Chapter 7
SEVEN
Riley
Riley drove to the farm with her stomach in knots and a thermos of coffee she'd barely touched.
She'd told herself this was just an errand. Pick up a wreath for her mom. Quick and simple. In and out.
Except her pulse was racing, and she'd changed her outfit three times, and she kept replaying the way Grant had said "You don't need an excuse" last night—like he wanted her to come by. Like he'd been hoping for it.
Stop. You're being ridiculous.
She pulled into the driveway and killed the engine, staring at the farmhouse through the windshield. Smoke curled from the chimney. Lights glowed in the windows. The whole place looked like a Christmas card come to life.
And there was Grant, walking out of the barn in his work jacket and jeans, sawdust clinging to his sleeves. The way he looked in those jeans… She bit her bottom lip. Had he gotten better looking? Overnight?
Her heart started racing. He was hot. Did she always know that? Yeah, she did. But he’d gotten hotter.
It's just Grant. You've known him forever. This is fine.
He spotted her car and waved, his face lighting up in a way that made her forget how breathing worked.
Riley climbed out, grabbing the thermos like a shield. "Hey."
"Hey. You brought coffee?"
"I brought coffee. Although I'm pretty sure you have better coffee here."
"Maybe. But I appreciate the gesture." He gestured toward the rows of trees. "So. You need a wreath."
"My mom's been overdecorating. Apparently the the one from last year isn't cutting it anymore nor is it acceptable for the front of this house." She quoted her mom.
"Carol Monroe has excellent standards." Grant smiled. "Come on. Let's find you something good."
“She mentioned wanting a real tree instead of the fake one she has.”
Grant grinned, and motioned for her to come with him.
They fell into step together, boots crunching in the snow. The farm smelled like pine and fresh-cut wood, crisp and clean in a way that made Riley's city apartment feel like a different planet.
"What's she looking for? Size? Shape?"
"Big. Full. The kind that takes up half the living room and makes my dad complain about the needles."
Grant laughed. "So a Fraser fir. Classic Monroe family choice."
"You remember that?"
"I remember everything about your family." He said it casually, but something in his voice made Riley's chest tighten.
They walked through the rows, Grant pointing out different varieties, explaining the differences between Fraser and Douglas and Balsam. Riley half-listened, distracted by the way his hands moved when he talked, the way his breath fogged in the cold air.
"This one," Grant said, stopping in front of a massive Fraser. "Seven feet. Full branches. Your dad will hate the needles, but your mom will love it."
Riley circled the tree, running her hand along the branches. "It's perfect."
"I'll tag it and we can load it after lunch. And I’ll grab one of the wreaths we have made up as well. You hungry?"
"I—" Riley glanced at her watch. It was barely noon. "I wasn't planning to stay that long."
"Why not? You drove all the way out here." Grant's eyes held hers. "Plus, my dad made way too much chili. You'd be doing us a favor."
Riley knew she should say no. Should grab the tree and the wreath and go before this got more complicated than it already was.
But Grant was looking at her with a soft expression that made her want to stay. That made her forget why staying was dangerous.
"Okay," she heard herself say. "Lunch sounds good."
They headed back toward the farmhouse, and Grant held the door open for her. The kitchen was warm and smelled like spices and cornbread, and Thomas looked up from the stove with a grin.
"Riley! Didn't know you were coming by."
"Just picking up a tree and wreath for Mom."
"Well, you're staying for lunch. I made enough chili to feed half the town." Thomas ladled out three bowls. "Grant, grab the cornbread."
They sat at the old wooden table—the same one Riley had eaten at a hundred times in high school—and for a few minutes, it felt like nothing had changed. Like she was seventeen again, spending Saturday afternoons at the farm, listening to Thomas tell stories about Grant's latest projects.
"Grant tells me you're working in the city," Thomas said. "Marketing, right?"
"Digital marketing. For a tech startup."
"You like it?"
Riley hesitated. "It's…a job."
Thomas raised an eyebrow. "That's not exactly a ringing endorsement."
"It pays well."
"Money isn't everything, Riley."
She glanced at Grant, who was very focused on his chili.
"I know that," Riley said. "It's just—complicated."
"Most things worth doing are." Thomas stood, grabbing his coat. "I'm heading to the hardware store. You two finish up. Grant, the Johnson order needs to be ready by three."
"Got it."
Thomas left, and suddenly the kitchen felt smaller. Quieter.
Riley set down her spoon. "Your dad's subtle."
"He's really not." Grant smiled. "He's been waiting for you to come back since the day you left."
"Grant—"
"I'm not saying that to pressure you. I'm just—" He ran a hand through his hair. "He missed you. We all did."
Riley's throat went tight. "I missed you too."
The words hung between them, heavier than she'd meant them to be.
Grant's gaze held hers. "Did you?"
"Of course I did. Grant, you were—" She stopped. You were everything. "You were my best friend."
"Was I?"
"I mean… It’s been a long time." Riley stood, suddenly needing to move. "While I’m here… Can I see the barn? You mentioned renovations."
"Yeah. Sure."
They walked across the yard to the barn, and Grant opened the door. Warmth hit her immediately from the space heaters he'd set up inside, and the space glowed with soft light.
"Wow," Riley breathed. "This is really impressive."
"Thanks." Grant leaned against the workbench. "Been working on it for about a year now. New beams, reinforced walls. That loft up there—" He pointed. "I'm converting it into storage."
"You did all this yourself?"
"Most of it. Dad helped with the heavy lifting."
Riley ran her hand along one of the beams. The wood was smooth, warm. "It's beautiful, Grant."
"You always liked this barn."
"I did?"
"Yeah. You used to come out here when we were in high school. Said it was quieter than your house."
Riley's chest tightened with the memory. She had. She'd spent hours out here, doing homework, reading, just existing while Grant worked on whatever project his dad had assigned him.
"I forgot about that," she said softly.
"I didn't."
Their eyes met, and something passed between them—something warm and dangerous and inevitable.
"Grant—"
"Your mom invited me to dinner on Sunday."
Riley blinked hard at the subject change. "She what?"
"Sunday dinner. She texted me this morning."
"Oh god."
"I said yes."
Riley's stomach dropped. "You said yes?"
"We're dating. It would be weird if I said no."
"But my whole family will be there. Tyler's going to interrogate you. Lily's going to ask embarrassing questions. My mom—" She stopped. "My mom's going to be insufferable."
Grant smiled. "I've survived your family before."
"That was different. We were actually dating."
"And now we're fake dating. Which means I have to be extra convincing."
Riley groaned. "This is a disaster."
"It'll be fine."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's true." Grant stepped closer, his voice dropping. "Riley. It’s no big deal. We know each other. We know our families. This is just…acting."
"Right. Acting."
Except it didn't feel like acting when he was standing this close, when she could smell pine and coffee on him, when his eyes were doing that soft thing that made her want to close the distance between them.
The barn door creaked open, and they jumped apart like they'd been electrocuted.
Thomas stood in the doorway, eyebrows raised. "Am I interrupting?"
"No," they said in unison, not for the first time.
"We were just—" Riley started.
"Talking," Grant finished.
"Right. Talking." Thomas's smile was knowing, just like the last time he’d interrupted an almost moment. "Well, don't let me stop you. I just need to grab some rope from the back."
He disappeared into the depths of the barn, and Riley pressed her hands to her flaming cheeks.
"That was close," she whispered.
"Too close."
"We need to be more careful."
"Agreed."
Thomas reappeared with the rope, gave them both a pointed look, and left without another word.
Riley waited until the door closed before bursting into nervous laughter. "Oh my god."
"He definitely thinks we're together."
"Everyone thinks we're together."
"That was the plan."
"I know, but—" Riley shook her head. "I feel like it’s getting really complicated."
"It's always been complicated."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Grant was quiet for a moment, then said, "Nothing. Forget it."
But Riley couldn't forget it. Couldn't forget the way he'd looked at her. Couldn't forget how easy it was to stand close to him, to fall back into old patterns, to pretend this was real.
"I should go," she said, even though she didn't want to.
"You just got here."
"I know, but I told my mom I'd help with some stuff she’s doing." A lie. A terrible, obvious lie.
Grant saw right through it. "Okay."
"But I'll load the tree first."
"I've got it. I'll drop it off later this afternoon."
"You don't have to—"
"I want to." His voice was firm. "Besides, it gives me an excuse to see your mom. Make sure she knows I'm being attentive."
Riley's mouth curved into a reluctant smile. "You're really committed to this."
"I told you I would be."
He walked her to her car, hands shoved in his pockets, neither of them speaking.
At her door, Riley turned. "Sunday dinner. You're really coming?"
"I said I would."
"It's going to be chaos."
"I can handle chaos."
"Tyler's going to grill you about your intentions."
"I have very honorable intentions."
Riley smiled despite herself. "Do you?"
"The most honorable."