his family sleeping upstairs. Not what either of us planned. Maybe more dangerous because of it.
I add another log to the fire. Orange light spills across Ryder's face, catches in his dark hair, shadows the line of his jaw. He's watching me with an expression I can't read.
"I should go up," I say.
"Probably."
Neither of us moves.
The wind howls. Snow builds on the windowsills. We sit in the warm circle of firelight, and I think about all the ways this could go wrong. About Connor's warning. About Ryder leaving in two weeks. About how much it will hurt when he goes.
"Can I ask you something?" My voice barely rises above the crackling fire.
"Yeah."
"What really happened with your ex?"
He's quiet for so long I think he won't answer. Then he shifts, staring into the flames instead of at me.
"Sienna wanted the lifestyle. The money. The access." His voice is flat, careful. "When I tried to set boundaries, she went public. Told everyone I was cold and controlling." He pauses. "Maybe she was right about the cold part."
"You're not cold." I take his hand without thinking. His fingers are warm, calloused from years on the ice. "You held Maisie for an hour tonight. You helped at the market even though you hate crowds. That's not cold."
He laces our fingers together. Stares at our joined hands like he's trying to solve an equation.
"What scares you?" he asks.
The question catches me off guard. I could deflect. Could keep the conversation light. But something about the darkness and the fire and his hand in mine makes me want to tell the truth.
"Disappointing people," I say. My voice cracks on the words. "Being too much or not enough to make someone stay." I pull my knees up, wrapping my free arm around them. "When Mom died, I wasn't there. I canceled that afternoon because the shop was busy. And then she was just...gone."
"Lucy." He shifts closer, thumb tracing circles on my palm.
"I know it's not my fault. Everyone says that. But I keep thinking if I'd just been there..." I swallow hard. "Now everyone sees me as little miss sunshine. As the girl who's always happy. And I'm terrified to show them anything else. What if they're disappointed? What if being real makes them leave?"
The words hang between us. Vulnerable and raw and more honest than I've been with anyone in a long time.
Ryder sets down his mug. Turns to face me fully. The firelight catches in his eyes and for a moment he just looks at me. Really looks. Like he's seeing past the smile I wear like armor.
"I like all of you," he says. "Not just the sunshine part."
The words hit me square in the chest. Something cracks open there; some wall I didn't know I'd built. My throat goes tight, and my eyes burn, and I don't know what to say to that. To someone seeing me and not running.
"You don't know all of me," I manage.
"I want to."
The air between us shifts. Charges. His hand comes up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. His thumb grazes my cheek, and electricity shoots through me. We're leaning closer. So close I can count his eyelashes. Can see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes. Can feel his breath on my lips.
