Chapter 5
FIVE
Riley
Riley stood in front of her bedroom mirror, adjusting her sweater for the third time in five minutes.
It was fine. The sweater was fine. She looked fine. Everything was fine.
Except her stomach was in knots, her palms wouldn't stop sweating, and she was about to walk into a room full of her closest friends and lie directly to their faces.
It's fine. It's all fine.
Her phone buzzed on the bed.
Grant: Picking you up in 20.
Riley's heart jumped. Right. Grant was picking her up. Because that's what boyfriends did. Fake boyfriends. Whatever.
Riley: Okay. I'll be ready.
Grant: It’s going to be great.
Riley: You don't know that.
Grant: I know you.
Riley stared at the message, a dangerous warmth blooming in her chest. She shoved the feeling down and tossed her phone on the bed.
She checked her reflection one more time. Dark jeans that fit like a glove. A cream sweater that looked effortless but had taken twenty minutes to choose. Hair down, loose waves that said "I didn't try too hard" even though she absolutely had. Minimal makeup. Boots that were cute but practical.
She had the appearance of someone who might actually have her life together.
Liar.
"Riley!" Her mom's voice echoed up the stairs. "Grant's here!"
Riley's stomach dropped. He was early. Of course he was early. Grant was never late for anything.
She grabbed her coat and headed downstairs, her pulse hammering with every step.
Grant stood in the entryway, talking to her dad about something farm-related. He looked good—too good. Dark jeans, a flannel that fit him perfectly, hair slightly messy in a way that made her want to reach up and put her hands in it.
Stop. Stop it right now.
He looked up when she appeared, and his face shifted into a soft smile. "Hey."
"Hey."
Her dad grinned. "Well, don't you two look cozy."
Riley's cheeks flamed. "Dad."
"What? I'm just saying. Grant, you're looking sharp."
"Thanks, Mr. Monroe."
"How many times do I have to tell you? Call me David."
"I'll try."
Riley's mom appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. "Oh, Grant! It's so good to see you."
"You too, Mrs. Monroe."
"Carol. Please." She pulled him into a hug that lasted slightly too long, and Riley watched Grant's face go carefully neutral. "You two have fun tonight."
"We will," Riley said quickly, grabbing Grant's arm and pulling him toward the door before her mother could say something mortifying.
They made it outside, and Riley exhaled hard. "I'm so sorry."
"For what?"
"My parents. They're—"
"They're great," Grant said, smiling. "Your mom always gave the best hugs."
Riley's chest tightened. She'd forgotten that. Forgotten how much time Grant used to spend at her house, how her mom used to make extra food just in case he showed up, how her dad used to joke that Grant was like having another son.
"Come on," Grant said, gesturing to his truck. "We've got a party to get to."
Riley climbed into the passenger seat, the interior still warm from the heater. It smelled like pine and coffee and something distinctly Grant.
He slid into the driver's seat and pulled out of the driveway, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.
"You nervous?" he asked finally.
"Definitely."
"Me too."
"Really?"
"Really."
Riley glanced at him. He looked calm, steady, completely in control. "You don't look nervous."
"I'm good at faking it."
"So am I."
"Then we'll be fine."
Riley wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe they could pull this off without anyone figuring out they were lying.
But as they pulled up to Hannah and Mark’s house—lights blazing, cars lining the street, music drifting from the windows—Riley's stomach twisted into a knot so tight she thought she might be sick.
Grant parked and turned to her. "Ready?"
"No."
"Too bad. We're doing this anyway."
He climbed out, and Riley sat there for a second, trying to breathe.
Then her door opened, and Grant stood there, holding out his hand.
"Come on," he said softly. "I've got you."
Riley took his hand and let him pull her out of the truck. His fingers closed around hers, warm and solid, and something in her chest settled.
"We're going to be fine," he said.
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's true."
They walked toward the house together, and Riley felt the weight of what they were about to do pressing down on her.
But Grant's hand was steady in hers, and for the first time all day, she thought maybe—just maybe—they could pull this off and it would be great.
They reached the front door. Grant squeezed her hand once.
"Ready?"
Riley nodded.
He opened the door.
And the entire room went silent.
Hannah stood by the fireplace, mouth hanging open. Emily froze mid-laugh. Jenna nearly dropped her drink. Mark's eyes went wide. Ryan choked on his beer.
Chris recovered first. "Holy shit."
"Chris," Emily hissed, smacking his arm.
"What? I'm just saying what everyone's thinking."
Grant's arm slid around Riley's waist, easy and natural, like they'd done this a thousand times. "Hey, everyone."
The room erupted.
Hannah shrieked and rushed forward, grabbing Riley's arm. "Riley. What."
"Hi, Hannah."
"You—he—Grant—" Hannah spun to Grant. "You're the mystery man?"
"Surprise?" Grant said, smiling his calm, steady smile that made everyone trust him.
"I—" Hannah looked between them, eyes wide. "How long has this been happening?"
"A few weeks," Riley said, her voice steady even though her heart was trying to escape her chest. "We ran into each other at the hardware store right after Thanksgiving. Started talking. It just…happened."
"Naturally," Grant added, his thumb tracing small circles on her hip that made it very hard to focus.
Hannah stared at them. Then she started laughing. "Oh my god. Oh my god. You two. I should have known."
Emily rushed over, pulling Riley into a hug. "This is amazing! You guys are so cute together!"
"We always thought you'd end up back together," Jenna said, appearing with Ryan in tow. "Didn't we, Ryan?"
"We did," Ryan confirmed. "Literally everyone thought so."
Grant's hand tightened slightly at Riley's waist, and she leaned into him without thinking. It felt natural. Easy. Like they'd been doing this forever.
Dangerous.
Mark appeared with drinks, handing them both glasses of something that smelled like rum and bad decisions. "To Riley and Grant. Pine Valley's most…or maybe…least surprising couple reunion."
Everyone laughed and raised their glasses.
Riley forced a smile and took a sip, the warmth of the rum doing nothing to settle her nerves.
They spent the next hour being interrogated.
How did it start?
Who made the first move?
Why didn't you tell anyone?
Riley answered with the story they'd practiced. Grant filled in details with the easy charm he’d always had, all while his thumb traced small circles on her hip that made it very hard to focus.
Every time someone asked a question, he looked at her first, like he was checking to make sure she was okay. Every time someone made a joke, he laughed and pulled her closer.
It was perfect.
Almost too perfect.
And Riley was starting to forget it wasn't real.
"Okay, okay," Hannah said, pulling Riley aside while Grant got cornered by Mark and Ryan near the kitchen. "Real talk. How is he? I mean, really."
Riley blinked. "What?"
"Come on. You and Grant. Back together. It's like Christmas came early. Literally."
"We're taking it slow."
Hannah's eyes narrowed. "How slow?"
"Very slow."
"Riley Monroe. Are you telling me you haven't—"
"It's new, Hannah. We're not rushing anything."
Hannah studied her for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Okay. Fine. But I have questions. So many questions."
"You always have questions."
"Because you never tell me anything!" Hannah grabbed her arm. "But seriously. Are you happy?"
The question caught Riley off guard. "What?"
"Are you happy? With him?"
Riley looked across the room. Grant was laughing at something Mark said, his whole face lighting up. He caught her eye and smiled—soft and real and just for her.
Her heart fluttered.
"Yeah," she said quietly. "I think I am."
"Good. You deserve this." Hannah pulled her into another hug. "I'm really happy for you."
Riley's throat tightened. "Thanks."
The guilt was sharp and immediate. Hannah thought this was real. Everyone did. And here Riley was, lying to her best friend's face.
It's just for the holidays. Just to get through the commentary. Then everything goes back to normal.
Except standing here, watching Grant laugh with their friends, his arm around her waist like it belonged there—it didn't feel like a lie.
It felt dangerously real.
Jenna clinked a glass, calling everyone's attention. "Okay, everyone! Time for the gift exchange!"
They gathered in a circle, passing around wrapped packages with varying degrees of effort put into them. Mark had clearly wrapped his with newspaper and duct tape. Emily's looked like it belonged in a store window.
Riley ended up with a ridiculous pair of holiday socks from Ryan. Grant got a book about tree farming from Jenna that made everyone laugh because he already owned three copies and probably could have written the book himself.
"It's a classic," Jenna defended.
"It's been regifted four times," Mark said.
"Five," Chris corrected.
Grant just smiled and set it aside, his hand finding Riley's knee under the pile of wrapping paper.
The touch was casual. Innocent. But it sent electricity straight up her spine, and her bouncing, anxious leg stopped.
She glanced at him, and he was already looking at her, something soft in his expression that made her forget how to breathe.
Stop. This isn't real. Remember?
But the way he was looking at her felt real.
The party stretched on—more drinks, more laughter, more questions about how they got back together. Riley lost count of how many times someone said "I knew it" or "You two are perfect together."
Every comment made the lie heavier.