The Exmas Fauxmance

Chapter 1

ONE

Riley

The town line appeared through the windshield like a dare.

Grant, who always smelled like pine and woodsmoke.

Grant, who could fix anything with his hands.

His large, manly hands.

Hands he’d once had all over her body.

Grant, who she'd been pretending not to think about for over a decade.

She rolled her shoulders, trying to shake the tension creeping up her spine.

This was ridiculous. They were adults. Functional, mature adults who'd broken up amicably after high school and moved on with their lives. She had a career in the city—a good one, even if her boss treated her like a renewable resource. Grant had the family farm and a reputation as the most dependable man in three counties. Riley didn’t know why she was getting all worked up about him now after all this time.

It was fine. They saw each other every year when the whole friend group gathered for the holidays, made polite small talk, laughed at the right moments, and went their separate ways without incident.

Sometimes they’d run into each other when she was home visiting her parents, and they always had a chat and a laugh.

No big deal. She’d never stopped finding him attractive, but they’d evolved into being friends.

Maybe it was the fact she hadn’t had a date in longer than she could remember, or that the guys in the city were so high maintenance, they rivaled models on a catwalk.

Grant wasn’t like them. He’d always been down to earth. Mr. All American.

Mr. All American Hottie.

Her pulse kicked up the second she crossed into town, and the bare trees lining Main Street looked like they were reaching for her, pulling her back into a version of herself she'd tried to outrun.

Riley cranked up the heat, even though the car was already warm.

Her phone buzzed in the cupholder—probably her mother asking when she'd arrive, or Hannah sending another meme about holiday stress.

She ignored it. If she looked now, she'd see the group chat, and the group chat would remind her that the reunion was in two days, and the reunion meant him.

The houses started appearing, decked out in lights and wreaths and inflatable snowmen that looked vaguely drunk.

Pine Valley took Christmas seriously. Every lamppost wore garland.

Every storefront had fake snow sprayed across the windows.

The whole town smelled like cinnamon and pine, aggressively festive in a way that made her chest ache with an emotion she refused to call homesickness.

She loved it. She hated that she loved it.

Her parents' house sat at the end of Maple Street, a two-story colonial with a porch her dad refused to fix and shutters her mom repainted every spring.

The driveway was already crowded—her brother Tyler's beat-up Jeep, her sister Lily's sedan with the dented bumper, and her dad's truck that somehow still ran despite being older than she was.

Riley parked and sat for a moment, staring at the wreath on the front door. Red ribbon, too many bells, definitely her mother's handiwork.

You can do this. You're a professional. You negotiate brand deals with people who eat PR reps for breakfast. You can handle one small-town Christmas.

She grabbed her bag from the passenger seat and stepped out into the cold. The air bit at her cheeks, sharp and clean in a way city air never was. Snow crunched under her boots as she climbed the porch steps, and before she could even reach for the door, it flew open.

"RILEY'S HOME!"

Lily launched herself forward, arms wide, dark hair flying. Riley barely had time to drop her bag before her sister collided with her, squeezing hard enough to crack ribs.

"Hi, Lil. Breathing. Need breathing."

"You're late," Lily said, pulling back with a grin that was all mischief. "Mom's been pacing for an hour."

"I'm twenty minutes late."

"She started pacing an hour ago."

Riley laughed despite herself and let Lily drag her inside.

Warmth hit her immediately—too much warmth, because her dad always cranked the thermostat to tropical levels in winter.

The house smelled like sugar cookies and pine, and every surface was covered in decorations.

Garland draped the staircase. A tree stood in the corner of the living room, ornaments hanging at chaotic angles because her family had never believed in design consistency.

"She's here!" Lily shouted toward the kitchen.

"Finally!" Her mother's voice rang out, followed by the sound of something clattering. Carol Monroe appeared in the doorway, flour on her apron and a wooden spoon in hand. "Riley, sweetheart, you didn't text."

"I texted two hours ago."

"That doesn't count. I meant when you got close."

Riley crossed the room and hugged her, breathing in the familiar scent of vanilla and fabric softener. Her mom held on a beat too long, the way she always did, like Riley might vanish if she let go.

"How was the drive?" Carol asked, pulling back to study her face.

"Long. Snowy. I'm here now."

"Good. Your father's in the garage pretending to organize. Tyler's upstairs pretending to work. And Lily—" She turned to Riley's sister with a pointed look. "—was supposed to be helping me with cookies."

Lily held up her hands. "I was on Riley duty."

"Go. Both of you. I need at least three more batches before tonight."

Riley frowned. "Tonight?"

"Family dinner. Obviously." Her mom waved the spoon like it explained everything. "Everyone's coming. Your aunt, your uncle, the cousins—"

"Wait, everyone?"

"It's Christmas, Riley. What did you expect?"

A quiet evening to decompress from the drive. But Riley just smiled and nodded, because arguing with Carol Monroe about holiday logistics was like arguing with gravity.

Tyler appeared at the top of the stairs, lanky and smug in a Pine Valley High sweatshirt that had seen better days. "Look who finally showed up."

"Hi, Tyler."

"Took you long enough. Mom made me set the table twice because she kept changing her mind about where you'd sit."

"That's not true," Carol called from the kitchen.

"It's absolutely true," Tyler said, jogging down the stairs. He stopped in front of Riley and grinned. "So. Big reunion coming up."

Riley's stomach tightened. "Yeah. Like every year."

"You seeing Grant?"

There it was. Riley kept her expression neutral, even though her pulse spiked. "He's always there. We all hang out."

"Yeah, but this year might be different."

"Why would this year be different?"

Tyler's grin widened. "Just a feeling."

"Tyler," Lily interrupted, shoving past him. "Leave her alone."

"I'm not doing anything!"

"You're doing the thing where you poke her until she snaps."

"That's called sibling bonding."

Riley grabbed her bag and headed for the stairs. "I'm going to my room."

"Running away already?" Tyler called after her.

"Strategically retreating," she shot back.

Her childhood bedroom was exactly as she'd left it—floral bedspread, posters from bands she'd loved in high school, a bookshelf crammed with paperbacks and yearbooks she couldn't bring herself to throw away.

She dropped her bag on the floor and sat on the edge of the bed, letting the quiet settle around her.

Her phone buzzed again.

This time, she looked.

The group chat—titled "Pine Valley Legends" because Ryan thought he was hilarious—was lighting up.

Jenna: Reunion invites officially sent! Check your email!

Hannah: I love that you made an actual Evite for this.

Jenna: It's called being organized, Hannah.

Ryan: She color-coded the RSVP options.

Emily: That's so Jenna.

Mark: Are we doing the gift exchange again?

Jenna: Yes. $20 limit. No gag gifts this time, Mark.

Mark: That was ONE time.

Riley scrolled through the messages, smiling in spite of herself.

They'd been doing this reunion every year since college—a week before Christmas, everyone back in Pine Valley, pretending they were still eighteen and invincible.

She saw Grant every year. They hugged hello, made small talk about work and family, and carefully avoided any mention of what they'd been to each other once.

It was fine. Totally fine.

Another message popped up.

Hannah: WAIT. Jenna. Did you make a Naughty List?

Jenna: ...maybe.

Ryan: She absolutely did.

Jenna: It's FUNNY. You'll like it.

Riley's phone buzzed with the email notification. She opened it, already bracing herself.

The invite was classic Jenna—neat, festive, organized within an inch of its life. But at the bottom, under the RSVP button, was a section titled: "Most Likely To" Naughty List - Holiday Edition.

Riley scrolled down.

Hannah: Most Likely to Spike the Eggnog

Mark: Most Likely to Fall Asleep Before Midnight

Emily: Most Likely to Cry at a Holiday Commercial

Chris: Most Likely to Wear Matching Pajamas

Jenna: Most Likely to Have a Pinterest Board for This Party

Ryan: Most Likely to Burn the Turkey

And then:

Riley: Most Likely to Put Up Her Own Tree

Grant: Most Likely to Be Everyone's Plus-One

Riley stared at the screen.

Most Likely to Put Up Her Own Tree.

She laughed—short, sharp, borderline bitter. Of course. Because that's what she was, wasn't she? The perpetually single one. The independent one. The one who joked about being alone because if she didn't joke about it, it might actually hurt.

Her phone buzzed again.

Hannah: RILEY. I'm dying. "Put up her own tree." I'm DEAD.

Emily: It's cute!

Hannah: It's ACCURATE.

Riley groaned and flopped backward on the bed. She could already hear it—the teasing at every gathering, her mom's pointed comments about "finding someone special," the pitying looks when she showed up alone to yet another holiday event.

And Grant—

Her chest tightened.

Most Likely to Be Everyone's Plus-One.

She sat up, reading it again. Grant. Reliable, dependable Grant, who showed up for everyone and never asked for anything in return. The guy who'd been everyone's backup date, everyone's emergency contact, everyone's safe choice.