Chapter 19 #2
"She'd be happy to see you this happy," Thomas said quietly, and his eyes moved between Grant and Riley with unmistakable meaning.
The conversation moved on—to farming and weather and Riley's work in the city—but Riley felt the weight of what Thomas had said. She caught Grant's eye across the table, and a glance passed between them—understanding, maybe, or recognition.
This mattered. Whatever this was between them, it mattered.
After brunch, they cleaned up together while Thomas disappeared upstairs to "find his good coat." Grant washed while Riley dried, their shoulders bumping in the small kitchen.
"Your dad is not subtle," Riley murmured.
"Never has been." Grant handed her a plate. "But he means well."
Thomas reappeared, wearing his good coat and a smile that suggested he knew exactly what he was doing. "Well, I'm off to Ellen's. She's expecting me for dessert and cards."
"Have fun," Grant said.
"Oh, I will. You kids enjoy your afternoon." Thomas winked at Riley. "I'll be back...late. Very late."
And then he was gone, and Riley and Grant were alone for the first time in what felt like forever.
The air between them shifted immediately—charged with all the wanting they'd been holding back.
"So," Riley said, her voice coming out breathier than she'd intended. "We're alone."
"Finally." Grant turned from the sink, wiping his hands on a towel, his eyes dark. "Do you have any idea how hard it's been not touching you for the past two days?"
"I might have some idea."
Grant closed the distance between them in two steps, his hands finding her waist and pulling her close. "The storage room. Your family's house. I've been going crazy."
"Me too," Riley admitted, her hands sliding up his chest. "I kept thinking about—"
She didn't finish because Grant was kissing her, deep and hungry and full of days of pent-up wanting. Riley made a sound against his mouth and kissed him back just as desperately, her fingers tangling in his hair. He pushed her against the kitchen counter, devouring her moans.
"Upstairs," Grant said against her lips. "Now."
They barely made it.
Grant pulled her up the stairs, pausing twice to press her against the wall and kiss her like he couldn't wait another second. Riley was already working at the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel his skin.
By the time they reached his bedroom, they were both breathing hard and half-undressed.
Grant kicked the door shut and pulled Riley to him, his hands everywhere—sliding under her sweater, unhooking her bra, pushing her jeans down her hips with impatient hands.
"Need you," he muttered against her neck. "Been thinking about this for days."
"Then do something about it."
Grant growled low in his throat and walked her backward to the bed. They fell onto it together, a tangle of limbs and desperate kisses and clothes being shed as fast as they could manage.
Riley's sweater hit the floor. Grant's jeans followed. She was down to her underwear when Grant's mouth found her breast, and she gasped, arching into him.
"Grant—"
"I know. I know." His hands were on her hips, pulling her underwear down, his mouth following the path of exposed skin.
Riley reached for him, her hand wrapping around him, and Grant groaned. "If you do that, this is going to be over embarrassingly fast."
"Don't care. Want you."
Grant kissed her hard, settling between her thighs, and Riley wrapped her legs around his hips, desperate for the friction, the closeness, him.
"Now," she breathed. "Please, now."
He scrambled for a condom out of the nightstand and rolled it on quickly. Grant entered her in one smooth thrust, and Riley gasped at the fullness, the rightness of it. He stilled for a moment, his forehead pressed to hers, both of them breathing hard.
"Good?" he managed.
"Perfect. Move."
Grant moved, setting a rhythm that was fast and desperate and exactly what they both needed. Riley met him thrust for thrust, her nails digging into his shoulders, her breath coming in gasps.
It was frantic and hungry and over almost embarrassingly fast—both of them too wound up from days of wanting. Riley came first, crying out against Grant's shoulder, and Grant followed seconds later with a groan.
They collapsed together, both breathing hard, sweat cooling on their skin.
"That was—" Riley started.
"Fast," Grant finished, and they both started laughing.
"We've been waiting for days and it lasted like five minutes."
"Less than five minutes, probably."
Riley swatted his chest. "Your fault for being so good at that thing you do with your hips."
"My hips, huh?" He raised his brows.
"Don't get cocky."
Grant rolled to his side, pulling her with him, and suddenly the laughter faded into something softer. He brushed hair back from her face, his touch gentle.
"Merry Christmas."
"You already said that."
"It bears repeating." Grant's thumb traced her cheekbone. "You're beautiful, you know that?"
Riley felt her chest go tight. "Grant—"
"I mean it. You're—" He paused, searching for words. "You're everything."
“Grant…” Riley's chest seemed to crack wide open. The desperate energy from moments ago had transformed into something different—a tenderness and vulnerability that made her throat tight.
She believed Grant felt it too. His touch gentled, his kisses slowed. When he entered her again, it was different—slower, deeper, like he was trying to memorize every second.
"Riley," he breathed against her neck, and there was so much in that one word that Riley's eyes stung.
She wrapped herself around him, holding him close, and let the emotion wash over her. This wasn't just sex anymore. Maybe it never had been.
This was Grant. Her Grant. The boy she'd loved in high school and the man she was falling for all over again.
They moved together slowly, building toward something that felt bigger than either of them. When Riley came this time, it was with Grant's name on her lips and tears in her eyes. Grant followed, his face buried in her neck, holding her like she was precious.
Afterward, they lay tangled together, neither wanting to move. Grant's fingers traced lazy patterns on her back. Riley's head was on his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow.
"That was different," she said quietly.
"Yeah." Grant's hand stilled. "Good different?"
"Very good different."
They were quiet for a long moment, and Riley knew they were both feeling it—the weight of what this meant, the impossibility of pretending this was casual or temporary.
"Riley?" Grant's voice was careful.
"Yeah?"
"I got you something. For Christmas."
Riley lifted her head to look at him. "You didn't have to—"
"I wanted to." Grant reached over to his nightstand and pulled out a small, wrapped box.
Riley sat up, pulling the sheet around herself, and took the box with shaking hands. Inside was a delicate silver bracelet with a single charm—a small pine tree.
"It's—" Her voice broke. "Grant, it's beautiful."
"I wanted you to have something from home. From here." He took the bracelet and fastened it around her wrist. "So wherever you are, you'll remember."
Riley looked at the bracelet, then at Grant. The careful walls she'd built around her heart crumbled.
She was in love with him.
Had probably never stopped being in love with him.
And in almost week, she was supposed to leave and go back to a city that didn't feel like home anymore.
"Grant—" she started but didn't know how to finish.
"You don't have to say anything," Grant said, pulling her back down into his arms. "I just wanted you to have it."
Riley curled into him, the bracelet cool against her skin, and tried not to think about January second. Tried not to think about her apartment in the city or her job or the life she'd built there.
Right now, she just wanted this. Grant's arms around her. The quiet farmhouse. The snow falling soft outside the window.
Home.
This felt like home.
And it scared her more than anything.
They spent the rest of the afternoon wrapped up in each other—talking and touching and existing in their own little bubble.
Grant told her more about his plans for the farm, about the expansion he wanted to do, about his hopes for the future.
Riley told him about her frustrations with work, about how the city felt too big and too lonely, about how she'd forgotten what it felt like to belong somewhere.
"You belong here," Grant said quietly.
Riley looked at him—at his green eyes and strong hands and the way he looked at her like she was the answer to a question he'd been asking for ten years.
"I don't know if I can," she whispered.
"Can or will?"
"I don't know."
Grant kissed her forehead. "You don't have to decide today."
But Riley could feel the deadline approaching. January second. One week away.
One week to figure out if she was brave enough to choose this. To choose him.
To choose home.
The bracelet felt heavy on her wrist—a reminder of what she stood to lose if she drove back into the city.
But also a reminder of what she'd be giving up if she stayed.
Riley closed her eyes and let Grant hold her and tried not to think about the fact that no matter what she chose, someone was going to get hurt.
Maybe even her.