Chapter 2
TWO
Grant
The Winter Festival was in full swing by the time Grant finished tying down the last corner of the tent.
He straightened, brushing sawdust from his jeans, and surveyed the chaos of Main Street.
Booths lined both sides of the road, strung with lights that would blink on once the sun set.
Vendors hauled boxes of handmade ornaments and jarred preserves.
The smell of kettle corn mixed with woodsmoke from the fire pits scattered along the route.
Kids shrieked as they chased each other through the snow, and someone's speaker system blasted Mariah Carey loud enough to violate at least three noise ordinances.
Grant loved it. Every year, the same controlled disaster. Every year, he showed up early to help set up, stayed late to break down, and somehow ended up volunteering for six things he hadn't planned on.
Reliable. Dependable. Mister Everyone's Plus-One.
Except this year, he was going to be Riley's plus-one. Fake plus-one. For the entire holiday season.
He still couldn't believe he'd offered. Couldn't believe she'd accepted. Couldn't believe he was about to spend the next two weeks pretending to date the one person he'd never fully gotten over.
What the hell were you thinking, Lawson?
He shoved the thought aside and focused on the booth. The Lawson Family Christmas Tree Farm sign hung crooked above the table. He adjusted it, then stepped back to check the alignment. Close enough. His dad would fix it later anyway—Thomas Lawson had never met a project he could leave alone.
"Looking good, son."
Grant turned. His dad stood a few feet away, hands shoved in the pockets of his work jacket, beard dusted with snow. Thomas had technically retired two years ago, but "retired" for him meant showing up at the farm every morning and offering unsolicited advice until Grant wanted to scream.
"Thanks," Grant said. "You didn't have to come down. I've got it covered."
"I know you do." Thomas stepped closer, eyeing the booth like he was inspecting a military base. "Just wanted to make sure you didn't forget the wreaths."
"They're in the truck."
"And the extra lights?"
"Also in the truck."
"Good. Good." Thomas nodded, rocking back on his heels. "Supposed to be a big crowd this year. Mrs. Henderson said half the county's coming."
Grant grabbed a box of pine cones from the truck bed and set it on the table. "Mrs. Henderson says that every year."
"And every year she's right."
"She's optimistic."
"She's a realist with holiday spirit." Thomas picked up a pine cone, turned it over in his hands, then set it down in a slightly different spot. "You seem distracted."
Grant's hands stilled on the box. "I'm fine."
"You've been checking your phone every five minutes."
"No, I haven't."
"Grant."
He sighed and set down the box. His dad had that look—the one that said he already knew something was up and was just waiting for Grant to admit it.
"Riley's coming by later," Grant said carefully. "We need to talk about something."
Thomas's eyebrows rose. "Riley Monroe?"
"Yeah."
"Huh." His dad's expression shifted into something dangerously close to a smile. "You two finally figuring things out?"
"It's not like that."
"What's it like, then?"
Grant hesitated. He couldn't tell his dad the truth—that he and Riley were about to fake date through the holidays just to get everyone off their backs.
That the whole thing was a lie. That Grant was already regretting it because spending two weeks pretending to be with Riley was going to wreck him.
"We're just talking," he said.
Thomas studied him for a long moment, then clapped him on the shoulder. "Your mom always said you two would find your way back to each other."
Grant's chest tightened. "Dad—"
"I know, I know. You're just talking." Thomas's smile widened. "But for what it's worth, I think she was right."
He walked away before Grant could respond, disappearing into the growing crowd with a wave.
Grant stood there, staring after him, guilt settling heavy in his stomach.
This is a terrible idea.
But he'd already said he’d do it. And Grant Lawson didn't back out of commitments.
Even the ones that were going to destroy him.
By midday, the festival was packed. Families with strollers, couples holding hands, teenagers pretending they were too cool to care but secretly loving every second.
Grant smiled at familiar faces, waved at Mrs. Dawson when she passed with her ridiculous hat collection, and sold three wreaths to people who looked like they'd never hung one in their lives.
He was rearranging the display when he heard Hannah's voice.
"Grant Lawson!"
He turned. Hannah Brooks was barreling toward him, bundled in a puffy coat and dragging her husband Mark behind her like a reluctant sled dog.
Grant's stomach dropped. Hannah. Who'd been grilling Riley about her mystery date last night. Who had no idea that mystery date was him.
Play it cool. You already know. Act normal.
"Hey, Hannah."
She stopped in front of the booth, grinning like she'd just won the lottery. "Busy day?"
"Getting there."
"Good. You're gonna need the distraction."
Grant frowned, even though he knew exactly where this was going. "From what?"
"From being everyone's plus-one." She said it with a laugh, eyes sparkling with mischief. Mark elbowed her.
"Hannah."
"What? It's funny! Jenna's list was hilarious."
"It was accurate," Mark said, giving Grant an apologetic shrug.
Grant forced a smile, even though his pulse kicked up. They had no idea. No clue that he'd just agreed to fake-date Riley. That he was already lying to them. "Glad I could contribute to the entertainment."
Hannah's grin softened. "Oh, come on. Don't be sensitive. It's all in good fun."
"I'm not being sensitive."
"You're doing the thing where you pretend everything's fine."
"Everything is fine."
Hannah leaned on the table, studying him with that look she got when she was about to pry. "So. Riley's bringing someone."
There it was. Grant kept his expression neutral, even though his heart hammered against his ribs. He knew. He was part of it. And he was about to lie directly to Hannah's face.
"Yeah. I heard."
"You okay with that?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"Because you two dated for, like, three years."
"In high school."
"Still counts."
Grant picked up another wreath and hung it on the display, buying time. "It was a long time ago, Hannah. We're friends. I see her every year. I'm happy for her."
Liar. You're such a liar.
The words tasted wrong in his mouth, but he kept his face neutral. Reliable Grant. Steady Grant. The guy who never complained, never caused drama, never made things difficult.
Hannah exchanged a look with Mark—the kind of look that said he's absolutely not fine, but we're going to let him think we believe him.
Except Grant wasn't fine for completely different reasons than Hannah thought. He wasn't heartbroken that Riley had moved on. He was panicking because he'd just volunteered to pretend to be her boyfriend and had no idea how to pull it off without everyone figuring out they were full of it.
"Well," Hannah said, straightening. "If you need a plus-one for the reunion, I know someone."
"I'm good."
"Her name's Jessica. Works at the library. Super cute."
"Hannah."
"Just saying. Options exist."
Mark tugged her away before Grant could respond. "Come on. Let's go find Ryan before you scare off the entire male population."
Hannah waved as they disappeared into the crowd, and Grant exhaled slowly.
Riley's bringing someone.
Everyone thought she had a real date. Everyone thought Grant had no idea. And here he was, standing behind a booth full of Christmas trees, lying to his friends and wondering what the hell he'd gotten himself into.
The crowd thickened as the afternoon stretched into evening.
Grant sold trees, gave directions, helped a kid find his mom, and restocked the wreath display twice.
Every time someone mentioned Riley, his chest tightened.
Every time someone asked if he was bringing anyone to the reunion, he had to force himself not to blurt out the truth.
Just get through today. Tomorrow you'll meet with Riley and finalize the details. Then you'll start lying in earnest.
By the time the sun started setting, the lights were on, and the festival had transformed into something out of a postcard—snowflakes drifting through golden light, music drifting from the bandstand, laughter echoing off the storefronts.
And then he saw her.
Riley.
She was standing near the hot chocolate booth, hands shoved in her coat pockets, snowflakes catching in her dark hair. She looked the same as last Christmas—sharp eyes, quick smile, the posture of someone ready to take on the world or run from it, depending on the day.
Grant's chest went tight.
This was different now. She wasn't just Riley, the girl he used to date. She was Riley, his fake girlfriend. Riley, who was about to walk over here and start the most insane charade either of them had ever attempted.
She turned, scanning the crowd, and their eyes met.
For a second, neither of them moved. Then Riley's face shifted into something careful—practiced—and she started toward him.
Grant forced himself to breathe.
"Hey," she said, stopping a few feet from the booth.
"Hey."
"Busy?"
"Yeah. You know how it is."
"I do." She glanced at the display, her hands still buried in her pockets. "Wreaths look good."
"Thanks."
Silence stretched between them, awkward and loaded. This was how it always went at first—polite, surface-level, both of them pretending they hadn't once known every detail of each other's lives. Except now there was a secret between them, heavy and ridiculous.
Riley cleared her throat. "So. About tomorrow."
"Yeah."
"I'm thinking mid-morning? That work for you?"
"Sure."
"We need to get our story straight before the reunion."
Grant nodded, hyper-aware of the people milling around them, any one of whom could overhear. "Agreed."
"This is insane," Riley said quietly.
"Completely."
"But better than showing up alone and listening to everyone's commentary for two weeks."
"Much better," Grant said, even though he had no idea if that was true.
Riley's mouth twitched into something that wasn't quite a smile. "You still drink hot chocolate with too much whipped cream?"
Grant blinked at the subject change. "Is there any other way?"
"No."
"Then yeah."
"There's a booth over by the bandstand. They're giving out free samples."
"Free samples of whipped cream?"
"Free samples of cocoa. The whipped cream costs extra."
Riley smiled—really smiled—and something in Grant's chest cracked open. "Some things never change."
"Most things don't."
She stepped closer, leaning against the edge of the booth.
The space between them felt smaller now, easier.
This was familiar territory—the banter, the old jokes, the rhythm they fell into every December when they pretended the past didn't exist. Except this December was going to be wildly different.
"How's your dad?" Riley asked.
"Good. Driving me crazy, but good."
"Still pretending to be retired?"
"He's in denial."
"Sounds about right." Riley glanced toward the crowd, then back at him. "How's the farm?"
"Busy. We're expanding the north field next year."
"That's great, Grant."
"Thanks."
They fell into the old rhythm without meaning to—finishing each other's sentences, trading jokes that only made sense if you'd known each other since sophomore year. Grant felt himself relax slightly, the tension easing out of his shoulders.
This was why he'd said yes. Because it was so damn easy with Riley. Because she fit next to him like she'd never left, and maybe—just maybe—pretending wouldn't be the hardest thing he'd ever done.
Dangerous thought.
"So I'll see you tomorrow?" Riley said.
"Yeah. Come by whenever."
She nodded, then hesitated. "Grant?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks. For doing this."
His chest tightened. "It's what I do, right? Everyone's plus-one."
Riley's expression flickered with something he couldn't read. "Right."
She turned to leave, and Grant watched her walk away, his mind already racing through everything that could go wrong.
Fake dating Riley Monroe through the holidays.
He was already lying to everyone.
And the worst part? He wasn't sure how much of it would actually be fake.
Grant spent the rest of the evening on autopilot—selling trees, packing up the booth, loading the truck. His mind kept circling back to Riley. To the way she'd smiled at him. To the fact that tomorrow they'd sit down and plan out every detail of their fake relationship.
By the time he got home, it was late. The farmhouse was dark except for the porch light his dad always left on. Grant trudged inside, kicked off his boots, and headed straight for the kitchen.
Thomas was sitting at the table with a mug of tea, reading the newspaper like it was still 1995.
"Late night," Thomas said without looking up.
"Festival ran long."
"Mm-hmm." His dad turned a page. "See Riley?"
Grant froze halfway to the fridge. "Yeah. Briefly."
"She looked good."
"She always does."
Thomas looked up, one eyebrow raised. "You two talk?"
"A little."
"About?"
"The reunion. She's coming by tomorrow to finalize some plans."
"Plans," Thomas repeated, clearly not buying it.
Grant grabbed a glass and filled it with water, avoiding his dad's gaze. "It's not a big deal."
"If you say so." Thomas went back to his paper, but Grant could feel the smile in his voice. "
Grant escaped upstairs before his dad could say anything else.
In his room, he pulled out his phone and stared at the last message Riley had sent him.
Riley: Thanks again. See you tomorrow.
He'd replied with something simple. Something safe.
But now, alone in the dark, he let himself acknowledge the truth he'd been avoiding all day.
This wasn't going to be fake.
Not for him.
It never had been.