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I smile. I appreciate that response. So many people want to paint original woodwork or cover every surface in shiplap. I’m glad Ryan appreciates the history of the house.
He looks at me, thinking before he speaks.
“I think my uncle knew I’d appreciate this place for what it is,” he says simply. “Because of my architecture background, I guess. Or something.”
There’s more to that “something,” but I don’t press.
“I wish I’d spent more time here with him,” he continues. “Being in his house… I’m having a hard time getting rid of his stuff. It feels like, if I hold onto some of it, then I won’t lose him completely.”
“You don’t have to get rid of anything,” I say, trying to sound gentle. “You don’t even have to get rid of the house.”
He nods, not like he’s agreeing, just like he’s thinking. But it’s more than I could hope for. I feel like I’ve made a crack in his determination to leave Reindeer Falls.
Ryan looks around, gesturing at the wooden beams and to the kitchen. “I forgot how much I enjoy working with my hands. How much I love the nearly instant gratification of renovation, compared to the endless drafts and years it takes to get plans for a commercial building approved.” He sighs and takes a sip of his cocoa before continuing. “It was Uncle Joe who got me on this path by teaching me woodworking back when I was in middle school and too old for a babysitter, but too young to really be aimless all day.”
There’s hope there, in what he’s saying. Hope and possibility.
“Anyway.” He shrugs. “Enough about me. Didn’t I promise you a movie?”
I nod. He most definitely did.
We debate our choices and settle on Miracle on 34th Street. I wait as he queues it up, processing everything that he just told me. I have to admit, it’s making it very difficult for me to see him as a Christmas-hating Scrooge. I can even understand why he was reluctant to get out the decorations. That meant unearthing memories of Uncle Joe, and that couldn’t have been easy.
But in the end, he did it. For me.
Ryan presses play and tugs me into his arms. I snuggle against his chest and for a moment, I can focus on the movie. It’s one of my favorites, after all. Who doesn’t love Maureen O’Hara and parade shenanigans? But being this close to Ryan has consequences on my body. I’m hyper-aware of every place we’re touching. And now that I know he has actual feelings on top of being beyond pleasing to look at, I’m about to lose my mind.
It starts innocently enough. I tip my head back up and catch his mouth in a kiss. And before I know it, he’s kissing me back. Then he’s rolling me over onto the couch. His hands are drifting down my sides, between my legs. I reach for his pants, and he stills my hand.
“No way,” he says. “I let you rush me last night. But tonight, I intend to take my time.”
That was rushing? He’s going to kill me, I think as he slowly slides a hand under my sweater. He’s going to kill me by delayed gratification, while a Christmas movie plays in the background. And, well, fine I might have fantasized about such a thing once or twice before. Minus the delay in gratification. But a prolonged makeout session in front of a Christmas movie resulting in multiple orgasms? It’s bucket list stuff for sure.
Chapter Eleven
If there’s one thing better than having sex with Ryan Sheppard, it’s waking up to him holding out a cup of hot cocoa for you to enjoy in bed.
Which leads to more mind-blowing sex while said hot cocoa cools.
But the point is, it’s a great way to start to the day. Made even better by Ryan saying, “So, what do you think about us spending the day together? Like a real date.”
“What would we do?” I sit up eagerly, tucking a strand of messy curls behind my ear.
He leans against the headboard, sipping from his mug, watching me. Snowflake mugs today, by the way.
“Classic Reindeer Falls stuff,” he says. “A sleigh ride, maybe? We could go to that new weird bear place—”
“The Teddy Bear Café?” I confirm, a little shrilly. He laughs at my face.
“Sure,” he says. “Whatever you like.”
I give him a sidelong glance. “This is very un-Scrooge of you.”
“Maybe I’m a reformed Scrooge,” he suggests, lightly wrapping a strand of my hair around his finger. “Spend the day with me.”
I grin and kiss him. It’s the right answer, that’s for sure.
The rest of the day passes in incredible, snowy perfection. We start off by heading to the sleigh rides, but we get distracted by the huge piles of snow that are just begging for a snowball fight. I, obviously, come out victorious, since he’s woefully out of practice. Still, it’s worth it to beat him, not just because it means I win, but because my reward is making out like teenagers after he tackles me to the ground.
