"Early. Six, maybe." He props himself on one elbow, looking down at me. "I wanted to give us a little time before everyone wakes up."
Before we have to pretend again. Before we go back to being just friends in front of my family.
"Smart man." I reach up, tracing the line of his jaw. He leans into my touch, eyes closing.
He looks younger like this. Softer. Less guarded.
I love you, I think. Wonder if I'll ever say it again.
"We should probably—" I start.
A knock echoes from down the hall. Connor's voice, muffled: "Lulu? Time to wake up. Christmas morning!"
We both freeze.
"He's at my door," I whisper.
Another knock. "Lucy? You awake?"
Ryder and I stare at each other. My room is empty. My bed obviously slept in but unoccupied. If Connor opens the door—
"I'm up!" I call, trying to sound groggy. "Give me a minute!"
Silence. Then footsteps moving away.
I let out a breath. "That was close."
"Too close." Ryder sits up, running a hand through his hair. "You should—"
The footsteps stop. Right outside Ryder's door.
Connor's voice, closer now: "Ryder? You awake, man?"
"Yeah," Ryder calls. His eyes meet mine. "Just getting dressed. Be out in a second."
"Cool. I'll wake Maisie."
The footsteps retreat again. I wait until I hear Connor's door open and close before I exhale.
"I need to get back to my room." I slip out of bed, searching for my clothes. "Before—"
"Lucy." Ryder catches my wrist, pulling me back for a kiss. It's soft. Sweet. Almost apologetic. "Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas," I whisper back.
I pull on his t-shirt from last night, grab my leggings, and slip back through the bathroom to my room. I close the door on my side just as I hear Maisie's excited squeal from down the hall.
Close. Too close.
I change quickly, then pause in front of my mirror. My reflection looks the same as always—same brown eyes, same unruly hair. But I feel different. Like I'm carrying something fragile inside me, something that might break if I'm not careful.
I love you.
I said it. I can't unsay it. Can't pretend I don't feel it just because he couldn't return it.
But I can pretend it doesn't hurt.
Ten minutes later, dressed and composed, I take a deep breath and head downstairs. The living room is chaos—wrapping paper everywhere, Maisie squealing over each present, Emma making coffee, Dad documenting everything with his phone. Connor and Ryder are on the couch, laughing about something, easy and comfortable like they've always been.
