Page 44 of The Christmas You Crash

The salty scent of bacon hits me the moment I emerge from my room. Following it toward the kitchen, I hear Ryder moving around. Pans scrape and clatter against the stove burners, the coffee pot gurgles and hisses, and he’s humming “White Christmas.” I pause at the end of the hallway, entranced by the sight of him. The spot allows me to watch him without being seen myself, and I’m not ashamed of taking advantage of that fact. Watching such a big man move around the kitchen with easy grace is hypnotic. He appears confident, even cracking an egg with one hand.

Ryder is shirtless, and his gray sweats hang low around his hips. The muscles of his arms and back flex as he whisks a couple of eggs. His face is set into a mask of concentration, and his tongue peeks out from the corner of his mouth. I don’t think he even realizes he’s doing it. I’m so busy taking in all of him that it takes me a minute to notice the decorations.

When we went to bed last night, the only sign of Christmas was the tree we’d chopped and decorated. But now? It looks like the North Pole exploded in here.

Twinkle lights stretch across the mantel, snaking around a fake evergreen garland, which drapes along the length of it. My mom’s nutcracker collection stands sentry on the coffee table, the side table, and even the windowsill. Battery-powered candles wink at me in the corners of the room, reflecting off tinsel and festive glass knick-knacks and baubles. It’s a little chaotic, but it’s beautiful. And now I know why Ryder’s side of the bed was cold.

He must have been up for hours.

“Morning, Lex,” Ryder says with a grin from his spot in the kitchen. He must have known I was here the whole time. “Merry Christmas.”

Shuffling out of the hallway, I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and smile back. Why do I suddenly feel so shy? “Merry Christmas, Ryder. This...” I wave my hand around to encompass the decorations and breakfast. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

He flips the eggs before switching off the burner and turning his attention my way. While I hesitate to close the distance between us, Ryder doesn’t. He stalks toward me with slow, measured steps. His attention never leaves my face. And when he’s right there in front of me, his hands reach out and cup my cheeks, tipping my head back so I’m forced to look at him. “It’s Christmas, and I had nothing to give you. I wish I had a gift for you to open this morning, but this will have to do.” A featherlight kiss plays across my lips, and that’s all it takes. I melt into him.

“God, you’re sweet. I’m so happy you turned out not to be a serial killer.” My arms wrap around his waist, and I kiss him again while he chuckles against my lips. “Merry Christmas, Ryder. Thank you for all of this. It’s beautiful.” My stomach rumbles. “And it smells amazing.”

He chuckles before pulling back, one hand still cupping my cheek. “I may not know how to cook as many fun things as you do, but I make a mean egg.” His hand slips down and wraps around mine, tugging me toward the dining table. “Come on, baby. Let’s have some breakfast.”

Despite my protests, Ryder doesn’t let me help. He turns on some Christmas music before serving me coffee and delicious food. Only once I have everything I need does he sit across from me with his own overflowing plate. We sneak loaded glances at each other while eating in comfortable silence. Only the sounds of long-dead singers and the soft clinking of silverware on plates break through the stillness.

“This is so good,” I finally say. “Thank you.”

Ryder’s cheeks pinken. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I was thinking...” Not entirely sure this is a good idea, I suck in a slow breath. I was going to suggest it last night, but then we fell into bed together. “Even though it’s not Christmas Eve anymore, I thought we could watchIt’s a Wonderful Lifethis morning. I can make some more hot cocoa. You already made us a big breakfast, so there’s probably no point in making fancy appetizers, but we totally can.”

His blue eyes are glassy as they pin me in place. And when he speaks, his voice is rough. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d really like that.”

Conversation flows more naturally after that, and soon, we’re laughing and joking around as we work in tandem to clean the kitchen and wash the dishes. There’s something soeasyabout it. So domestic.

People make a big deal about the obvious perks of being in a relationship. The romance, the dates, the late nights and special moments. And all of those are fun. But to me, they’re not what makes a relationship special. Any jerk can be decent for a few blips in time and take you on a date. They can even romance you and create special little moments that burrow into your brain and your heart until you think you’re in love.

But in my experience? The special parts of a relationship are quieter. They’re hidden. Like doing dishes together while you talk about your day. Or hurrying to clean up as much as you can so your partner has less to worry about. The moments when there’s no glory or notoriety or kudos on the line are the moments when people show you who they really are.

And, unfortunately for me, Ryder keeps showing me he’d be the kind of man who shows up for the woman he loves. He’d be down in the trenches, fighting the mundane battles that make or break a couple so effectively.

But he can’t be mine.

“How long did you spend doing all this?” I ask him as we settle down on the couch and search the streaming services forIt’s a Wonderful Life. “You put up a lot of decorations.”

Ryder shrugs, his eyes crinkling in the corners as he suppresses a smile. “Not that much time.”

Right. Not that much time. The yawn that splits his face would say otherwise. He woke up early to do all this for me. Really early. And now he’s exhausted. So, twenty minutes into the movie, when he yawns for the tenth time, I wrap my fingers around his and give him a tug.

“Why don’t you relax?” Patting my thighs, I watch his eyes widen adorably. “Come on. Lay your head in my lap. Sleep if you need to.”

His muscles twitch as he starts to move, but he thinks better of it. “Are you sure?”

“Of course,” I say with a roll of my eyes. “Ryder, we fucked last night. This is nothing.”

He chuckles, and his body loosens, but his gaze is still so intense. This isn’tnothingto him. We both know that. And maybe I’m playing with fire, here. Maybe I’m pushing this too far past the point of a snow-pass fling and into emotional territory, but damn me, I can’t seem to stop. He studies me for another moment until, satisfied with whatever he finds, he lays his dark head on my lap. There’s something so intimate about this moment. My fingers twitch with the need to run through Ryder’s coarse hair, and it’s not long before I give in.

His bare shoulders tense at the first featherlight touch, but soon, his whole body relaxes and a deep sigh floats out of him. I love the feel of his thick hair as it slips through my fingers. The way the soft waves tickle my palms. It’s just as soothing for me as it is for Ryder.

I don’t even notice it at first. How his breathing grows slow and steady. That his body is completely relaxed and devoidof tension. Two-thirds of the way into the movie, and Ryder Hanson is asleep with his head pillowed on my lap. It’s another of those quiet moments. The kind I value so deeply. Another checkmark in his favor.

Which is inconvenient.

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