Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
Grant
The day after Christmas dawned cold and clear.
Grant lay in bed watching Riley sleep, her dark hair spread across his pillow, one arm thrown across his chest. He'd been awake for the better part of an hour, just observing the rise and fall of her breathing, memorizing the curve of her cheek and the way her lashes cast shadows in the pale morning light.
This was what he wanted. Every morning. For the rest of his life.
The thought didn't scare him the way it might have a month ago. It felt inevitable. Right.
Riley stirred, making a small sound of protest as she burrowed closer. "What time is it?"
"Early. Go back to sleep."
"Can't. Awake now." But she didn't move, just pressed her face into his shoulder. "What's the plan for today?"
"Whatever you want."
"Dangerous offer."
"I'm feeling reckless."
Riley laughed, the sound muffled against his skin. "How about we stay in bed until noon, then eat everything in your fridge?"
"Tempting." Grant's hand traced lazy patterns on her back.
He should tell her. Today. He should tell her this wasn't fake anymore, that he wanted her to stay.
Not just through New Year's, but permanently.
That he was in love with her and wanted to figure out how to make this work—her life here, or him finding a way to be part of her life there. Whatever it took.
The words sat on the tip of his tongue, but something held him back. Timing. He needed the right moment. Not right now, barely awake in bed. But today. He'd tell her today.
Riley lifted her head to look at him, her hair a mess, her eyes still soft with sleep. She was the most beautiful thing Grant had ever seen.
"What are you thinking about?" she asked.
"You."
"Good answer." She kissed him, soft and quick, then rolled out of bed, stealing his shirt off the floor and pulling it on. It hung to mid-thigh on her, and Grant had to physically restrain himself from pulling her back into bed.
"I'm showering," Riley announced. "Don't eat all the breakfast without me."
Grant listened to the water turn on in the bathroom and let himself smile at nothing. Yesterday had been perfect. Christmas Day with their families, the easy way she'd fit into his life, the warmth of her beside him all night.
Today would be the same. Just the two of them, lazy and domestic, building something that felt permanent.
He got up and pulled on jeans and a thermal shirt, heading downstairs to find his dad exactly where he'd predicted—at the kitchen table with coffee and the newspaper.
"Morning," Thomas said without looking up.
"Morning."
"Riley still asleep?"
"Shower."
Thomas nodded, turning a page. "You two have plans today?"
"Not really. Thought we'd just hang around. Maybe work on some small stuff around the farm if she's up for it."
"Sounds good." Thomas glanced up with a small smile. "She fits here."
Grant's chest tightened, but he just nodded and poured himself coffee.
Riley appeared twenty minutes later, her hair damp and curling, wearing jeans and one of Grant's flannels she'd clearly stolen from his closet. She helped herself to coffee and the plate of scrambled eggs Thomas had made, settling into the chair beside Grant like she belonged there.
They spent the morning doing exactly what Grant had hoped—moving through the easy rhythm of farm life together.
Riley helped him feed the animals, laughing when the goats tried to eat her jacket.
They checked the fences in the back forty, walking through snow that came up to their knees in some places.
She asked questions about his plans for the spring, about what crops he wanted to plant, about the expansion he'd been dreaming of for years.
And Grant told her. All of it. The vision he had for the north field, the varieties of trees he wanted to add, the way he could see the farm growing into something bigger without losing what made it special.
Riley listened like she actually cared. Like his dreams mattered to her.
"Your sandwiches are burning," Riley murmured against his chest.
"Don't care."
"Your dad's going to smell smoke."
"Still don't care."
But he let her go anyway, rescuing the slightly charred sandwiches and plating them with an exaggerated flourish. They ate standing at the counter, bumping shoulders and stealing bites from each other's plates, and Grant thought: This. I want this every day.
By early afternoon, they'd retreated back inside, cold and snow-covered and starving. Grant pulled out leftover ham and his dad's famous scalloped potatoes from Christmas dinner while Riley found the rolls and made hot cocoa.
They settled on the couch with their plates balanced on their knees, legs tangled together under a blanket.
Riley told him about Tyler's latest band drama—something about the drummer quitting mid-gig and Tyler having to improvise with a cardboard box.
Grant told her about the goat that had escaped three times last week and ended up in Mrs. Henderson's vegetable garden.
It was easy. Comfortable. Perfect.
Grant kept thinking about what he wanted to say. About asking her to stay. About telling her this wasn't fake anymore. About telling her he loved her. But every time he opened his mouth to start that conversation, something held him back.
The day was too good. Riley was too relaxed, too happy. He didn't want to ruin it by making things heavy. Didn't want to pressure her or make her feel like she had to choose right now before she left.
There would be time. Later. When she got back from the city. They'd talk then.
After lunch, Grant built a fire while Riley curled up on the couch with a book she'd found on his shelf. Thomas had disappeared somewhere—probably to give them space.
Grant settled beside her, and Riley immediately shifted, tucking her feet under his thigh and leaning against his shoulder.
Grant wrapped his arm around her and let himself sink into the moment.
The weight of her against him. The smell of woodsmoke and pine.
The quiet contentment of just existing together.
"This is nice," Riley said softly.
"Yeah. It is."
"I could get used to this."
Grant's breath caught, but he didn't say anything. Didn't ask what she meant. Didn't push.
Later, he told himself. We'll talk later.
They stayed like that for a while, Riley reading while Grant just held her, both of them warm by the fire. It was the kind of afternoon that felt stolen—perfect and fragile and too good to last.
Grant should have known something would interrupt it.
Riley's phone buzzed on the coffee table. Once, then again, then a third time in rapid succession. Riley frowned, setting down her book.
The fourth buzz was an actual call. The sound cut through the warm cocoon they'd built, sharp and jarring. Riley frowned, glancing at the screen.
"It's Sandra," she said.
Grant's hands stilled on her feet. "Your boss?"
"Yeah." Riley stared at the phone like it was a snake. "I should probably take this."
"On the day after Christmas?"
"She doesn't really believe in holidays." Riley's thumb hovered over the answer button, hesitation clear in her expression.
Grant felt something cold settle in his stomach. A whisper of dread he couldn't quite name.
"Go ahead," he said, trying to keep his voice casual. "I'll be here."
Riley nodded and stood, walking toward the kitchen for privacy. Grant watched her go, that cold feeling spreading through his chest.
He couldn't hear Sandra's side of the conversation, but he could hear Riley's responses. The shift in her tone from casual to professional. The tightening in her voice.
"Hi, Sandra. Merry Christmas."
Pause.
"I understand, but I'm not back until next week—"
Longer pause.
"I know, but this is approved PTO—"
Another pause, and Grant watched Riley's shoulders climb toward her ears, watched her free hand clench into a fist at her side.
"The presentation isn't until mid-January—"
Grant's throat tightened.
"I— Yes. I understand. Let me see what I can do."
Riley hung up and stood there for a long moment, her back to Grant, not moving.
"Everything okay?" Grant asked, even though he already knew the answer.
Riley turned, and her expression was carefully neutral in a way that made Grant's chest ache. "There's a client emergency. A campaign we've been working on for months is falling apart."
"And they need you."
"Sandra says the client specifically asked for me." Riley crossed back to the couch but didn't sit. "They're calling an emergency meeting tomorrow."
"Tomorrow." Grant's voice came out flat.
"I know. The timing is awful. But—"
"Can't someone else handle it?"
"I'm the lead on the account. If I'm not there—" Riley stopped, rubbing her forehead. "It looks bad. For me. For my team."
Grant nodded slowly, trying to keep his expression neutral even as panic clawed at his throat. This was it. The moment he'd been dreading. The job pulling her back, demanding more than she'd planned to give.
And here was the thing—technically, if this were still fake, Riley didn't owe him anything. Not an explanation, not reassurance, not a promise to come back. It was her job. Her life. Her decision.
But she was standing here explaining anyway. Promising anyway. Looking at him with those worried eyes like his feelings mattered to her.
That was the shift, wasn't it? The unspoken officialness that had settled over them somewhere between Christmas morning and now. They hadn't said the words yet—hadn't defined what they were doing or made any formal declarations.
But this was real. The way she touched him was real. The way she looked at him was real. The fact that she was trying so hard to reassure him instead of just going was real.
They'd crossed some invisible line, and there was no going back.
"How long?" Grant asked.
"Just one day. One quick meeting." Riley sat beside him, taking his hands. "I'll leave first thing tomorrow morning, handle the meeting, and be back by late afternoon. There's that children's Christmas pageant tomorrow evening—Hannah's kids are in it. I promised I'd be there."
"The pageant's at five."
"I know. I'll make it. I promise." Riley squeezed his hands, her eyes earnest. "It's one meeting, Grant. A few hours at most. I'll be back in time."
Grant wanted to believe her. He did believe her—Riley didn't make promises lightly.
But there was a knot in his chest that wouldn't loosen. A whisper in the back of his mind that said he'd heard this before. That something always came up. That Riley's job would always find a way to take priority.
"Okay," he said, and the word felt like gravel in his throat.
"You're upset."
"I'm not—" Grant stopped, made himself meet her eyes. "I'm worried. This is how it started before. One meeting turning into three. One day turning into a week."
"This is different."
"Is it?"
Riley flinched. "Grant, I promise you this is one meeting. One day. I'll be back by evening."
"I know. I know you're right." Grant pulled her close, pressing his face into her hair. "I'm sorry. I'm being paranoid."
"You're allowed to be scared." Riley's arms came around him, holding tight. "But I'm coming back. I promise."
Grant held her, breathing in the scent of her shampoo, trying to quiet the voice in his head that said, What if she doesn't? What if the city swallows her again? What if you're not enough to bring her home?
"I believe you," he said, and tried to make it true.
They spent the rest of the afternoon together, quieter now. The easy joy from the morning had shifted into something more fragile. Riley sat curled against him on the couch while the fire crackled. Grant held her close, trying not to think about tomorrow.
But underneath it all, that knot of dread sat heavy in his chest.
By evening, Thomas had returned and the three of them made dinner together—Riley chopping vegetables while Grant handled the meat, Thomas supervising and offering commentary on their technique. It should have felt normal. Domestic. Perfect.
But Grant couldn't shake the feeling that he was watching the last perfect moment before everything changed.
That night, lying in bed with Riley curled against his side, Grant stared at the ceiling and tried to quiet his fears.
She was going back to the city tomorrow. Just for the day. Just for one meeting.
But the knot in his chest wouldn't loosen.
Grant had almost told her. Had almost said he loved her, had almost asked her to stay for real, to figure out how to make this permanent.
But he'd chickened out. Told himself there would be time later. After she came back. After the holidays.
Now he lay in the dark, holding her close, and wondered if he'd just made the biggest mistake of his life.
I should have told her. Should have given her more reasons to come back.
But it was too late now. Tomorrow she'd leave, and all Grant could do was hope she'd keep her promise.
And hope he was enough to bring her home.