Chapter 27 Harper #2
“Connor can come back to our place. Live a little. Go do something for yourself,” she’d said.
“Or someone…” she smirked, as Liam and Connor darted upstairs to grab their things.
After last night with Ryan, “living a little” had a very specific meaning in my head–and it had me pulling into his driveway before I could talk myself out of it.
Ryan’s place sat tucked among tall pines at the end of a gravel lane, the kind of cabin that could’ve been pulled from a postcard.
The cedar siding was weathered just enough to be charming, and a thin curl of smoke drifted from the chimney, carrying the faint scent of burning wood.
Snow clung to the roofline, and his truck sat off to the side, dusted in white.
I climbed the steps and knocked, pulse skipping when the door swung open almost immediately.
Ryan stood there in a navy blue henley that hugged his shoulders just right, the sleeves pushed up to reveal strong forearms. His dark hair was mussed, a few strands falling over those ridiculously blue eyes. That easy smile curved his mouth, the one that always made my chest go warm.
“Hey,” he said, stepping back to let me in.
Inside, the air was toasty from the woodstove, the scent of fresh coffee mingling with the faint burn of pine logs.
The living room was a blend of rustic and lived-in–deep leather couch, plaid throw blankets, a stack of hockey magazines on the coffee table.
A pair of skates hung from a hook by the door, their laces frayed but neatly tied.
My gaze drifted to the wall above the couch, where a row of framed photos caught my attention.
One made my chest tighten–a snapshot of me, Connor, and Ryan from the tobogganing hill, the one Connor had given him for Christmas.
My breath hitched, the same warmth from the moment I’d first seen it flooding through me.
Another frame nearby pulled me in: the four of us at the Christmas party–Shane with his arm slung casually around Nina, me tucked against Ryan’s side, Santa grinning wide in the background.
The sight sent a flush creeping up my neck.
That was the night everything had shifted, the night Ryan and I had finally given in.
Just looking at the photo, I could still feel the electric pulse of that moment, the way his touch had set my skin on fire, how impossible it had been to keep pretending I didn’t want him.
Next to it were pictures of Ryan with a smiling woman whose eyes and grin mirrored his own. His arm was slung over her shoulder in most of them, and though he looked younger, maybe in his teenage years and early twenties, I didn’t have to guess who she was. His mom.
Then something else caught my eye–fire-red hair.
I stepped closer to see a photo of three boys.
Even in hockey gear, it was easy to tell which one was Ryan, his grin wide and mischievous.
Beside him was a younger Shane, unmistakable with his height and wild red hair.
The third boy was unfamiliar–dark blond hair, green eyes, and an easy, confident smile.
“Who’s that? With you and Shane?” I asked, stepping closer to the photo.
Ryan glanced over his shoulder, his eyes landing on the frame for a split second before cutting away. “Kyle.”
I tilted my head, taking in the image again. “You guys played hockey together?”
“Yeah. We played on the same college team.” Ryan’s voice was clipped, stripped of his usual easy warmth.
I frowned. The air between us shifted–subtle yet undeniable, like a cold draft slipping through the room. I could tell from the way he kept his gaze anywhere but on me that I’d brushed against something he didn’t want touched.
“Did he play in the NHL too?” I tried again, my tone light, casual, but his shoulders tensed at the question.
“He did,” he said finally, the words short and flat. “He was an incredible player–” He stopped there, the pause hanging heavy, like he’d yanked the rest of the story back before it could escape.
Something about the sharpness in his voice made me tread carefully. “And you guys are all still close…?”
Ryan’s jaw flexed. “As close as we can be. He lives in Oakville.”
I opened my mouth to ask more–because I wasn’t prying, I just wanted to know him better–but the look on his face stopped me. His eyes were darker than usual, something hard and shuttered settling there.
“Ryan…” My voice was quiet, careful.
He blew out a slow breath, rubbed the back of his neck, then forced a crooked smile. “How are the raspberry scones coming along at Benny’s? I was thinking of stopping by to grab one tomorrow morning before work. Maybe I’ll snag one for Shane too.”
The deflection was clumsy, obvious. My chest tightened and I leveled a look at him–steady, unblinking.
His eyes flicked away, landing on the far wall like maybe the wood grain could give him a better excuse. “We should take Connor up to the mountain next weekend. Snowboard’s just sitting there–he’d love a proper day out.”
“What are you doing, Ryan?” I asked, firmer this time, and he finally looked at me.
Something cracked across his expression–frustration maybe, but also fear. He shifted closer, his hand brushing mine like he could erase the question with touch alone.
I gave him another look–the kind that said I knew he was dodging me. His throat bobbed, his mouth opening, then closing again like he’d thought better of speaking. The silence stretched, taut as a wire.
And then he leaned in.
The first brush of his lips were soft, tentative, as though he was asking permission. But the second kiss wasn’t a question–it was an answer, the only one he was willing to give. It was hungry, desperate, his fingers threading into my hair, holding me there like he could keep me from talking more.
I felt it in my bones: he was hiding something. But God, the way he kissed me… it unraveled me, heat spreading fast, replacing the ache in my chest with something reckless and consuming.
His mouth trailed along my jaw, his breath hot against my skin.
My hands found his shirt, fisting the fabric, pulling him closer.
The kiss deepened, turned urgent, like neither of us could get enough.
My pulse raced, my body responding before my mind could catch up, before the questions I still carried had a chance to break through.
I should have pressed harder. Should have demanded words. Instead, I let myself melt into him, into the weight of his body pressing me back against the couch, into the way his touch silenced every fear just for a little while.
The world blurred until there was nothing but heat, nothing but us.