Page 111 of Almost Ours
I blinked.
And then a knock at the back door.
I let out a shaky breath, pressing a hand to my chest, willing my pulse to slow. I crossed the room on autopilot, my hand still trembling slightly as I unlocked the back door.
Ryan stood there, dusted with snow and wearing that boyish, easy grin–until he saw my face.
His smile faded. “You okay?”
I didn’t answer with words. Instead, I reached for him–fisted a hand into the front of his coat and pulled him toward me, pressing my lips to his in a kiss that was all urgency and heat.
His hesitation was brief. A breath. Then he was kissing me back, one hand rising to cup the back of my neck, the other landing firmly on my waist, anchoring me to him. The door clicked shut behind him, but I barely heard it over the pounding in my ears.
I didn’t want him to ask again. Didn’t want him to see the fear still clinging to me. I wanted to feel something else–something real. Safe. Familiar. Him.
He pulled back just enough to murmur, “Harper,” his voice rough with concern. His thumb stroked my jaw, eyes searching mine. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
I swallowed hard, nodding quickly. “Yeah. You just scared me. I didn’t know you were here already.”
I didn’t give him a chance to say anything else. I rose onto my toes, wrapped both arms around his neck, and kissed him again–deeper this time. His hands slid down my sides, gripping my hips, and I felt him exhale against my mouth like he’d been holding his breath since I opened the door.
We stumbled toward the couch, mouths never parting, fingers tugging at layers of clothing. My back hit the cushions and he followed, his body covering mine, his warmth pressing into every curve. His hand slipped under the hem of my sweater, calloused fingers grazing my skin and sending a tremor through me.
My own hands roamed–over his chest, the line of his jaw, into his hair. I pulled him closer, needing more. He kissed me like he was trying to memorize every gasp, every sigh, every part of me that responded to his touch.
His lips left mine only to trail down my neck, across my collarbone, pushing the neckline of my sweater aside so he could kiss the bare skin at my shoulder. I arched into him, fingers tightening in his shirt, silently urging him closer.
The couch creaked softly beneath us as we shifted, my legs tangling with his. He pressed his forehead to mine for a beat, both of us breathing hard.
And just like that, we were lost again–his hands exploring, mine tugging at fabric, his mouth trailing fire down my throat and back again. Every touch was deliberate, reverent, like he was trying to rebuild me from the outside in. And I let him.
Because for one quiet moment, with snow falling outside and his body wrapped around mine, I didn’t feel afraid.
I felt wanted and safe.
Nina didn’t giveme much choice.
“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 overthose 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 heightand 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.
