Page 32 of The Grinch and His Curvy Christmas Miracle
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."
