Reconciliation (1)

VIOLET

Nothing makes more sense than Christmas at home—Christmas in New York. And what made it better?

It’s just a day until Christmas, and we’re finally back for the break. My mom and Max are out of the country on some emergency business trip. They left a long string of apologies in their wake, but honestly, I don’t mind. In fact, I prefer it this way. It means Ryan and I have the entire house to ourselves.

My cheeks flushed at the thought. It’s been nearly three weeks since our relationship breakthrough, and we’ve grown stronger than ever. Things feel... effortless now, like the weight of the past has finally been lifted off our shoulders.

Ryan sorted things out with Amelia, who even ended up texting me an apology. She admitted she couldn’t face me after everything she’d done, and I forgave her. Looking back, I realized her actions weren’t entirely her fault. She’d been wronged too and sought revenge in the only way she knew how. It didn’t justify what she did, but it gave me closure.

Last night was a blur of unpacking and getting settled after our late return from Berkeley. Ryan came to campus first, and we booked the flight to New York together—something that felt so natural now. But today? Today felt like a fresh start.

The morning had been a mix of productivity and lightheartedness. I worked on my manuscript while Ryan brainstormed beside me, occasionally chiming in with an idea or critique. He was right—writing in pre-Christmas New York with him by my side was infinitely better than agonizing over words alone in Berkeley.

Now, we were curled up in Ryan’s room, sharing a warm bowl of pasta. He’d insisted on making it himself, which surprised me given his usual aversion to anything resembling domestic work. When I’d asked why we were eating here instead of in the dining room, he muttered something about "ambiance." I didn’t push.

The cozy intimacy of his room, with its dim lighting and soft music in the background, was unexpectedly perfect.

He excused himself to get some things and when he returned, he was holding a slim black folder in hand.

I raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

He ignored my question and sat down beside me, his expression unreadable.

“Put it away,” I said with mock sternness. “No work during meals, remember?”

“It’s not work,” he replied, a slow grin forming. “It’s a present.”

I perked up instantly. “A present? For me?”

Ryan’s eyes danced with amusement. “You’ve been struggling with writer’s block, so I did some research and put together a list of ways to overcome it.” He handed me the folder. “I even confirmed with several neuroscientists that these methods are scientifically sound.”

My jaw dropped. “Wait—you consulted neuroscientists about my writer’s block?”

He shrugged, like it was no big deal. “I donate a lot to scientific organizations every year. They’re happy to indulge a few... personal requests.”

I opened the folder, scanning the neatly printed suggestions. Most of them were things I’d seen before—meditation, scheduling dedicated writing time, the Pomodoro technique. But there were a few I hadn’t come across.

I glanced at him, my chest tightening with emotion. He’d gone out of his way to help me, spending time researching solutions and consulting experts. When was the last time someone did something so thoughtful for me?

I dipped my head, pretending to focus on the folder as I blinked back the sting of tears. I couldn’t let him see how much this meant to me—it was embarrassing how easily he could undo me.

Flipping noisily through the pages, I stopped at one of the last items. My eyes widened as I read it aloud.

“Engage in frequent and rigorous sexual activity when feeling stuck.’”

Ryan’s face remained the picture of innocence, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “Orgasms stimulate creativity,” he said matter-of-factly.

I shot him a suspicious look. “Oh, really? And I’m supposed to believe this was part of your scientific research?”

His grin spread slowly, like warm honey dripping off a spoon. “It’s scientifically proven, Mouse. I can show you the data if you want.”

I couldn’t help it—a laugh bubbled out of me, the kind that left my cheeks aching and my chest light.

“You’re unbelievable,” I said, shaking my head, but there was no denying the warmth spreading through me.

“Unbelievably helpful,” he quipped, leaning closer.
“You know,” he said, his voice dipping into a teasing murmur, “if you’re really curious about the science, we could test that particular method. For accuracy’s sake, of course.”

I rolled my eyes, though I couldn’t fight the smile tugging at my lips. “Oh, so now you’re a researcher and a volunteer participant?”

“I’m a man of many talents, Mouse. You should know that by now.” He smirked.

I closed the folder and set it aside, knowing full well I wasn’t going to get any more work done tonight. 

“Fine,” I said, meeting his gaze with mock seriousness. “If this is your way of volunteering to be my creative muse, I’ll allow it. But I expect results.”

Ryan’s eyes darkened, the playful glint in them replaced by something far more dangerous. “Oh, I’ll deliver, Mouse. You can count on that.”

One second, he was sitting across from me, and the next, he was right there—so close I could feel the heat radiating off his body.

And then, he kissed me.

It wasn’t tentative or careful. It was deep, desperate, a kiss that stole the air from my lungs and sent my heart racing. His hands found my waist, pulling me flush against him as though the space between us was unbearable. His breaths came hard and uneven, matching the frenzied rhythm of my own.

Before I could process it, he swept me off the floor, lifting me effortlessly into his arms. My legs instinctively wrapped around his hips, and his mouth trailed fire down my neck, pressing heated kisses along my throat that left me trembling.

I didn’t realize we’d moved until he set me down on his bed, his hands never leaving me. One slid under my neck, cradling me with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the hunger in his kiss. The other hand slipped beneath my shirt, his fingers grazing the bare skin of my back in a way that sent shivers coursing through me.

When he finally broke the kiss,loss hit me hard. A protest formed on my tongue, climbing up my throat.

“Spread your legs for me, mouse”  Ryan's s murmur dripped honey into my veins.
I obliged. Pressure built between my legs as his hand trailed lazily up my inner thigh until they reached my soaked thong. The force of my need squeezed a low, embarrassing whine from my throat. He’d barely touched me, and I was already a mess.

“Just like that.” He coaxed the straps off my shoulders with his other hand and gently tugged my dress down. I wasn’t wearing a bra, and every brush of air against my tight, sensitized nipples sent an answering jolt to my core. I squirmed, desperate for more friction, but I couldn’t get enough leverage in my position. “Let me feel how wet you are.”

And just like that,my whole world exploded