Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
Riley
Riley woke to sunlight streaming through unfamiliar windows and Grant's arm wrapped around her waist.
For a moment, she just lay there, breathing in the warmth of him, the steady rise and fall of his chest against her back. The room smelled like him—clean laundry and woodsmoke and something uniquely Grant. The sheets were soft and worn, the kind of comfortable that only came with years of use.
This was real.
She was here. In Grant's bed. In his home. Their home.
The reality of it hit her all over again, and Riley felt tears prick at her eyes. She'd quit her job. She'd moved home. She'd chosen this life. Chosen him.
And he'd chosen her right back.
Riley turned in his arms to find him already awake, watching her with soft eyes and a sleepy smile.
"Hi," she whispered.
"Hi." Grant's voice was rough with sleep. "Sleep okay?"
"Better than okay." Riley pressed a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. She could feel it beating steady and strong beneath her lips. "Best sleep I've had in years, actually."
"Yeah?" Grant's hand traced lazy patterns on her back, his fingers tracing the curve of her spine.
"Yeah." Riley propped herself up on one elbow to look at him properly. His hair was mussed from sleep, there was a crease on his cheek from the pillow, and she'd never seen anything more sexy. "How long have you been awake?"
"A while." Grant tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch gentle. "I was watching you sleep."
"That's not creepy at all."
"It's romantic."
"It's a little creepy."
Grant laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest. "I couldn't help it. I kept thinking you might disappear. That I'd wake up and this would all be a dream."
Riley's throat tightened. She cupped his face in her hand, her thumb tracing his cheekbone. "I'm not going anywhere. I told you—I'm staying. I’m yours…" she whispered.
"I know." Grant turned his head to press a kiss to her palm. "I'm just still getting used to the idea that you're really here. That you're mine."
"I am yours." Riley kissed him, slow and sweet and full of promise. "And you're mine."
"Always have been."
They lay there for a while longer, wrapped in each other, trading lazy kisses and whispered words.
Riley traced the lines of Grant's shoulders, the muscles of his arms, memorizing him in the morning light.
Grant's hands stayed gentle on her—her back, her hip, her thigh—like he was reminding himself she was real.
Eventually, the smell of coffee drifting up from downstairs made them both stir.
"Dad's up," Grant said, stretching.
"Making coffee?"
"Probably breakfast too." Grant glanced at the clock on his nightstand. "It's almost nine. We should get down there."
Riley groaned but sat up, the cool air hitting her bare shoulders. "Fine. But I'm stealing another flannel." She loved wearing his flannels. They smelled like him and wrapped up in the oversized shirts made her feel closer to him.
"Deal."
Ten minutes later, they made their way downstairs—Riley in her jeans from last night and one of Grant's T-shirts layered under his flannel, Grant in jeans and a fresh T-shirt and hoodie.
Thomas was in the kitchen, coffee already brewing, humming to himself as he pulled ingredients from the fridge.
He looked up when they came in, a knowing smile spreading across his face as he took in their disheveled appearance and clasped hands.
"Morning," he said, his eyes twinkling. "Sleep well?"
Riley's cheeks flushed, but Grant just grinned. "Morning, Dad."
"Riley." Thomas nodded at her, his expression warm. "Good to see you here."
"Good to be here," Riley said.
"Coffee's almost ready." Thomas pulled mugs from the cabinet. "And I'm making pancakes. Hope you're hungry." "So. Big party tonight. New Year's Eve."
"You coming?" Grant asked, wrapping an arm around Riley's waist and pulling her against his side.
"Wouldn't miss it." Thomas smiled. "Now, make yourselves comfortable while I build us a solid foundation for the champagne later.”
The kitchen filled with the comfortable sounds of cooking—the sizzle of butter in the pan, the clink of plates and silverware, the low rumble of conversation.
Riley found herself pulled into the rhythm of it, helping Thomas mix batter while Grant set the table, all three of them moving around each other with surprising ease.
"So," Thomas said as he poured batter onto the griddle, "Riley. Your mom tells me you're starting your own business."
"Word travels fast," Riley said, laughing.
"It's Pine Valley. Word travels before you even say it." Thomas grinned. "But seriously. Marketing and consulting for local businesses?"
"That's the plan." Riley wrapped her hands around her coffee mug, feeling the warmth seep into her palms. "I'm still getting everything set up—business license, website, all of that. But I'm hoping to start taking clients in the new year."
"Well, you'll do great," Thomas said, flipping a pancake with practiced ease. "This town needs someone who knows what they're doing with all that online stuff."
"I hope so."
They ate breakfast at the kitchen table, sunlight streaming through the windows, and Riley couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this content.
This settled. The pancakes were perfect—fluffy and golden, with real maple syrup that Thomas said came from a farm two towns over.
The coffee was strong and hot. And the conversation flowed easily, punctuated by laughter and teasing and the kind of comfortable silences that only came with family.
"So what's the plan for today?" Thomas asked, pushing his empty plate away. "Besides getting ready for tonight."
"I thought I'd show Riley around the property," Grant said. "In daylight, I mean. She hasn't really seen any of the new stuff we’ve done yet."
"Good idea." Thomas stood, gathering plates. "And Riley, I want you to treat this like it’s your home now too.”
Riley's eyes stung. "Thank you. That means a lot."
"I mean it." Thomas squeezed her shoulder as he passed. "I can see how happy you make my son. That's all I've ever wanted for him." After breakfast, Grant bundled Riley into one of his jackets—thick and warm and smelling like him—and they walked outside together.
The farm looked peaceful in the late morning light. Snow dusted the fields, the winter sun making everything sparkle. They walked hand in hand, their breath fogging in the cold air.
"I want to show you something," Grant said, leading her toward the retail area. "I've been thinking about the future. Our future."
Riley's heart squeezed. "Yeah?"
"Over here—" Grant gestured to an empty lot next to the small cabin that currently served as the farm shop.
"I want to expand the retail space. Build something bigger. Room for more wreaths, decorations, maybe a little café area where people can warm up with hot cocoa, snacks, I don’t know.
Make it like an experience, not just a place to get supplies. "
Riley could picture it—warm and inviting, somewhere families would want to linger. "That sounds perfect."
"And there," Grant pointed to the field beyond the parking area, "we need more parking for the Tree Toss. This year we had cars lining the road. Next year I want it organized. Safe."
They walked slowly, Grant sharing his vision for the farm. Not just maintenance and keeping things running, but growth. Expansion. Making it even better.
"I've been thinking about this for years," Grant admitted. "But talking about it with you here, knowing you're staying, knowing we're building this together—it feels real now. Possible."
"I've been thinking," Grant said as they walked through the field where the Christmas trees grew in neat rows. "About what you said. Starting your own business."
"Yeah?" Riley tucked her hands into the pockets of Grant's borrowed jacket, the sleeves hanging past her fingertips.
"I want to hire you." Grant stopped walking and turned to face her, his expression serious. "The farm needs a better online presence. A real website. Social media strategy. Maybe some help with marketing for next season."
Riley's heart swelled. "Grant—"
"And before you say I don't have to, I know I don't have to. I want to." Grant's hands found her waist, pulling her closer. "Because you're good at what you do. Because this farm deserves the best. And because I want to support you the way you're supporting me by staying."
Riley reached up to cup his face, her fingers cold against his warm skin. "You know I'm going to charge you full rate, right? This is a business. No friends and family discount."
"I wouldn't have it any other way." Grant grinned. "I want to be a real client. Help you build your portfolio."
"Okay." Riley smiled. "Then you're hired. Or rather, I'm hired. However that works."
"We'll figure it out together."
Grant kissed her, slow and sweet, and when they broke apart, both their cheeks were flushed from cold and something warmer.
They kept walking, and Grant pointed out where he wanted to plant new saplings in the spring, where he was thinking of adding a small greenhouse for wreath-making workshops.
"I love hearing you talk about this," Riley said. "About the future. Your plans."
"Our plans," Grant corrected, squeezing her hand. "This is ours now, Riley. Your business, this farm, our life here. We're building it together."
They ended up at the small grove of birch trees at the edge of the property—the ones Thomas had planted years ago.
"Mom loved birch trees," Grant said quietly. "Dad planted these the year after she died. He said it helped, having something growing. Something beautiful to remember her by."
Riley squeezed his hand, not trusting her voice.
"I think she would have liked this," Grant said softly. "She would have loved that you're here. That we're doing this."
Riley remembered Grant’s mom. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when she passed away. I know how close you were.”