"See you tomorrow?" she asked.
"Definitely. Come by the farm if you want. I'll be there all day."
"Maybe I will."
"Riley?"
"Yeah?"
"Tonight was—" Grant stopped, searching for words. "It was really good."
"It was."
"I mean all of it. The party. Driving around. Just being with you."
Riley's chest went tight. "Me too."
She climbed out of the truck and headed to her door, glancing back once to find Grant still watching her, that soft smile on his handsome face. He never left until she was inside the house.
Once inside, Riley leaned against the closed door and pressed her hand to her chest, feeling her heart race.
Whatever we want.His earlier words still resonated with her.
The problem was, Riley was starting to realize exactly what she wanted.
And it terrified her.
It was becoming impossible to pretend this didn't mean something.
SIXTEEN
Grant
Grant knew the storm was coming before the weather service called it.
He'd grown up reading the sky over Pine Valley—the particular shade of gray that meant snow, the way the wind shifted before a big system rolled in, the silence that settled over the farm when the temperature started dropping fast. By noon, he could smell it in the air.
Eight to twelve inches, easy. Maybe more if the system stalled.
Riley was in the barn, ostensibly helping him organize order forms for the last pre-Christmas rush, but mostly just keeping him company. She'd been doing that a lot lately—showing up at the farm, making coffee in the workshop, stealing kisses when his dad wasn't looking, fitting into his days like she'd always been there.
Grant couldn't get used to it. Didn't want to get used to it, because getting used to it meant he'd notice when she left.
And she was leaving. January second, back to the city, back to her real life. They'd never talked about it directly, but it hung between them like a sword—inevitable, waiting to fall.
"You're doing it again," Riley said without looking up from the spreadsheet.
"Doing what?"
"That thing where you stare at nothing and look broody."
"I don't look broody."
"You absolutely look broody." She glanced up, smiling. "What are you thinking about?"
You. Always you. How much it's going to hurt when you go.
"Storm's coming," Grant said instead. "Big one."
