Chapter 4
FOUR
Grant
The morning air bit at Grant's face as he crossed the yard toward the goat pen, breath fogging in the cold.
Frost clung to every surface, turning the farm into something out of a snow globe.
The kind of morning his mom used to love—sharp and clear, with sunlight just starting to break over the tree line.
He fed the goats, checked the water troughs, and tried not to think about the fact that Riley was coming over in a few hours to finalize their completely insane fake dating plan.
Fake dating.
He still couldn't believe he'd suggested it. Even more so, he couldn't believe she'd agreed. He was about to spend the next two weeks pretending to be in a relationship with the one person he'd never fully gotten over.
What have I gotten myself into?
"You're walking around like your head's in a snowbank."
Grant turned. His dad stood near the barn, arms crossed, wearing his usual work jacket and an expression that said he knew something Grant didn't want him to know.
"I'm fine."
"You've been staring at that fence post for five minutes."
Grant looked down. He was, in fact, holding a hammer and standing in front of a fence post he had no memory of approaching. "Just thinking."
"About Riley?"
Grant's jaw tightened. "Why would I be thinking about Riley?"
Thomas raised an eyebrow. "Because you said she's coming over today. Because you've been checking your phone every ten minutes. Because you look like a man who just volunteered for something he's not sure he can handle."
"I'm handling it fine."
"Uh-huh." Thomas stepped closer, studying him with that Dad look that saw through every lie Grant had ever tried to tell. "You two planning something?"
"No."
"Grant."
"We're just talking. That's all."
Thomas was quiet for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Your mom always said you two would find your way back to each other."
Grant's chest tightened. "It's not like that."
"If you say so." Thomas clapped him on the shoulder. "But for what it's worth—from my view of the situation, she never stopped looking at you the same way."
Grant didn't know what to say to that. Didn't know how to explain that Riley hadn’t been looking at him any particular way in years, that this was all pretend, that in two weeks they'd go back to their separate lives and pretend this never happened.
So he just nodded and went back to staring at the fence post.
Thomas left him alone after that, disappearing into the barn with a knowing smile that made Grant want to throw the hammer into the woods.
By mid-morning, Grant had fixed three things that didn't need fixing, reorganized the toolshed, and nearly sprained his wrist resetting a fence post because he wasn't paying attention.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
Riley: On my way. Be there in 10.
Grant stared at the message, his pulse kicking up for no good reason.
Grant: See you soon.
He pocketed his phone and headed toward the house, brushing sawdust off his jeans and trying to look like a person who had his life together.
Inside, he made coffee. Strong coffee. The kind that could wake the dead or at least get him through a conversation about fake dating his ex-girlfriend without completely losing his mind.
He was pouring his second cup when he heard tires on gravel.
Grant moved to the window and watched Riley's car pull into the driveway. She sat there for a moment, hands on the wheel, staring at the farmhouse like she was steeling herself for battle.
He knew the feeling.
She climbed out, bundled in a thick coat, scarf wrapped around her neck, hair pulled back in a way that made her look younger. Like the girl he'd known in high school, before the city and the career and the decade of distance.
Grant opened the front door before she could knock.
"Hey," she said, breath fogging between them.
"Hey. Come in. It's freezing."
Riley stepped inside, stomping snow off her boots. She unwrapped her scarf, and Grant caught the scent of something floral—her shampoo, probably. The same one she'd used in high school.
Don't think about that.
"Coffee?" he offered.
"God, yes."
He led her to the kitchen, poured her a mug, and watched as she wrapped her hands around it like it was a lifeline.
"Your dad around?" she asked.
"He's out helping a few people right now. We've got the place to ourselves for a bit."
"Good. Because we need to talk logistics."
"Right. Logistics."
They stood there for a moment, neither quite sure how to start.
The kitchen felt too small suddenly, too warm, too full of memories.
How many mornings had they spent here when they were seventeen?
Riley sitting at this same table, doing homework while Grant made breakfast. His mom fussing over them both, insisting Riley eat more.
"Should we sit?" Riley asked.
"Yeah. Sure."
They settled at the table, coffee mugs between them like a barrier.
Riley pulled out her phone. "Okay. So. Ground rules."
"Ground rules," Grant echoed.
"We already covered the basics last night. But we should nail down the details before the reunion tomorrow."
Tomorrow. The annual reunion was tomorrow. Grant's stomach twisted.
"Timeline," Riley said, all business now. "We've been seeing each other for a few weeks. Started right after Thanksgiving when I came home early."
"Why did you come home early?"
"I had the PTO to use up. Wanted to spend more time with family. Pick one."
"Both work."
"Okay. So I came home early, we ran into each other at—where did we say?"
"Hardware store?"
Riley wrinkled her nose. "That's so random."
"You're the one who needed Christmas lights."
"Did I?"
"Sure. You were helping your dad with something. I was picking up supplies for the farm. We literally bumped into each other in the paint aisle."
Riley's mouth twitched. "Paint aisle?"
"Your mom was repainting something. You were helping."
"Okay. That actually tracks." She made a note on her phone. "So we ran into each other. Started talking. Realized we'd both been thinking about each other."
Grant's heart raced. "Have you?"
Riley looked up, eyes wide. "Have I what?"
"Been thinking about me."
The question hung between them, heavier than he'd meant it to be.
Riley's cheeks flushed. "I mean—for the story. We have to say that. Right?"
"Right. For the story."
She went back to her phone, but her fingers were shaking slightly. "So we talked. Started texting."
"And then?"
"Coffee date. Somewhere neutral. Not in town because people would've seen us."
"Next town over," Grant suggested. "That diner off Route 9."
"Perfect. We met there a few times. Just talking. Catching up."
"And then it turned into more."
"Right. But we're taking it slow."
"Why?"
Riley looked up again. "Because we have history. Because we don't want to rush anything. Because—" She stopped.
"Because we don't want to get hurt again," Grant finished quietly. He cleared his throat and spoke with more confidence. “We’re older now.”
Something flickered across Riley's face. "Yeah. That."
They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of unspoken things pressing down.
"Physical contact," Grant said, breaking the tension.
Riley nearly spilled her coffee. "What?"
"We talked about it last night. We need to figure out what's comfortable."
"Right. Comfortable." She set down her mug, hands twisting in her lap. "So. Hand holding?"
"Yeah. That makes sense."
"Arm around the waist?"
"Probably."
"Shoulder?"
"Sure."
"Kissing?"
Grant's brain short-circuited. "What?"
Riley's face was bright red now. "I mean—people might expect it. If we're dating. But we don't have to if it's—"
"Only if it helps the illusion," Grant said, his voice rougher than he intended.
"Right. The illusion."
"And only if you're okay with it."
"I'm okay with it if you're okay with it."
"I'm okay with it."
"Okay."
They stared at each other across the table, both clearly not okay with any of this.
Riley cleared her throat. "Should we—I don't know—practice?"
Grant's heart slammed against his ribs. "Practice?"
"Not kissing! Just—the other stuff. So it looks natural. So we don't freeze up when everyone's watching."
"That makes sense."
"Does it?"
"No. But we're doing it anyway."
Riley laughed—short and breathless. "This is insane."
"Completely."
"But we're committed now."
"Completely committed to the insanity."
Riley stood, and Grant followed. They faced each other in the middle of the kitchen, neither moving.
"Okay," Riley said. "Hand holding first?"
"Sure."
She held out her hand. Grant took it, their fingers sliding together like they'd done this a thousand times before. Her hand was cold, small, familiar in a way that made his chest ache.
"This okay?" he asked.
"Yeah. It's fine."
They stood there, holding hands, neither quite sure what to do next.
"We look ridiculous," Riley said.
"Completely."
"But it feels…natural?"
Grant's thumb brushed over her knuckles without thinking. "Yeah. It does."
Riley's breath caught, just slightly, and Grant realized he was standing too close. Close enough to see the freckles across her nose that only showed up in winter. Close enough to smell whatever shampoo she used—something floral and clean.
"Arm around the waist?" she said, voice quieter now.
"If you want."
"For practice."
"Right. Practice."
Riley stepped even closer, and Grant slid his arm around her waist, his hand settling at the small of her back. She fit against him perfectly, like no time had passed at all.
"This okay?" he asked again.
"Yeah."
Her hands rested on his chest, light and tentative. Grant's pulse hammered under her palms, and he wondered if she could feel it.
"We should take a picture," Riley said. "For proof. In case Hannah asks."
"Good idea."
Neither of them moved.
"Riley."
"Yeah?"
"This is a terrible idea."
She looked up at him, and something passed between them—something unspoken and dangerous. "I know."
"We're going to mess this up."
"Probably."
"And then everyone's going to know we lied."
"Maybe."
Grant's hand tightened slightly at her waist. "So why are we doing this?"
Riley's voice was barely above a whisper. "Because I don't want to do the holidays alone and be ridiculed for being Miss Too Independent. It’s not fair. And because you offered. And because—" She stopped.
"Because?"
"Because it's you. And I trust you. And you’re tired of being considered everyone’s plus one."
Grant's chest cracked open. He wanted to tell her that trust was dangerous. That this whole thing was dangerous. And standing here with her in his arms felt too real and not real enough at the same time.
But instead, he just nodded. "Okay."
"Okay."
She pulled her phone from her pocket, and they angled for a selfie—his arm still around her waist, her leaning into him, both of them smiling like this was normal.
Riley snapped the photo and pulled back to look at it. "Wow."
"What?"
"We look…really convincing."
Grant leaned over her shoulder to see. She was right. They looked like a couple. A real couple. The kind of couple that finished each other's sentences and knew each other's coffee orders and didn't have to pretend.
"Send it to me," he said.
"Why?"
"In case I need proof too."
Riley nodded and tapped her screen. A second later, Grant's phone buzzed in his pocket.
They stood there for another beat, neither quite ready to step apart.
The back door opened, and Thomas's voice echoed through the mudroom. "Grant? You got a minute?"
They jumped apart like teenagers caught making out.
"Yeah, Dad," Grant called. "Be right there."
Thomas appeared in the doorway, taking in the scene—Riley flushed and flustered, Grant standing too close, both of them looking guilty as hell.
A slow smile spread across Thomas's face. "Riley. Good to see you."
"Hi, Mr. Lawson."
"Thomas. Please." He glanced between them. "Am I interrupting?"
"No," they said in unison.
"We were just—" Riley started.
"Talking," Grant finished.
"Right. Talking." Thomas's smile widened. "Well, don't let me stop you. I just need Grant for a second. Delivery truck is here and I need a hand real quick."
"I'll be right out," Grant said.
Thomas nodded and disappeared back outside, but not before shooting Grant a look that clearly said I know exactly what's going on.
Riley grabbed her coat. "I should go anyway."
"You don't have to."
"No, I do. I've got—things. Family things."
"Right."
She wrapped her scarf around her neck, and Grant walked her to the door.
"So," she said, pausing on the porch. "Tomorrow. The reunion."
"Tomorrow."
"We're really doing this?"
"We're really doing this."
Riley looked up at him, snowflakes starting to drift down around them. "Grant?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For this. I know it's weird and complicated and probably a huge mistake, but—thank you."
Grant's throat tightened. "You don't have to thank me."
"I do, though."
She stepped closer and, before he could process what was happening, pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.
Grant froze.
Riley pulled back, eyes wide, looking as shocked as he felt. "That was—for practice. Obviously."
"Obviously."
"So it's not weird tomorrow."
"Right. Not weird."
"Okay. Good. I'm going now."
She practically ran to her car.
Grant stood on the porch, hand pressed to his cheek where her lips had been, watching her drive away.
This is such a bad idea.
But he was already in too deep.
And the worst part? He didn't want to back out. He was going to enjoy spending more time with her.
Even if it destroyed him.