Page 8 of First Kissmas

But she’s running from her controlling brother, probably not thinking straight. I need to keep my head clear, even if my body is screaming to deepen the kiss.

She pulls back slowly, her green eyes bright and wondering as they meet mine. She looks stunned, her cheeks flushed pink, her lips slightly parted. The sight of her like this tests my restraint all over again.

“That was my first kiss,” she whispers.

Fuck. The innocent wonder in her voice hits me like a punch to the gut. Of course it was her first—her piece of shit brother probably scared away anyone who looked at her twice. The thought of everything she’s been denied, all the simple joys kept from her, makes me want to trudge through this damn storm to her brother’s house and show that controlling bastard exactly what I think of him.

I brush my thumb across her cheek. “Thank you for trusting me with it.”

Her answering smile is so pure it hurts. I force myself to step back before I do something stupid. “We should finish those cookies Mrs. Miller made us.”

Somehow we end up on the bed, the plate of cookies nestled between us. Courtney sits with her back against the headboard, legs tucked underneath her, and I try not to stare at how her cream-colored sweater hugs her curves. I keep a careful distance, but even that feels too close, too intimate. Every small movement draws my attention—the way she absently traces patterns on her knee while she talks, how her fingers break each cookie into small pieces before eating them.

“Can I ask about your family?” she says, brushing crumbs from her lap.

I shift against the pillow behind me, grateful she’s keeping the conversation flowing, making this easier. “They’re spread out these days. Sister’s in Portland with her kids, parents retired to Arizona. Brother’s in the military, stationed in South Korea. I stay in touch with all of them, but honestly, I prefer the quiet up here.”

She tilts her head against the headboard, and the pretty curve of her throat makes me acutely aware of how much I want to kiss her there. “Do you miss them?”

“Sometimes. Holidays, mainly.” I watch as she reaches for another cookie. “But I’ve always been the solitary type. Need my space to work, to think.”

We talk for hours, trading stories and questions. She tells me about the books that got her through the rough years with her brother, and about the happier memories she has from when her parents were still alive. I share stories about growing up, about finding my way to this life I’ve built. The more she opens up, the more I want to know everything—every dream she’s kept hidden, every hope she’s never spoken aloud.

The sky darkens beyond our window, and Mrs. Miller brings dinner—soup and fresh bread that fills the room with its warm scent. As we eat, I catch myself watching Courtney’s mouth too often, remembering how soft her lips felt against mine.

Night falls too quickly. When Courtney emerges from the bathroom in flannel pajamas covered in tiny reindeer, she looks uncertain, biting her lower lip as she lingers near the bed. The question of sleeping arrangements hangs heavy in the air, charging every moment with tension.

Taking the cot is the right thing to do. The smart thing. But my body remembers how she felt curled against me last night, how perfectly her soft curves fit against my chest.

“That cot’s way too small for you,” she says, glancing at it. “The bed’s big enough for both of us.”

Jesus. Having her that close and not touching her is going to be torture. But the thought of spending another night with her, even just sharing the same space…“You sure?”

She meets my eyes. “Yes.”

That one word holds too much promise, too much temptation. I take longer than necessary in the bathroom, trying to get my shit together. When I return, she’s already under the covers, the sight of her in the bed testing my resolve all over again.

I slide in beside her, keeping to my edge of the mattress. The space between us pulses with awareness. Every small movement of the sheets, every quiet breath fills my senses. Her scent surrounds me—and makes my hands ache to reach for her.

“Goodnight, Ryder,” she says softly.

“Goodnight, Courtney.”

I lie awake for hours, listening to her breathing even out. The moonlight casts a silver glow over the bed, over the too-tempting curve of her hip beneath the covers. The heat of her body radiates across the space between us. My hands remember the softness of her curves, how right she felt pressed against me when we kissed.

Tomorrow she’ll leave, and this torturous heaven will end. But for now, I let myself imagine a different world—one where she could stay, where I could wake up to her pretty smile every morning, where neither of us had to hold back.

Too soon, it’s morning. The roads outside are clearer, though snow still blankets most of the town. I stare out the window, my jaw clenched with the knowledge that our time together is ending. But that’s not what matters now. What matters is getting her somewhere safe, somewhere her brother can’t find her.

A door opens behind me, and I turn to find Courtney emerging from the bathroom. She’s dressed for traveling: sturdy boots, warm layers, hair pulled back practical and neat. Reality crashes back in—we need to get her out of here before her brother finds her.

“Ready?” I ask, grabbing my keys.

She nods, shouldering her backpack. We head downstairs, where Mrs. Miller intercepts us near the front door.

“Leaving so soon?” She looks between us, concern creasing her forehead. “At least stay for breakfast. I’m making waffles.”

“Sorry,” I say, already reaching for the door. “We need to get moving.”

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