ONE
Riley
The town line appeared through the windshield like a dare.
Riley Monroe gripped the steering wheel tighter, watching snow dust across the cracked asphalt of Route 9 as the "Welcome to Pine Valley" sign emerged from the gray December afternoon. She'd been rehearsing her entrance for the last forty miles—casual, breezy, totally unbothered by the fact that she was about to spend two weeks in the same zip code as Grant Lawson.
Grant, who always smelled like pine and woodsmoke.
Grant, who could fix anything with his hands.
His large, manly hands.
Hands he’d once had all over her body.
Grant, who she'd been pretending not to think about for over a decade.
She rolled her shoulders, trying to shake the tension creeping up her spine. This was ridiculous. They were adults. Functional, mature adults who'd broken up amicably after high school and moved on with their lives. She had a career in the city—a good one, even if her boss treated her like a renewable resource. Grant had the family farm and a reputation as the most dependableman in three counties. Riley didn’t know why she was getting all worked up about him now after all this time.
It was fine. They saw each other every year when the whole friend group gathered for the holidays, made polite small talk, laughed at the right moments, and went their separate ways without incident. Sometimes they’d run into each other when she was home visiting her parents, and they always had a chat and a laugh. No big deal. She’d never stopped finding him attractive, but they’d evolved into being friends. Maybe it was the fact she hadn’t had a date in longer than she could remember, or that the guys in the city were so high maintenance, they rivaled models on a catwalk. Grant wasn’t like them. He’d always been down to earth. Mr. All American.
Mr. All American Hottie.
Her pulse kicked up the second she crossed into town, and the bare trees lining Main Street looked like they were reaching for her, pulling her back into a version of herself she'd tried to outrun.
Riley cranked up the heat, even though the car was already warm. Her phone buzzed in the cupholder—probably her mother asking when she'd arrive, or Hannah sending another meme about holiday stress. She ignored it. If she looked now, she'd see the group chat, and the group chat would remind her that the reunion was in two days, and the reunion meanthim.
The houses started appearing, decked out in lights and wreaths and inflatable snowmen that looked vaguely drunk. Pine Valley took Christmas seriously. Every lamppost wore garland. Every storefront had fake snow sprayed across the windows. The whole town smelled like cinnamon and pine, aggressively festive in a way that made her chest ache with an emotion she refused to call homesickness. She loved it. She hated that she loved it.
Her parents' house sat at the end of Maple Street, a two-story colonial with a porch her dad refused to fix and shutters her mom repainted every spring. The driveway was already crowded—her brother Tyler's beat-up Jeep, her sister Lily's sedan with the dented bumper, and her dad's truck that somehow still ran despite being older than she was.
Riley parked and sat for a moment, staring at the wreath on the front door. Red ribbon, too many bells, definitely her mother's handiwork.
You can do this. You're a professional. You negotiate brand deals with people who eat PR reps for breakfast. You can handle one small-town Christmas.
She grabbed her bag from the passenger seat and stepped out into the cold. The air bit at her cheeks, sharp and clean in a way city air never was. Snow crunched under her boots as she climbed the porch steps, and before she could even reach for the door, it flew open.
"RILEY'S HOME!"
Lily launched herself forward, arms wide, dark hair flying. Riley barely had time to drop her bag before her sister collided with her, squeezing hard enough to crack ribs.
"Hi, Lil. Breathing. Need breathing."
"You're late," Lily said, pulling back with a grin that was all mischief. "Mom's been pacing for an hour."
"I'm twenty minutes late."
"She started pacing an hour ago."
Riley laughed despite herself and let Lily drag her inside. Warmth hit her immediately—too much warmth, because her dad always cranked the thermostat to tropical levels in winter. The house smelled like sugar cookies and pine, and every surface was covered in decorations. Garland draped the staircase. A tree stood in the corner of the living room, ornaments hanging atchaotic angles because her family had never believed in design consistency.
"She's here!" Lily shouted toward the kitchen.
"Finally!" Her mother's voice rang out, followed by the sound of something clattering. Carol Monroe appeared in the doorway, flour on her apron and a wooden spoon in hand. "Riley, sweetheart, you didn't text."
"I texted two hours ago."
"That doesn't count. I meant when you got close."
