Page 37 of Babies for the Christmas Grump
Tinsel curls up beside me, purring so loudly I almost miss Ryder’s first cheesy line. When the younger Ryder winks at the camera, Tinsel bats at the screen like she wants to catch it.
“Oh no,” I whisper, horrified. “Even my cat’s falling for him.”
I watch the entire thing, because why not? I’m surprised by how much it pulls me in. The innocence of it. The charm. The way he looks at the camera is like it’s asking him to save the world with one wink.
And I get it. I understand how it worked, how it made Ryder the object of countless fans’ affections.
But as the movie drags on, and the festive magic swirls around, something nags at me. He’s not that guy anymore.
Ryder in the movie is all holiday cheer and wide-eyed optimism. He believes in the magic, in the goodness of Christmas.
But when I look at him now, he’s buried that version of himself under piles of spreadsheets and cynicism.
What a shame. I know it’s a character, but this version of him is fun.
How did this bright, shining boy in the movie, the one who was so full of hope, come to hate Christmas and fun so much?
By the time the credits roll, I’m not laughing at the hokey lines or the too-perfect holiday set. I’m thinking about Ryder. About how he’s this complex puzzle.
Behind those calculating eyes, there’s a man who was once that sweet-faced prince, and I wonder if it’s all just gone.
And that bothers me. It bothers me that he doesn’t even want to try to enjoy life, to let himself care about the little things. The fun things.
I sit there for a moment, letting the delicate glow of the TV screen wash over me. The quiet hum of the room is a lullaby. One I don’t want to fall into just yet.
I want answers. I need to figure out who Ryder really is, beyond the CFO, beyond the Christmas Prince. And damn it, I’m going to.
I turn off the TV, slide the remote back onto the coffee table, and grab the lockbox from the desk, my fingers trailing over the yellowed paper inside. But then my mind drifts back to Ryder—that stupid Christmas movie.
Maybe I’ll confront him tomorrow. Maybe I’ll ask him what the hell happened. Or maybe I’ll wait, keep pushing forward with my plans for the gala.
Either way, I’m done letting the hotel slip through my fingers. If I need to figure out who Ryder really is to do that, then I will.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Ryder
December 6th
I spotthe first flyer on the staff bulletin board by the kitchen.
It’s printed in festive red and gold, with exaggerated curls on every letter.The Garland Rose Christmas Gala: A Night of Lights and Legacy.The kind of overzealous design that screams expensive.
I stare at it for a full five seconds before turning on my heel.
Dex is whistling off-key in the lobby, tacking up another one by the front desk. He’s suspiciously cheerful for someone working a double shift. The flyer flaps in his hand as he steps back to admire his handiwork.
“What the hell is this?” I ask, my voice sharper than intended.
Dex looks over his shoulder, eyes lighting up when he sees me. “Oh hey, you saw it! Isn’t it gorgeous?”
I don’t answer. I step forward and tear the tape from the top of the flyer. “Where did this come from?”
Dex shrugs. “Sunny cooked it up last night. She’s going big. You should’ve seen her. Notes, plans, the whole nine yards.Champagne fountains, vintage ornaments, live jazz trio. We’re talking real deal Christmas magic.”
My gut sinks.
“And you’re just… pinning these up?” I ask, holding the flyer out as if it’s evidence in a court case.
