Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
Grant
Grant had been to the Monroe house plenty of times over the years when they were younger but tonight felt different.
Maybe it was the way Carol answered the door with flour on her apron and pulled him into a hug before he'd even crossed the threshold.
Maybe it was the chaos he could hear from inside—children laughing, someone arguing about where to put the extra chairs, Christmas music playing just a little too loud.
Or maybe it was the way Riley appeared behind her mother, wearing a dark green sweater that made her eyes look impossibly bright, and smiled at him like he was exactly what she'd been waiting for.
"Grant! Thomas! Come in, come in. You're right on time." Carol ushered them inside, already talking a mile a minute about dinner and dessert and something about Tyler bringing his new girlfriend.
Grant's dad clapped him on the shoulder. "Brace yourself, son."
But Grant was already smiling.
The Monroe house at Christmas was an assault on the senses in the best possible way.
The scent of roasting turkey and fresh bread and something cinnamon-sweet from the oven.
Christmas music competing with the sound of children's laughter and adult conversation.
Every surface covered in decorations—garlands draped over doorways, candles on every table, a massive tree in the corner of the living room that looked like it might topple under the weight of ornaments.
It was beautiful chaos, and Grant loved it immediately.
The dining room table had been extended with two extra leaves and was set for twelve with Carol's good china.
The living room was overrun with Riley's nephews building something elaborate out of wooden blocks while arguing about structural integrity in voices suggesting they'd been listening to too many adults talk about construction.
Her sister Lily was in the kitchen with Carol, both of them moving in synchronized chaos that only came from years of cooking together.
Tyler was in the living room with his girlfriend Sophie, who kept smoothing down her skirt and smiling too brightly, clearly overwhelmed by the Monroe family chaos.
And in the middle of it all was Riley, directing traffic like a general commanding troops.
"Plates go on the left, Mom, not the right—Dad, can you please tell the boys that tackling is an outside activity—Tyler, your girlfriend looks terrified, get her some wine—Grant!"
Riley crossed the chaos to reach him, and Grant had to resist the urge to pull her into his arms right there in front of everyone. Instead, he settled for catching her hand and squeezing gently.
“I’m so happy you’re here,” she whispered.
"Where else would I be?"
"How can I help?" he asked.
Riley's shoulders sagged with relief. "You're a saint. Can you help Mom with the table? She's reorganizing the place settings for the third time and I think she's about to have a breakdown."
"On it."
"And Grant?" Riley's voice dropped lower, meant just for him. "Thank you. For being here. For—" She gestured vaguely at the chaos. "All of this."
"Wouldn't miss it," Grant said, and meant it. He pulled her in for a quick kiss on the cheek and watched her face flush. “More later,” he murmured in her ear before separating from her and moving to help Carol.
The next hour passed in a blur of activity that felt surprisingly natural. Grant helped Carol adjust the table—twice more, because she kept changing her mind about the seating arrangement.
"No, no, Grant needs to sit next to Riley, not across from her," Carol muttered, moving place cards around like chess pieces. "And Thomas should be next to me so I can make sure he gets enough to eat. That man is too thin."
"Mom, Thomas is fine—"
"He's been living on bachelor food since Martha died. Someone needs to make sure he eats vegetables." Carol moved another place card. "There. Perfect."
Grant bit back a smile. The table looked exactly the same as it had the first time.
"Mrs. Monroe—"
"Carol, please."
"Carol, can I help with anything else?"
She turned to look at him, and something soft crossed her face. "You're a good man, Grant Lawson. You know that?"
Grant felt his face heat. "I'm just—"
"You're good for her." Carol's voice dropped lower, meant just for him. "I can see it. The way she looks at you. The way she smiles when you're in the room." She reached up and patted his cheek. "Don't let her run away this time."
"I won't," Grant said, and meant it with everything in him.
"Good." Carol smiled. "Now go rescue Tyler's poor girlfriend from your father. I think Thomas is telling her about crop rotation and she looks like she might cry pretending to participate."
Grant rescued Sophie—who was indeed looking slightly glazed—and guided her toward the safer territory of Riley and Lily in the kitchen.
He found Riley at the sink, washing serving dishes while Lily dried, both of them laughing about something.
"—and then Dad tried to deep fry the turkey in the garage," Lily was saying. "In the garage. Where we park cars."
"I still can't believe Mom let him."
"She didn't know until she smelled smoke."
Riley caught sight of Grant in the doorway and her whole face lit up. "Hey. You survived the table reorganization?"
"Barely. Your mom has very specific ideas about seating arrangements."
"She always does." Riley dried her hands on a towel. "Lily, you remember Grant. Grant, my sister Lily."
"Yes, we met earlier," Lily said, "but formal introductions are nice. So, you're the one making my sister smile like that."
"Like what?" Riley asked.
"Like you're sixteen again and sneaking out to meet him after curfew."
"I never snuck out."
"You absolutely did. You just never got caught." Lily winked at Grant. "She'd tell Mom and Dad she was studying at Hannah's house."
"Lily!"
"What? I'm just saying, you have a history of being sneaky when it comes to this man."
Grant couldn't help but grin. "Is that so?"
"Don't encourage her," Riley said, but she was smiling.
Lily dried the last dish and set it aside. "I'm going to check on the kids before they destroy the living room. You two have fun." She breezed out, leaving Grant and Riley alone in the kitchen for the first time all evening.
Riley immediately stepped closer, her hands finding his chest. "Finally. Five seconds of privacy."
"Your family really doesn't believe in alone time, do they?"
"Not even a little bit." She rose up on her toes and kissed him, quick but warm. "Thank you for being so patient."
"I'm having a great time."
"Even though we haven't had a single moment to ourselves?"
"Especially because of that." Grant pulled her closer. "This is what I want, Riley. All of it. The chaos and the family and your sister telling embarrassing stories about you."
"She has so many more. This is just the beginning."
"Good. I want to hear them all."
Riley's smile turned soft. "You're really good at this, you know."
"At what?"
"Being here. Fitting in. Making my mom love you and my nephew adopt you and my dad show you his workshop full of half-finished projects."
"Your dad's workshop is impressive."
"It's a fire hazard."
"An impressive fire hazard."
Riley laughed, and Grant committed the sound to memory—Riley laughing in her mother's kitchen on Christmas Eve, warm and happy and his.
The moment was interrupted by Jake barreling into the kitchen. "Aunt Riley! Uncle Grant! We're doing Pictionary and Mom says we need more players!"
"We'll be right there," Riley promised.
Jake ran off, and Riley sighed. "So much for our five seconds."
"We'll have later," Grant reminded her.
"Later," Riley echoed, and the promise in her voice made Grant's heart skip.
Finally, Carol declared dinner ready, and they all crowded around the table. Grant found himself seated between Riley and Sophie, with Thomas across from him looking amused by the whole production.
"Before we eat," Carol said, raising her glass, "I want to say how grateful I am to have all of you here. Family, friends, old and new." Her eyes landed on Grant with unmistakable warmth. "This is what Christmas is about. Being together."
"Hear, hear," Riley's dad said, and they all clinked glasses.
Dinner was delicious and chaotic in equal measure.
Dishes were passed with military precision under Carol's watchful eye.
Riley's dad told a long story about the year the Christmas turkey caught fire.
Tyler's girlfriend Sophie slowly relaxed as she realized the family chaos was affectionate rather than hostile.
Grant found himself answering questions about the farm, about his plans for next year's crops, about whether he'd consider adding goats to their livestock rotation.
"Goats are a terrible idea," Tyler said. "They'll eat everything."
"That's the point," Grant countered. "Natural brush control."
"They'll eat your barn."
"Not if you manage them properly."
Riley squeezed Grant's hand under the table, and when he glanced at her, she was trying not to laugh.
The conversation flowed from farming to football to whether Tyler's band was ever going to make it big.
"We're playing a gig in Brooklyn next month," Tyler said defensively.
"At a coffee shop," Lily added from down the table.
"It's a venue."
"It's a Starbucks."
"It's an independent coffee shop that happens to also be a music venue."
Carol cut in before it could devolve into an argument. "Tyler, that's wonderful. We're very proud of you."
"Thank you, Mom."
"Even if it is a Starbucks," Jason muttered, earning himself a kick under the table from his wife.
Grant caught Riley's eye again, and this time they both had to look away to keep from laughing outright.
This. This was what family was supposed to be. Not perfect, not quiet, but full of love and history and the kind of teasing that only came from people who knew each other inside and out.