"Ryder," I say quietly.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For all of this. For..." I gesture vaguely toward the tavern, the direction of the arena, the entire evening. "For seeing what the shelter could be and making it possible."
"Mia." He turns to face me fully, his expression serious. "Youbuilt this. You made the shelter something incredible, something people can see value in supporting. All I did was bring it to the spotlight."
"You did more than that." I reach for his free hand, lacing our fingers together. "You believed in it. In me. Even when I was too scared to believe in us."
His thumb brushes across my knuckles, sending sparks up my arm. "Are you still scared?"
The honest question hangs between us in the cold air.
Am I still scared? Yes. Absolutely. Loving Ryder Scott is like standing on the edge of a cliff… exhilarating and terrifying and completely worth the risk.
But I'm done letting fear make my decisions.
"Terrified," I admit, looking down at our linked hands. "But not enough to run away this time."
The smile that spreads across his face is pure sunshine, bright enough to melt every snowflake making the entire town center look like a winter wonderland.
"Good," he says simply. "Because I'm not going anywhere."
We head back inside, and the celebration is still going strong. Someone's started a round of increasingly ridiculous toasts, and Blake is regaling a growing audience with what sounds like an epic retelling of Connor's best saves.
I settle into the booth beside Ryder, his arm automatically coming around my shoulders. The contact feels natural, comfortable in a way that makes me wonder why I fought it for so long.
"There she is!" Connor raises his beer bottle as we approach. "The woman of the hour!"
"Okay. We can stop that now," I protest, but I'm smiling. "This is Ryder's night. He's the one who scored two goals and sent Montreal packing."
"Ummmm… excuse me.I'mthe one who made those spectacular saves in the second period that kept us in the game," Connor adds with a grin.
The banter flies back and forth, conversation flowing around us. But through it all, I find myself watching Ryder more than listening. I watch the way he laughs with his teammates, the way he includes me in every conversation, the way his hand never leaves mine.
This is what I've been missing.
Not just him, but this feeling of being part of something bigger. Of having someone in my corner who believes in my dreams as much as I do.
As the evening wears on and the crowd gradually thins, I feel a familiar warmth spreading through my body that has nothing to do with the champagne. It's the heat that comes from watching Ryder's hands gesture as he talks, from catching glimpses of his smile, from remembering exactly what those hands and that mouth can do to me.
The memory of two nights ago hits me like a bolt of lightning. The way he touched me, kissed me, made me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. The way we fit together like no time had passed at all.
God, I want him. Right now.
I don't want to go home alone tonight. I don't want to lie in my empty bed thinking about what-ifs and maybes.
I want to celebrate. Really celebrate.
I lean closer to Ryder, my lips brushing his ear as I speak. "Hey."
"Hey yourself," he murmurs back, his voice already rougher at the simple contact.
"I have an idea."
"Oh yeah? What kind of idea?"
I let my hand drift to his thigh under the table, just high enough to make his breath catch. "The kind that involves getting the hell out of here and going somewhere quiet."
