"Yeah."
They rejoined the party, but the tension between them had shifted into something heavier, more charged. Every time their eyes met across the room, Riley felt it—the pull, the want, the knowledge that they were both dancing around something neither of them wanted to name.
During Pictionary, Grant's team won by a landslide, mostly because he and Riley had developed some kind of telepathy that let them guess each other's terrible drawings with alarming accuracy.
"This is unfair," Mark complained. "They're communicating psychically."
"Ten years of history," Emily said with a soft smile. "They have shorthand."
Riley caught Grant's eye, and something passed between them—acknowledgment of all those years, all that history, all the ways they still fit together despite everything.
By the time the party started winding down around eleven, Riley's skin was buzzing with awareness. Grant had barely left her side all night—his hand on her back when they moved through rooms, his arm around her shoulders during the game, his laugh warm in her ear when she made a joke.
They helped Hannah and Mark clean up, then headed out into the cold night air together.
Grant opened the truck door for her, and Riley climbed in, immediately hit with the familiar warmth from the heater.
Grant slid into the driver's seat and started the engine.
"Do you want to go home?" he asked.
Riley looked at him—really looked. "No. Not yet."
Grant's smile was slow. "Good. Me either."
He pulled out of the driveway, and instead of turning toward Riley's house, he headed toward the east side of town.
"Where are we going?" Riley asked.
"Thought we could drive through Maple Ridge. See the Christmas lights."
Maple Ridge was the fancy neighborhood on the hill—massive houses, elaborate decorations, the kind of displays people drove from other towns to see.
"Really?"
"You used to love doing that."
Riley's chest warmed. "I did. I didn't think you remembered."
"I remember everything."
They drove through Pine Valley in comfortable silence, Christmas music playing softly on the radio. Grant's hand found hers across the console, their fingers intertwining naturally.
Maple Ridge was lit up like a winter wonderland—every house competing for the most elaborate display. Inflatable snowmen, light-up reindeer, roofs covered in icicle lights that sparkled against the snow.
"Oh my god," Riley breathed, staring at a house that had synchronized its lights to music. "That one's new."
"They do it every year now. Different song each time."
"It's amazing."
Grant drove slowly through the neighborhood, giving Riley time to take it all in. She pressed her face to the window like a kid, pointing out her favorites, laughing at the more ridiculous displays.
"That one has a light-up nativity scene next to an inflatable Grinch," she said. "Mixed messages."
"Holiday inclusivity."
"Or chaos."
