Chapter 7 #2
They stood there, snowflakes starting to fall around them, the moment stretching too long.
"Grant?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For doing this. For being—" She stopped, not sure how to finish.
"For being what?"
For being you. For being steady. For making this easier than it should be.
"For being a good friend," she said finally.
Something flickered across his face—disappointment, maybe. But it was gone before she could be sure.
"Anytime," he said, then cleared his throat.
Riley climbed into her car and drove away, watching him in the rearview mirror until he disappeared.
Back home, Riley found her mother in the kitchen, elbow-deep in cookie dough.
"Riley! Perfect timing. I need you to roll these."
Riley washed her hands and started rolling dough, falling into the familiar rhythm.
"So," her mom said casually. "Grant's coming to dinner on Sunday."
"I heard."
"I'm making pot roast."
"Mom."
"What? He loves pot roast."
"You're being obvious."
Carol smiled, unapologetic. "I'm being a good host. There's a difference."
"You invited him so you could interrogate him."
"I invited him because he's dating my daughter and I want to spend time with him. It’s the holidays."
Riley rolled the dough harder than necessary. "It's new, Mom. We're taking it slow."
"That's what you keep saying."
"Because it's true."
"Mm-hmm." Her mom glanced at her. "You seem happy."
Riley paused mid-roll. "Do I?"
"You are. Lighter. Like you're not carrying the weight of the world anymore."
Riley's chest tightened. "I didn't realize I was."
"You've been running on fumes for months, sweetheart. This job—" Carol shook her head. "It's not good for you."
"It's a good job."
"Is it? Because you look exhausted every time you come home. And you barely talk about it."
"There's not much to talk about."
"Exactly." Her mom dusted flour off her hands. "But when you talk about Grant? You light up."
Riley's throat went tight. "Mom."
"I'm not pushing. I'm just observing."
"Well, observe quieter."
Carol laughed and pulled Riley into a hug, leaving flour prints on her sweater. "I'm happy for you. That's all."
Riley hugged her back, guilt settling heavy in her stomach.
Her mom was happy because she thought this was real. Thought Riley had finally found something good. Thought Grant was the answer to problems Riley hadn't even admitted she had.
And the worst part?
Riley was starting to think maybe she was right.
That night, Riley lay in bed scrolling through her phone. The group chat was quiet for once, but her Instagram was full of tagged photos from the reunion.
Riley and Grant laughing. Riley and Grant dancing. Riley and Grant standing so close they might as well have been one person.
They looked happy.
They looked real.
Riley zoomed in on one photo—Grant's arm around her waist, her head on his shoulder, both of them smiling at something off-camera.
She didn't remember what they'd been laughing at. But she remembered how it felt. Safe. Easy. Right.
Her phone buzzed.
Grant: You awake?
Riley: Yeah. You?
Grant: Can't sleep. Your dad is going to ask me about my five-year plan, isn't he?
Riley: Probably. And your retirement savings. And whether I'll have health insurance if I move back.
Grant: Wait, you didn't tell him I have a 401k and dental?
Riley: I'll add it to the briefing packet.
Grant: There's a briefing packet?
Riley: There should be. You're walking into the lion's den.
Grant: I've survived worse. Remember when your mom caught us making out in the basement junior year?
Riley's face went hot. She absolutely remembered. They'd thought they were being so sneaky, waiting until everyone was distracted by the football game upstairs.
Riley: Oh god. I'd blocked that out.
Grant: She made us sit at opposite ends of the couch for the rest of the night. Kept checking on us every ten minutes.
Riley: She still brings that up sometimes. "Remember when you two thought you were subtle?"
Grant: We were not subtle.
Riley: Not even a little bit.
Grant: At least this time we're adults, who are actually dating. Allegedly.
Riley: Right. Allegedly. So she can't give us the "you're too young" speech.
Grant: Just the "when's the wedding" speech instead.
Riley: I'm so sorry in advance.
Grant: Don't be. I can handle your family.
Riley: Even Tyler's interrogation?
Grant: Especially Tyler's interrogation. I'll charm him with my extensive knowledge of proper fence maintenance.
Riley: That's your secret weapon? Fence maintenance?
Grant: Works every time.
Riley smiled at her phone, shaking her head.
Riley: You're ridiculous.
Grant: You like it.
Riley: Maybe a little.
A pause. Then her phone buzzed again.
Grant: For the record? I'm a much better kisser now than I was in your basement back then.
Riley's stomach flipped. Her cheeks burned, and she was suddenly very aware of how alone she was in her dark bedroom, staring at those words on the screen.
Riley: Is that so?
Grant: Just thought you should know. In case it comes up.
Riley: In case making out in my parents' basement comes up at Sunday dinner?
Grant: You never know. Your mom might ask if we're "taking things slow."
Riley bit her lip, her pulse suddenly erratic.
Riley: And what would you say?
Grant: I'd say we're taking it exactly as fast as we should be.
Riley pressed the phone against her chest for a second, trying to steady her breathing. This was dangerous. This was flirty banter that felt too real, that made her want things she shouldn't want.
Riley: You're trouble.
Grant: You like that too.
Riley: Go to sleep, Grant.
Grant: Only if you do.
Riley: Deal.
Grant: Night, Riley.
Riley: Night.
Riley set her phone down and stared at the ceiling, her face still warm, her heart still racing.
I'm a much better kisser now.
She was in so much trouble.