11. Ryan

Chapter 11

Ryan

December twenty-fourth is the main event here, and I’ve always loved how my family extends the festivities, by blending Christmas Eve and Christmas Day into one long celebration of food and relaxation.

After a day of stuffing our faces and hanging out in the hot tub, we bundle up to walk down to the town square for the traditional parade.

Having spent the last two holidays in sunny California, I’ve missed the way the local community shows up to celebrate the occasion. Since long before we were kids, crowds have gathered to see Père No?l as he travels through the town in his sleigh. For years I thought it was the real thing, but without kid goggles, it’s clearly a man on the back of a truck with not a reindeer in sight.

Still, the streets are full of excited faces tipped up to admire the lights and unique displays in all the shop windows. Mum keeps stopping to show them all to Cameron, but when Hannah leads him off to buy roasted chestnuts, I look for Kayla.

It doesn’t take long to track her down in one of our favourite spots, perched on the edge of the monument near the tourist office.

When I offer her my hand, she glances at it for a second, then pretends she hasn’t seen me.

“Kayla,” I growl up at her .

“I’m watching the parade,” she says, shoving her hands under her thighs and out of my reach. “I have the best view from here.”

“You’ll have a better view if you come wriggle your way up front with me, like always.”

She throws her head back and makes a sound that’s half laughter, half groaning. “ ‘Like always’ implies you’re always here, and that is blatantly not true.”

“Well, I’m here now.” Still, she doesn’t budge. “Fine, scoot over and make space for me.”

While attempting to boost myself up and sit next to her, I discover my fully grown ass is the same size as two kid ones and end up shoving her off the edge.

“Ryan, what the fuck?” she snaps, wincing when a nearby family turn to tut at her language.

Kayla turns her back on me, and I hop down again and throw my arms around her shoulders. She’s the perfect height to rest my chin on her head.

“Are you still mad at me?”

“Yes,” she huffs, but I can already feel her softening against my chest.

We’ve never been the kind of friends who argue, at least not about serious stuff. She might have lost her shit a couple of times when I’ve beaten her in a race to the bottom of the ski slope. Then there was the one time I was a selfish prick to her all winter break, but I did my best to make up for it the following year.

She lets me slip my gloved fingers between hers and lead her closer to the front of the parade where our parents are watching with Hannah and Cameron. She’s been teaching him to ski this week, and it’s cool to see my sister and my friend getting on so well. Makes me think I should invite her out to California sometime, if she can drag herself away from work.

It’s not long before Santa rolls past, a convincing vision in red velvet and a full, bushy beard. His team of elves slip chocolate coins into the hands of the smallest children at the front, extra ones straight into pockets to make them feel special.

Dad takes photos of us all and pulls Cameron and Kayla in like they’re part of the family. In many ways she is, but there are no photos of her in my house, so I make a mental note to ask Dad to send me these. There are a few old selfies buried in a hidden folder on my phone, but after seeing the ones on display in her apartment, it would be nice to print them out and frame them, too.

Christmas wouldn’t be the same if she wasn’t here to share it with, but that makes me feel like a fucking asshole. As it should. If I turned up at our house and she was a no-show, I’d be devastated. She’s always been as sure a bet as the mountains themselves.

My grip on her hand tightens like maybe if I squeeze hard enough, she’ll stay attached to me forever. What the fuck was I thinking skipping out on the past two winters? And what kind of asshole assumes a woman like Kayla would wait around for him? No wonder she was pissed as hell at seeing me.

To the untrained eye, you’d think she gives more of a shit about me than I do about her, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Kayla has some cellular level effect on me. I swear I’ve heard her laughter carried on the wind, felt her phantom touch in those liminal moments before I wake up.

In the bedroom, we’ve basically trained each other. She’s the only woman I ever think of when I come. The images that flash through my mind are a sensational stimulant when I’m alone, a colossal inconvenience when I’ve tried to get with anyone else .

“Do you have plans after dinner?” I ask her.

“Early night, I think,” she says, looking down at her feet. Clearly I’m not invited, and I’m not happy about it.

“Can I see you?”

She pulls away and drops my hand. “I’m leading a Christmas sunrise tour tomorrow, so I need a good night’s sleep.”

One thing she definitely won’t get with me in her bed.

“We’re not skiing together?” I ask, trying not to look too disappointed. She’s woven into all of my favourite holiday traditions. This parade, our annual Christmas morning race, the fireworks on New Year’s Eve.

“It’s work, Ryan. I can’t drop clients.”

“Can I meet you after?”

She inhales deeply and presses her lips together. “I don’t know.”

These stilted conversations are agony. We’ve always been so open with each other, and I wish I knew the magic words to fix things between us. The thought of this winter slipping away because we’re in a fight I never meant to cause is unbearable.

Every part of me wants to scoop her up, throw her over my shoulder and haul her ass home, but I don’t want to make things worse with her.

“Kayla. Bunny. Look at me.” I pull my glove off and she lets me cup her face, tilting her head to lean into my warm touch. “I’m here. Right now. And if you don’t want to see me then, well, that fucking sucks, but I’ll deal with it. Somehow. If you do want to see me, and you’re just protecting your heart, then I hate to pressure you, but I don’t want to waste a single second we could be together.”

Her pout lifts at one corner before she bites it back down. Surrounded by people, our families included, I know this isn’t the time or the place for a grand declaration of my true feelings. Still, I need her to know how I feel, and it’s the realest I can be for now.

“You know where I’ll be. Any time you want to see me, even if it’s for five minutes, I’m all yours.”

“Tomorrow,” she says, so softly I think I might have imagined it.

“Tomorrow?”

“I’ll be skiing with my parents in the afternoon, but you can come to my apartment later.”

“Seriously?”

It’s like a light flicks on in my head, and I see it reflected in her eyes. Visions of me and her, alone at her place, hours stretched out before us. My wishlist is doubling in size, and she knows it.

She plants her hands on my chest and pushes me away, walking backwards. “Don’t push your luck.”

“You’re the best, Bunny,” I call after her as she slips her way through the crowd. “I—I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Fortunately, I catch myself before I tell her I love her, but it doesn’t mean I don’t feel it.