Chapter 7
Nikki
I wake up to the scent of pine and the faintest hint of cold air, the kind that slips through old window frames. The fire is down to embers, casting long shadows across the cabin walls.
My fingers curl against the warm sheets. The other side of the bed is empty.
The world outside the frosted window glows bright and clean. Snow blankets everything in sight, glittering under the soft gray light of morning.
It’s the kind of scene you find in storybooks.
Peaceful, untouched, magical.
Except Ryder is gone.
I sit up, the sheet clutched to my chest, listening for any sign of him. Nothing but the crackle of fading heat and the hush of snow against glass.
A flicker of unease rolls through me.
After everything that happened last night—his touch, his words, the way he held me like he didn’t want to let go—I didn’t expect to wake up alone.
My stomach tightens, just a little.
I remind myself not to jump to conclusions, but the old fear creeps in anyway.
I slip out of bed and pull on my leggings and the oversized red sweater that now somehow smells like him.
I glance around. No boots. No coat.
He is not here.
Where the hell is he?
A creak outside makes me pause.
Then the door bursts open, cold air rushing in, and there he is.
Ryder.
Snow clings to his dark jacket. His hair is damp with melted flakes, ice clinging to the edges.
He kicks the door shut with one boot, then hoists something massive into the room.
A Christmas tree.
A real one.
I stare at it, at him, at the ridiculous amount of snow on his shoulders.
He looks up, meeting my wide eyes. "Morning."
I blink. "You chopped down a tree?"
He shrugs like it’s nothing, like he didn’t just trek through a snowy forest to drag a pine tree back for the girl who practically invaded his space this Christmas.
"You love Christmas," he says simply. "Figured you deserved the real thing."
My heart flutters in my chest.
He leans the tree against the wall, shrugs out of his coat, and stomps his boots clean.
"You left without saying a word."
"Didn’t want to wake you. You looked... peaceful."
He walks over to me, snow melting on his shoulders, and cups my face with his chilled hands.
"You okay?"
I nod. "More than."
He leans down and kisses my forehead, then heads toward the storage room.
"Be right back."
When he returns, he’s holding a dusty plastic container.
"Didn’t keep much. Threw most of it away after... well. These are the ones that mattered."
He opens the box and inside are old ornaments, a tangled strand of lights, bits of tinsel, and a few delicate pieces that look handmade. Worn but beautiful.
"These were my mom’s. Some of them go back to when Evan and I were kids."
My throat tightens. "You kept them all this time?"
"Yeah. Couldn’t bring myself to toss these."
We spend the next hour decorating the tree. He lets me do most of it, passing me the ornaments one by one.
Some are mismatched. Others are faded. But when we’re done, the tree looks perfect.
Like it belongs here.
Like I do.
I make cocoa, using the last of my stash, and we curl up on the rug, sipping from mismatched mugs and munching on what’s left of the cookies.
He watches me over the rim of his mug. "This is the first Christmas in years that feels like something."
"Good something or bad something?"
He reaches over and tugs me closer. "The best kind."
My heart does a slow, warm somersault.
Later, while I clean up our mugs in the kitchen, he pulls out two steaks and starts seasoning them like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
"I thought I’d cook for you," he says.
"You cook now?"
He smirks. "I do more than chop wood and grunt."
"Debatable."
He comes behind me, wraps his arms around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder.
"You’re mine now, Nikki. I meant it last night."
I go still.
His voice is low. Possessive. Certain.
"You don’t have to go back. You can work from here. Or not work at all. I make more than enough."
It should feel too much. Too fast.
But it doesn’t.
It feels like something solid in a world that hasn’t made sense in a long time.
Should I go pack my bags, leave my rental behind, and move in with the grumpiest mountain man who turned out to be a complete marshmallow?
Absolutely.
I turn to face him. "I want to keep illustrating. I love it. Making kids happy, building little worlds for them."
His gaze softens. "Then you do that. Right here."
"And what will you do while I’m hunched over my drawing tablet for ten hours a day?"
He kisses the tip of my nose. "Watch you. Cook for you. Keep the place running."
I laugh, and he pulls me in closer.
We’re mid-bantery kiss when a knock hits the door.
We both freeze.
Ryder pulls back, brows drawn.
Another knock.
Firm. Impatient.
He walks over, unlocks the door, and swings it open.
Cold air rushes in.
A woman stands on the porch. Blonde. Elegant. Lips painted. A Christmas basket in her hands.
My stomach drops.
Ryder doesn’t flinch.
"Sandra," he says, voice flat. "What the hell are you doing here?"
She blinks like she wasn’t expecting him to be so blunt.
"Hi, Ryder. I... I was nearby, and I thought I’d drop in."
I quietly step deeper into the kitchen, staying out of view. From where I stand, I can just make out the porch through the side window. And I can hear everything.
Sandra lifts the basket like some awkward peace offering.
"I brought some cookies. Thought you might want something homemade for Christmas."
He doesn’t take it. Doesn’t even move.
"Why are you really here?"
Her lips part. "My husband—ex-husband—cheated. Over and over. We divorced last month. I was driving through and I just... I realized what a mistake I made."
The words drop like a stone in my chest.
"I should never have left you, Ryder. Not for a bigger house or a flashier life. You were the real thing. You always were."
I press my back against the wall, gripping the edge of the counter.
She sounds sincere. Sad. Like she really regrets it.
And part of me hates that I feel even a flicker of sympathy.
"You’re not happy," Ryder says.
She shakes her head. "No. Not even close. And I know I don’t deserve it, but... I was hoping you might still feel something for me."
Oh God.
"I still love you, Ryder. I always have. I just didn’t know how much until I lost you."
My heart stutters. I bite my lip.
He doesn’t say anything for a long time. Too long.
Then calmly: "I’ve already found the one for me."
Silence.
Sandra freezes. "You... what?"
She pushes past him and storms into the cabin before he can stop her. Her eyes sweep the room, and land on me.
I go still.
Her face shifts. Surprise. Then scorn.
"This is her?"
Ryder moves in beside her, jaw set. "Leave, Sandra."
She doesn’t even look at him. Her eyes stay pinned on me like I’m something under her heel.
"You’ve got to be kidding. Ryder, she’s not even pretty. She’s fat, for God’s sake. You used to have taste."
The hit is physical. My body flinches before my brain catches up.
Shame. Rage.
Old insecurities roar back to life.
Ryder steps in front of her. "She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever been with. Actually, she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen."
She finally looks at him. "You think she’s going to make you happy? Some girl almost half your age playing house in your cabin?"
He closes the space between them, firm and unwavering. "She already does."
Sandra folds her arms, full of disbelief. "You can’t be serious."
"Dead serious. Nikki is everything I never thought I’d find. And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving she belongs here."
Her mouth opens. Closes. Then twists with something ugly.
"You’re making a mistake."
"No. I made one years ago when I let you in."
She stares for a beat too long. Then turns, storms out, and slams the door behind her.
The silence after feels thick enough to drown in.
Ryder exhales hard and walks toward me.
I haven’t moved. I’m still standing where I was, heart thudding, skin flushed.
"You okay?" he asks.
I shrug. "She’s... beautiful. Polished. And I don’t know. For a second, it felt like maybe you two made sense."
He frowns. "Nikki. Look at me."
I do.
"That woman crushed something in me. You brought it back to life."
I open my mouth, unsure what to say, but he lifts a hand and turns toward the tree. Plucks a bit of tinsel from the branch, twisting it between his fingers.
Then he drops to one knee.
"This is our first Christmas together. The first of many. And yeah, this ring is crap, but it’s yours. Just like I am. Marry me."
My breath catches. "You’re serious?"
"Dead serious."
I let out a shaky laugh. "Yes."
He lifts me off the floor like I weigh nothing, spins me once, and kisses me like it’s the start of forever. And maybe it is.