Chapter 8
EIGHT
Grant
Grant had learned a long time ago that volunteering for town events was a double-edged sword.
On one hand, it kept him busy. Gave him purpose. Made his dad proud.
On the other hand, it meant spending Saturday morning on a rickety ladder in the town square, hanging lights while Mrs. Henderson shouted directions from below like she was directing a Broadway production.
"A little to the left, Grant! No, your other left!"
Grant adjusted the strand of lights, his fingers numb from the cold. "How's this?"
"Perfect! Now string it to the lamppost!"
He reached for the next hook, balancing precariously on the ladder, when a familiar voice cut through the chaos.
"Need a hand?"
Grant looked down.
Riley stood at the base of the ladder, bundled in a puffy coat, cheeks pink from the cold, holding a cup of coffee like a peace offering.
His heart did something stupid in his chest.
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
"Volunteering. Hannah guilted me into it."
"Hannah's not even here."
"I know. She's diabolical like that." Riley held up the coffee. "Want this? You look like you're freezing."
"I'm fine."
"Your lips are blue."
Grant climbed down the ladder and took the coffee, their fingers brushing. Even through his gloves, he felt the spark.
"Thanks," he said.
"No problem." Riley glanced around the square. "What else needs doing?"
"You don't have to—"
"I'm already here. Might as well be useful."
Mrs. Henderson appeared out of nowhere, clipboard in hand. "Riley Monroe! Perfect timing. I need someone to help with the garland on the gazebo."
"I can do that."
"Wonderful. Grant, you're with her."
Grant opened his mouth to argue, but Mrs. Henderson was already gone, barking orders at someone else.
Riley grinned. "Guess we're partners."
"Guess so."
They headed toward the gazebo where boxes of garland sat waiting. The structure was already decorated with white lights, but apparently that wasn't enough for Pine Valley's holiday standards.
"Okay," Riley said, pulling out a strand of garland. "How do we do this?"
"One of us climbs up, the other hands up the garland."
"Rock paper scissors for who climbs?"
"I'll climb. You're afraid of heights."
Riley blinked. "You remembered."
"Of course I did. I remember a lot of things, Riley.”
"Apparently."
Grant set up the ladder and climbed, and Riley fed him garland section by section. They fell into an easy rhythm—him draping, her guiding, both of them working together like they'd done this a hundred times.
Which, Grant realized, they kind of had. Different context, same partnership.
"A little more to the right," Riley called up.
Grant adjusted. "Here?"
"Perfect."
He secured the garland and reached for the next section. Riley handed it up, but the ladder shifted slightly, throwing him off balance.
Grant grabbed for the railing, his foot slipping on the rung.
"Grant!"
Riley was there in a second, hands on the ladder, steadying it. "You okay?"
His heart was hammering, adrenaline spiking. "Yeah. I'm good."
"Maybe take a break?"
"I'm fine."
"Your hands are shaking."
Grant looked down at his hands. She was right. "Just cold."
"Liar."
He climbed down, and Riley immediately grabbed his hands, rubbing them between hers. "You're freezing. How long have you been out here?"
"Since seven."
"Grant, it's eleven. You're going to get frostbite."
"I'm fine."
"Stop saying you're fine when you're clearly not fine."
Her hands were small and warm around his, and Grant forgot why he was arguing.
"Here." Riley pulled off her gloves and handed them to him. "Wear these."
"I can't take your gloves."
"You can and you will. My hands are fine."
"Riley—"
"Grant. Put on the gloves."
He did, and they were ridiculous on him—bright red with little snowflakes embroidered on them—but they were warm and they smelled like her and he didn't care how stupid he looked.
Riley smiled. "Better?"
"Yeah. Thanks."
"Good. Now let's finish this before Mrs. Henderson has an aneurysm."
They got back to work, and Grant tried very hard not to think about how easy this was. How natural. How right it felt to work side by side with Riley, trading jokes and stolen glances like no time had passed. He started thinking about her lips, what it would be like to kiss them now.
By the time they finished the gazebo, other volunteers had started arriving. Mark and Ryan showed up with donuts. Emily and Chris brought hot chocolate. Jenna appeared with her infamous clipboard, directing traffic like a general.
"Grant! Riley!" Jenna waved them over. "I need you two on wreaths. The hooks for Main Street are already up, we just need to hang them."
"On it," Grant said.
They grabbed the box of wreaths and headed down Main Street, hanging them on each lamppost. It should have been simple. Quick.
But then Riley had to reach for a high hook, stretching up on her toes, and Grant had to steady her with a hand at her waist.
And suddenly it wasn't simple at all.
"Got it?" he asked, his voice rougher than it should be.
"Almost." Riley stretched higher, and Grant's hand tightened reflexively.
She hooked the wreath and stepped back—directly into him.
They froze.
Grant's hand was still at her waist. Riley's back was pressed against his chest. Neither of them moved.
"Sorry," she said, but she didn't pull away.
"It's okay."
They stood there for a beat too long, the noise of the square fading into background static.
Then Ryan's voice cut through. "You two need a room?"
They jumped apart.
Ryan stood a few feet away, grinning like the cat who'd caught the canary. "Just saying. There are children present."
"Shut up, Ryan," Riley said, her face bright red.
"What? I'm being helpful. Wouldn't want you to violate any public decency laws."
Grant grabbed another wreath from the box. "Don't you have somewhere else to be?"
"Nope. Jenna put me on wreath duty too. Lucky me." Ryan fell into step beside them, still grinning. "So. You two are really back together, huh?"
"Yeah," Grant said.
"How's that going?"
"Good."
"Just good?"
"Ryan," Riley warned.
"What? I'm making conversation."
"You're being nosy."
"Same thing."
They hung the next wreath in silence, Ryan humming tunelessly beside them.
"You know," Ryan said after a minute, "I am one who always thought you two would end up back together."
Grant's chest tightened. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. You were good together. Made sense." Ryan glanced between them. "Still makes sense."
Riley cleared her throat. "Thanks, Ryan."
"Just calling it like I see it." He grabbed the last wreath from the box. "I'll take this one. You two lovebirds finish up over there."
He walked off, leaving Grant and Riley standing in the middle of Main Street, surrounded by holiday decorations and unspoken things.
"He means well," Riley said quietly.
"I know."
"Everyone means well."
"They do."
"It's just a lot."
Grant turned to her. "Do you want to stop? We can still—"
"No." Riley shook her head. "No. We're in it now."
"You sure?"
"Are you?"
Grant thought about it. About the way Riley fit against him. About how easy it was to have his hand at her waist. About how much he didn't want this to end, even though he knew it had to.
"Yeah," he said. "I'm sure."
They finished hanging the wreaths and circled back to the square, where the chaos had somehow intensified. More volunteers. More decorations. More everything.
Mrs. Henderson spotted them immediately. "Grant! Riley! I need you two to test the lights on the tree."
The tree—a massive pine that stood in the center of the square—was already strung with hundreds of lights. Testing them meant climbing inside the branches and checking each strand.
"Together?" Riley asked.
"Well, I'm not sending you in there alone. It's a two-person job."
Grant and Riley exchanged a look.
"Come on," Grant said. "It'll be fun."
"Your definition of fun is deeply concerning."
They ducked into the tree, branches closing around them like a fort. It was darker inside, quieter, the noise of the square muffled by pine needles.
Riley pulled out her phone for light. "Okay. So we just…check each strand?"
"Yeah. Look for dead bulbs or loose connections."
They worked their way around the trunk, shoulders bumping, hands brushing as they tested each strand.
"This is ridiculous," Riley said, laughing. "We're inside a tree."
"Best place to be."
"You would say that."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You're a tree farmer. Of course you think the inside of a tree is the best place."
Grant smiled. "Fair point."
They kept working, the space getting smaller as they circled the trunk. Or maybe they were just standing closer. Grant couldn't tell anymore.
Riley reached for a high strand, stretching up, and her foot slipped on the uneven ground.
Grant caught her—one arm around her waist, the other bracing against the trunk.
"Careful," he said.
"Thanks."
She was pressed against him now, her back to his chest, both of them breathing hard.
"This is becoming a pattern," Riley said, her voice shaky.
"What is?"
"You catching me."
"Maybe you should stop falling."
"Maybe you should stop being in the right place at the right time."
Grant's grip tightened. "Would you rather I wasn't?"
Riley turned in his arms, and suddenly they were face to face, inches apart, surrounded by pine and twinkling lights.
"No," she whispered. "I wouldn't."
Grant's heart was trying to escape his chest. This was it. This was the moment. He could kiss her. He should kiss her. They were supposed to be dating. It would make sense.
Except it wouldn't be for show.
It would be real.
And that terrified him.
"Riley—"
"Grant! Riley! How's it looking in there?" Mrs. Henderson's voice shattered the moment.
They jumped apart.
"Good!" Grant called back, his voice cracking. "All good!"
"Wonderful! Come on out. We're doing the test run in five minutes."
They ducked out of the tree, both of them flushed and breathless and very carefully not looking at each other.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur. More decorating. More volunteers. More stolen glances and almost-moments that left Grant feeling like he was walking a tightrope.
By the time the sun started setting, the square looked like something out of a storybook. Lights everywhere. Garland draped from every surface. The tree glowing like a beacon.
"Test run!" Mrs. Henderson called.
Someone hit the switch.
The entire square lit up—thousands of lights blinking on at once, turning the gray December evening into something magical.
Everyone cheered.
Grant found Riley in the crowd, and their eyes met.
She smiled, and he couldn’t help but smile back, his heartrate speeding up.
I'm in so much trouble.
After the test run, volunteers started packing up. Grant helped load boxes into trucks, coil extension cords, break down ladders.
Riley worked beside him, quiet but present, both of them exhausted and cold and covered in pine needles.
"That was fun," she said as they loaded the last box.
"You're delirious from the cold."
"Maybe. But it was still fun."
Grant closed the truck bed. "You want a ride home?"
"I drove, remember?"
"Right. Yeah."
They stood there, neither moving.
"So," Riley said. "Sunday dinner tomorrow."
"Tomorrow."
"You're really coming?"
"I said I would."
"You can still back out."
"Do you want me to?"
"No." The word came out too fast. "I mean—it would be weird if you didn't. Since we're supposed to be dating."
"Right. Dating."
The word hung between them, loaded with everything they weren't saying.
"I should go," Riley said finally. "It's late."
"Yeah. Okay."
She started toward her car, then stopped and turned back. "Grant?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks. For today. For making this—" She gestured vaguely. "Less terrible than it could be."
"Anytime."
She drove away, and Grant stood in the empty square, surrounded by lights and decorations and the growing certainty that he was falling for Riley Monroe all over again.
And there wasn't a damn thing he could do to stop it.