Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
Riley
Riley had seen some truly hideous Christmas sweaters in her life, but the one Grant was wearing might take the prize.
It was forest green with a massive reindeer face on the front, complete with a red pom-pom nose that actually honked when you squeezed it.
The antlers were made of brown felt that stuck out at odd angles, and someone—probably Hannah—had glued googly eyes to the reindeer's face that wiggled when he moved.
"You look ridiculous," Riley said, grinning up at him.
"Says the woman whose sweater is actively blinding people." Grant reached out and tapped one of the LED lights embedded in her sweater, making it flash even brighter. "I'm pretty sure you're violating some kind of electrical code."
"It's festive."
"It's a fire hazard."
"You're just jealous because mine is clearly superior."
Grant pulled her closer, his hand settling on her hip like it belonged there. "Oh, I don't know about that." He leaned down, his mouth brushing her ear. "You've never looked sexier though."
Riley's stomach did a complete flip. Leave it to Grant to make her feel beautiful while wearing a light-up sweater covered in dancing kittens wearing Santa hats.
They were standing in the middle of Hannigan's, which had been transformed into headquarters for the annual Ugly Sweater Fundraiser.
Every year, Pine Valley rallied around a local cause, and this year's beneficiary was the animal shelter.
The bar had been cleared of its usual tables to make room for a cookie exchange station, a bake sale table groaning under the weight of homemade treats, and a donation jar already stuffed with bills.
The whole town had turned out, it seemed.
Hannah was manning the cookie table with her kids, who were sampling more cookies than they were selling.
Mark and Ryan were arguing about whose sweater was uglier—Mark's featured cats wearing Santa hats, while Ryan's had a 3D Christmas tree that kept shedding glitter everywhere.
Emily and Jenna were laughing at something near the bake sale, both wearing matching elf sweaters.
And in the corner, Riley's parents were talking with Thomas Lawson, all three of them looking far too pleased with themselves.
"Your mom keeps looking over here," Grant murmured.
"I noticed."
"She's smiling."
"I noticed that too."
"Should I be worried?"
Riley glanced at her mother, who caught her eye and gave her a not-at-all-subtle thumbs up. "Probably."
Grant laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest where Riley was pressed against his side.
They'd been like this all evening—touching constantly, unable to stay more than a few inches apart.
His hand on her lower back. Her fingers laced through his.
His arm around her shoulders while they browsed the bake sale.
It felt natural. Easy. Like they'd been doing this forever.
Which, in a way, they had.
Riley had been thinking about that a lot since last night.
About how every time she'd come home over the past ten years—for holidays, for weddings, for her grandmother's funeral—she and Grant had always found each other.
Always ended up in the same corner of whatever event they were at, talking and laughing like no time had passed.
He knew her. Really knew her. Knew that she got anxious in crowds and would make jokes to deflect. Knew that she hated small talk but loved deep conversations at two in the morning. Knew that she took her coffee with too much cream and her humor dark enough to horrify most people.
And she knew him. Knew that he was quieter than most people realized, that he noticed everything, that he carried his grief for his mother like a stone in his pocket—always there, always heavy, but manageable. Knew that he was loyal to a fault and protective of the people he loved.
She trusted him. Not just with her body—though last night had been—
Riley's thoughts scattered as Grant's thumb traced a slow circle on her hip, sending heat spiraling through her.
Okay. Focus. She was supposed to be mingling, being social, supporting the animal shelter.
Not thinking about what Grant had done to her last night with his hands and mouth and—
"Riley Monroe, is that you?"
Riley turned to find Mrs. Walsh, her third-grade teacher, beaming at her from behind a plate of snickerdoodles.
"Mrs. Walsh! Hi!" Riley stepped forward for a hug, Grant's hand sliding from her hip to her lower back, staying close.
"Look at you, all grown up! And Grant Lawson—I haven't seen you in ages. How's your father doing?"
"He's good, Mrs. Walsh. Thank you for asking. He’s around here somewhere."
"I remember when your mother used to bring you to the Christmas fundraisers. You were always so well-behaved." She smiled at Riley. "Unlike this one, who couldn't sit still for five minutes."
"Hey," Riley protested.
"And are you two together now?" Mrs. Walsh gestured between them meaningfully.
"Together," Grant confirmed, his hand warm on Riley's back. "Yes ma'am."
"Well, it's about time! I always said you two would end up together. Even back when you were in my class, Riley, you used to talk about Grant constantly."
Riley felt her face heat. "I did not."
"Oh, you absolutely did. 'Grant said this,' 'Grant thinks that.' I told your mother you'd marry that boy someday."
"Mrs. Walsh," Riley managed weakly.
But her former teacher had already moved on, patting Grant's arm. "You take care of our girl, now. She's special."
"I know she is," Grant said, and the sincerity in his voice made Riley's chest tight.
Mrs. Walsh wandered off, and Riley turned to Grant. "I did not talk about you constantly."
"Apparently you did."
"I was eight."
"And already obsessed with me."
Riley swatted his chest. "You're impossible."
"You like it."
"Maybe I do."
The words came out softer than she'd intended, more honest. Grant's eyes darkened, and his hand tightened on her back.
"Riley! Grant!" Hannah appeared, slightly frazzled, with what looked like frosting in her hair. "Can one of you help me with the cookie table? The kids are staging a mutiny and I need backup."
"I've got it," Grant said. He pressed a kiss to Riley's temple. "Be right back."
Riley watched him go, weaving through the crowd toward the cookie chaos, and warmth settled in her chest.
This was what she'd been missing in the city. Not just Grant—though god, she'd missed him—but this. Community. People who'd known her since she was eight. A place where her third-grade teacher could embarrass her and it felt like home instead of intrusive.
"He's good for you."
Riley turned to find her mother standing beside her, holding a cup of spiked cider and looking far too knowing.
"Mom."
"What? I'm just saying. I haven't seen you this happy in years."
"It's only been a couple weeks."
"And yet." Carol smiled. "You know, your father and I knew within a week."
"Knew what?"
"That we were going to get married. Sometimes you just know." She squeezed Riley's hand. "I'm glad you came home for a nice, long break, sweetheart."
Riley's throat went tight. "Me too."
Carol kissed her cheek and drifted back toward where Riley's dad and Thomas were still deep in conversation, probably about farming or football or whatever dads talked about.
Riley grabbed a cup of cider—definitely spiked, based on the warmth that hit her throat—and made her way through the crowd. She stopped to admire Jenna's elf sweater, laughed at Mark and Ryan's ongoing shenanigans, and chatted with Emily about her job at the elementary school.
The whole time, she was aware of Grant across the room at the cookie table—helping Hannah wrangle the kids, making them laugh, being exactly the kind of person who showed up and helped without being asked.
God, she was in so much trouble.
By the time Grant made his way back to her, Riley had finished her cider and was feeling pleasantly warm and loose.
"Crisis averted?" she asked.
"For now. Though I'm pretty sure one of the kids ate an entire plate of sugar cookies and is going to be bouncing off the walls for the next three hours. Not our problem though." He laughed.
"Rookie mistake. Never give children unlimited access to sugar."
"I'll remember that for next time." Grant's hand found hers, their fingers tangling together automatically. "Want to get some air?"
Riley raised an eyebrow. "It's like twenty degrees outside."
"I wasn't thinking outside."
The heat in his voice made Riley's pulse spike. "Oh?"
Grant's thumb traced over her knuckles. "There's place in the back I’d love to show you. Quiet. Private."
Riley's mouth went dry. They'd been circling each other all evening, touching and teasing, the memory of last night simmering between them.
The interruptions they experienced constantly and the fact there were a lot of people at the party were present in her mind, but now they knew exactly what they were doing.
"Lead the way," Riley said.
The storage room was exactly what Riley expected—dusty, cramped, full of boxes of glassware and extra chairs. And blessedly private.
Grant closed the door behind them, and suddenly they were alone, the noise of the party muffled to a distant hum.
"Hi," Riley said, suddenly breathless.
"Hi." Grant stepped closer, backing her against the wall. "Been wanting to do this all night."
"Do what?"
Instead of answering, he kissed her.
It started slow, almost sweet, but within seconds it turned hungry. Riley's hands fisted in his ridiculous sweater, pulling him closer, and Grant made a low sound in his throat that sent heat pooling low in her belly.
His hands were everywhere—sliding up her back, tangling in her hair, gripping her hips. Riley arched into him, desperate for more contact, more heat, more everything.
"This sweater," Grant muttered against her mouth, his fingers finding the hem. "Has been driving me crazy all night."
"The lights?"
"Knowing what's underneath."