Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
Grant
Grant woke up to sunlight streaming through his bedroom window and Riley Monroe in his bed.
For a moment, he just looked at her—hair spread across his pillow, face peaceful in sleep, one hand tucked under her cheek. She looked younger like this. Softer. Nothing like the guarded woman who'd walked back into his life two weeks ago insisting they could keep this fake.
There was nothing fake about last night.
Grant's chest tightened with the realization. They'd crossed so many lines he'd lost count. And every time they did, Riley would pull back, insist it didn't mean anything, call it whatever rationalization helped her sleep at night.
But she'd stayed. She'd fallen asleep in his arms, and she'd stayed.
That had to mean something.
Riley stirred, her eyes fluttering open. For a second, she looked confused, then awareness hit and her face went through about five emotions in rapid succession—surprise, pleasure, panic.
"Morning," Grant said quietly.
"Morning." Riley sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest. "What time is it?"
"Almost eight."
"Shit. I should—" She looked around for her clothes, spotted them scattered across the floor, her face going pink. "I need to go home before—"
"Before what?"
"Before your dad—" She stopped, listening.
From downstairs came the unmistakable sounds of someone moving around the kitchen. Cabinet doors opening. The coffee maker starting.
"Too late," Grant said.
Riley's eyes went wide. "Oh my god."
"It's fine."
"It's not fine! Your dad is downstairs and I'm—" She gestured at herself, at the bed, at the general situation.
"An adult who stayed over with another adult." Grant sat up, reaching for his jeans. "He's not going to care, Riley."
"Easy for you to say. It's your house."
"Technically his house."
"Not helping."
Grant pulled on his jeans and a t-shirt, then found Riley's clothes, handing them to her. "Get dressed. I'll walk you down."
"You don't have to—"
"I'm walking you down." Grant's tone left no room for argument. "You're not sneaking out of my house like you're ashamed of being here."
Riley's expression softened. "I'm not ashamed."
"Good. Then let's go get you some coffee."
Five minutes later, they made their way downstairs. Riley had finger-combed her hair and straightened her clothes, but there was no hiding the fact that she was doing the walk of shame in last night's outfit.
Thomas stood at the counter pouring coffee, still in his flannel pajama pants and a Pine Valley Fire Department sweatshirt. He looked up when they entered, his expression going from neutral to amused in about two seconds.
"Morning," Thomas said calmly.
"Morning, Dad."
"Mr. Lawson," Riley managed, her face flaming. "I was just—"
"Having breakfast?" Thomas pulled down a third mug. "Coffee?"
"I should really get home—"
"Nonsense. You take cream, right?"
Riley blinked. "You remember that?"
"I remember a lot of things." Thomas fixed her coffee exactly how she liked it, then handed it to her in a travel mug. "For the road. Don't want you driving without caffeine."
"Thank you," Riley said quietly. "And I'm sorry if—"
"Don't." Thomas held up a hand. "You're both adults. This is Grant's home too. You're welcome here anytime."
The kindness in his voice made Riley's eyes go shiny. "Thank you."
"That said—" Thomas turned to Grant with a slight smile. "Next time maybe text me so I know to start the coffee earlier. I'm getting old. Need my caffeine."
Grant felt his ears go red. "Dad—"
"Just saying." Thomas raised his mug in a mock toast. "Have a good day, Riley."
Riley clutched her travel mug like a lifeline. "You too."
Grant walked her out to her car, the morning air cold enough to see their breath. Riley climbed in, then looked up at him through the window.
"Your dad is really cool about this," she said.
"I told you. We’re adults. He respects that. And… He likes you. Always has."
"Even after everything that happened?"
Grant's chest tightened. "We were kids. We made a choice." He leaned down, his arms braced on the car door. "And now we're getting a second chance. He's happy about that."
Riley's eyes searched his. "Is that what this is? A second chance?"
Yes. God, yes. This is everything.
"Whatever you want it to be," Grant said instead, giving her the space to define it herself.
Riley bit her lip. "I should go."
"Yeah."
"See you later?"
"Definitely."
Grant kissed her—soft and sweet and full of promise. When he pulled back, Riley looked dazed.
"Text me," she said.
"I will."
He watched her drive away, then headed back inside where his dad was making eggs.
"She's a good one," Thomas said without looking up.
"I know."
"Don't let her slip away again."
"I don't plan to."
Thomas glanced at him. "Does she know that?"
Grant poured himself more coffee. "Working on it."
"Work faster. She leaves after New Year's."
"I'm aware."
"Are you?" Thomas plated the eggs, sliding one to Grant. "Because from where I'm standing, you two are spending a lot of time together but not talking about what actually matters."
"We're talking."
"About feelings? About what happens after the holidays? About whether she's actually leaving or if you're giving her a reason to stay?"
Grant stabbed at his eggs. "It's complicated."
"It's not that complicated. You love her. You've always loved her. Tell her."
"I can't just—"
"Why not?"
"Because she's convinced this is temporary. That she's leaving. That we're just—" Grant stopped, frustrated. "I can't push her. She'll run."
Thomas studied him for a long moment. "Maybe she's waiting for you to give her something to stay for."
The words sat heavy in Grant's chest.
"I'm trying," Grant said quietly.
"Try harder. You don't get many second chances in life." Thomas squeezed his shoulder. "Don't waste this one."
Grant spent the rest of the morning working on autopilot, his dad's words echoing in his head.
Tell her. Give her a reason to stay.
But how? Riley was so determined to keep this casual, to pretend last night hadn't meant what it clearly meant. Every time he tried to go deeper, she'd deflect with humor or change the subject or insist it was temporary, that she was leaving.
His phone buzzed.
Riley: Just got the third degree from my family about staying out all night.
Grant smiled despite himself.
Grant: How'd that go?
Riley: My sister thinks it's hilarious. My mom is being suspiciously supportive. My dad won't make eye contact.
Grant: Your dad caught us making out in my truck. This probably isn't a surprise.
Riley: Fair point. Still mortifying.
Grant: Want me to come over and face them with you?
Riley: And make it worse? No thank you.
Grant: Coward.
Riley: Absolutely. See you later?
Grant: Yeah. I have to swing by Hannigan's this afternoon. Need to exchange the empty cider barrels for fresh ones. We're running low at the farm.
Riley: That's where we're doing girls' happy hour tonight!
Grant: Is it?
Riley: Grant Lawson, are you going to conveniently show up during my girls' night?
Grant: Would that be so bad?
Riley: Might be dangerous. Hannah's going to give you a hard time.
Grant: I can handle Hannah.
Riley: We'll see about that.
Grant grinned at his phone. His plan was working. Slowly, carefully, he was showing Riley what they could be. And judging by the way she'd kissed him last night, the way she'd stayed, the way she was texting him now—she was feeling it too.
She just wasn't ready to admit it yet.
By late afternoon, Grant had finished the day's deliveries and helped his dad with the last of the weekend orders. The farm was finally slowing down as they got closer to Christmas—most people had their trees by now, and the holiday rush was starting to ease.
He loaded the empty cider barrels into his truck bed and headed into town. He needed to exchange them for fresh ones anyway, and Riley would be at Hannigan's.
Two birds, one stone.
Grant pulled into Hannigan's parking lot around six and killed the engine. Through the windows, he could see the place was busy—holiday crowd, people unwinding before Christmas hit full force.
He spotted Riley immediately through the window. She sat in a corner booth with Hannah, Emily, and Jenna, wearing dark jeans and that green sweater that made her eyes impossible to ignore. She was laughing at something Emily said, her whole face lit up.
Grant’s excitement showed itself in the racing of his heart; as if he were nervous. Was he nervous?
He climbed out of the truck and headed inside.
The bar was warm and loud—music from the jukebox, laughter, the smell of fried food and beer. Grant made his way to the bar where Mike was pulling pints.
"Grant!" Mike called. "Your dad's barrels are in back. Give me five and I'll help you load 'em."
"Appreciate it."
Mike nodded and disappeared into the back room.
Grant leaned against the bar, very carefully not looking at Riley's table.
He lasted approximately thirty seconds.
When he glanced over, Riley was already watching him, one eyebrow raised like she'd been waiting for him to crack. Her smile was knowing and dangerous.
Before Grant could decide whether to go over, Hannah spotted him and waved. "Grant! Get over here!"
Riley shot Hannah a look, but Hannah just grinned.
Grant grabbed his beer and made his way over, sliding into the booth next to Riley. Their thighs pressed together, and Riley's breath caught just slightly.
"Didn't know you were coming tonight," Hannah said, eyes gleaming with mischief.
"Just picking up supplies," Grant said. "Happened to stop in."
"Right. Supplies." Jenna's smile was knowing. "Very convenient timing."
Riley took a sip of her drink—something pink and fruity. "Funny how that works out."
Grant met her gaze, his hand finding her knee under the table. "Yeah. Funny."
Riley's eyes darkened, but she didn't pull away.
Emily leaned forward. "So, Grant. How's the farm?"
"Busy. Always is this time of year."
"I bet Riley's been keeping you company," Hannah added.