Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Ryder
We wind up in the North End, tucked into a cozy little Italian spot that’s got more character in its cracks than most places do in their entire existence.
It’s intimate, warm, the kind of place that might have been here forever. Just the right kind of setting for a night I never expected to have.
The waiter comes over, and without thinking, I slip into Italian. “Un antipasto misto, per favore, e un piatto di pappardelle al ragù di cinghiale. Per il vino, una bottiglia di Chianti Classico.”
Sunny’s eyes widen, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. I can almost feel the playful jab coming before she says it.
“Well, look at you,” she says, leaning back in her chair, that teasing smile creeping up at the corner of her mouth. “Got a secret language now? What else don’t I know about you?”
I grin, leaning back and matching her tone. “Too many secrets, Sunny. But don’t worry, you’ll find them out eventually.”
She laughs, but there’s that glint in her eyes again. Curiosity. She’s starting to peel back a few layers.
“You speak Italian, you’re the Christmas Prince… I’m starting to think you’ve led a much more interesting life than you let on.”
She orders in English, and the waiter leaves to put our order in.
I watch her for a second, then shrug, the smirk never leaving my face. “Yeah, I’ve been to Italy. A lot. But honestly? I was just a kid, caught up in all the noise. Filming, traveling, never really stopping long enough to take it all in. It was all a blur. But the food…”
I pause, taking a breath as I let the memory settle. “The food was the one thing that didn’t feel like a whirlwind. The smells, the flavors… they were real. No cameras. No scripts. Just… life.”
“Wow, that’s wild.” She shakes her head and smiles. “Such a different life to me.”
“Well, I wasn’t always this…” I pause, trying to find the right word, “grumpy.”
Sunny leans forward, intrigued. “Oh? And what were you?”
I chuckle, shaking my head, the truth not as easy to swallow as I want it to be.
“I was a child star. A little too famous for my own good. And when you’re a kid, you don’t realize it, but all the things that are supposed to make you feel safe—your parents, your home—they’re…
just distractions. Even in somewhere as lovely as Italy. ”
Sunny’s expression softens, and she shifts in her seat. “That sounds… exhausting.”
I laugh, a little bitter. “Yeah, it was. And I didn’t even realize how lonely it all was until I was older. I got out of it eventually, of course, but there’s always a part of you that feels like you’re living someone else’s life. Even now. Like you’re never really in control of your own story.”
Before she can respond, the waiter reappears, bringing our antipasto and wine with a quiet flourish. The table is suddenly filled with plates. Vibrant, fragrant, the kind of food that instantly pulls you in.
The basket of warm bread alone is enough to make my stomach growl.
Sunny smiles at the spread, her eyes lighting up. “This looks incredible.”
I pour the Chianti, letting the dark wine swirl in the glass before passing it to her. “Italy knows how to do food,” I say, lifting my glass.
She raises hers to meet mine, the soft clink ringing between us. “To Italy, then.”
I nod, taking a sip. The rich, earthy taste floods my mouth, familiar, grounding. I settle back into my chair, feeling the conversation lift just a little.
There’s something about good food, a warm space, and the quiet hum of the night that makes everything feel… simpler.
But Sunny doesn’t seem ready to let the conversation go. As she picks at the antipasto, she watches me carefully, her gaze softer now.
“I get what you mean,” she says, “about feeling like you’re not in control of your own life. I felt that way, too, growing up.”
“Really?” I cock my head to one side. “Tell me more.”
“I never really felt like I belonged in Chicago. My life was just… noise. I mean, I had friends and family, but nothing ever felt right. I always felt like I was floating through it all, just waiting for something to click.” She sighs heavily.
“But it never did. I tried a lot of things, you know? Tried to make myself fit in, tried to make it work… but it didn’t. None of it felt real.”
Her eyes are distant for a second, and I can tell she’s looking back on all of it. It makes me want to know more about what she’s been through.
“And then,” she adds softly, “I got the will after Auntie Evie passed, and everything changed.”
“The hotel feels more real?”
She nods. “Yeah. I think so. Maybe that’s why it’s so important to me. It’s the first thing that feels like it could stick.”
I watch her carefully, absorbing her words. There’s a depth to them that makes the whole room feel quieter, as if time’s slowed down just for this moment.
It’s clear the hotel isn’t just a business to her, it’s a lifeline—a way to make something in her life real, finally.
“You’re right,” I say, breaking the silence. “This place has a way of sticking to you. Like it’s pulling you in, demanding you figure it out. I can see why it matters to you. And we’ll make it work. One way or another.”
After dinner, we step out into the chilly night air, the bustling energy of the North End fading behind us as we make our way through the streets of Boston.
The city feels alive, vibrant, and wrapped in its holiday magic. It’s basically straight out of a postcard. The sounds of distant laughter and chatter float through the air, mixing with the soft jingle of Christmas bells.
The world is lit up in a thousand different colors: streetlights, shop windows, and festive decorations on every corner. Wreaths dangle from lampposts, and the sweet smell of roasting chestnuts lingers in the air.
Every part of Boston is drenched in the warmth of the season, and for a moment, it’s hard to remember there’s anything outside of this glowing bubble.
Sunny glances up at me, her cheeks flushed from the cold, eyes wide as she takes it all in. Her breath fogs in the air as she exhales, and I catch myself thinking about how much I want to make this night last.
“You know,” she starts, “this city feels like it’s made for Christmas. Like, really made for it.”
I smile at the enthusiasm in her words, the way her eyes twinkle as she rediscovers the world. “Yeah, Boston’s pretty much the Christmas capital.”
Sunny stops in her tracks, her eyes fixed on something ahead. I follow her gaze and see it: a vintage trolley, glowing softly in the distance.
The carriage is decked out in strands of twinkling lights, and the jolly sound of Christmas music drifts from the speakers. The scene feels like it’s pulled from a holiday movie, complete with snow gently falling around us.
Her face lights up, her breath hitching in excitement.
“Oh my gosh,” she gasps, almost in awe. “Look at that! It’s like a real-life Christmas wonderland.”
I glance at the trolley, then back at her, already knowing what’s coming.
“You want to ride that thing?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
She steps closer to me, her grin growing, and her eyes sparkle with that mischievous charm that always gets to me.
“Yes!” she exclaims enthusiastically. “I remember going on it with my aunt, years ago. We have to, Ryder.”
I let out a soft chuckle, trying to pretend I’m not already melting under her gaze. “It’s just a trolley, Sunny. We could walk through the city and enjoy the lights. Don’t you think that’s enough?”
She gives me the look, the one where she tilts her head and bats her eyelashes, acting all sweet and innocent.
“Come on,” she urges, dripping with charm. “It’ll be fun.”
I can feel myself softening, the absurdity of resisting all this Christmas magic fading with every second. Sunny’s infectious energy is impossible to ignore, and I’m already picturing us together on that trolley, her face lit by the twinkling lights, her hand brushing against mine.
She takes a step closer, her breath fogging up in the cold air as she presses her palm gently against my chest.
“Please?” Her tone drops to a soft, coaxing whisper. “For me?”
Her words hang between us, and I feel the warmth of her touch seep through the chill of the evening. There’s something in the way she asks, her smile, her voice… she’s offering a piece of her joy, just hoping I’ll take it.
Before I can even stop myself, I find myself nodding. “Alright. Fine. But only because you’re impossible to say no to.”
Her face lights up bright as the Christmas lights around us, and before I know it, she’s grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the trolley, her laughter trailing behind us.
We board the trolley, the air inside warm and smelling faintly of cinnamon and pine. The soft hum of the old-fashioned carriage beneath us blends with the cheerful jingle of Christmas music playing in the background.
The streetlights outside seem to twinkle in rhythm with the song, creating a hypnotic glow that feels both familiar and magical. Sunny is practically vibrating with excitement, her eyes wide as she gazes out the window, her breath fogging up the glass in little puffs.
As the trolley begins its journey, I lean back in my seat, trying to absorb the scene around me, but it’s hard to focus when she’s sitting right next to me. Her energy is contagious, pulling me in.
She points out the decorations, the carolers standing by the sidewalk, their harmonies rising into the night air, full of joy and life. I glance out the window and catch a glimpse of the group, their faces rosy from the cold, singing in perfect harmony.
They wave at the trolley as it passes, and I give them a nod in return. It’s strange, but I find myself smiling as I watch them.
Sunny moves her face closer to the window, her hands pressed against the glass, trying to absorb every detail. “This is the best thing ever. Just look around. It’s like we’re inside a snow globe.”
I can feel the tug in my chest, that deep ache again, the kind I haven’t felt in years. The world outside is wrapped in Christmas lights, the whole city bathed in a soft, dreamy glow.
It’s perfect, too perfect, and I want to make this moment last forever.
Sunny laughs beside me, a soft, melodic sound. She turns to me, her eyes bright, her cheeks pink from the cold.
“I’m glad you said yes to this,” she says warmly. “You’re not such a grinch after all.”
I tilt my head, the familiar walls I’ve built around myself trying to stay up, even as her smile breaks them down.
“Don’t get used to it,” I murmur, quieter than I expect.
She chuckles, nudging me with her elbow. “I’m pretty sure I’ve already got you figured out.”
I don’t know why, but I want her to keep figuring me out. Want her to keep pulling me toward this, toward this fleeting, perfect night.
I let myself lean back, allowing the rumble of the trolley to soothe the tension that’s always there, the noise of the city and the carolers mixing in a symphony of holiday spirit.
The sort of spirit I don’t think I’ve ever felt before.