They were standing in the middle of Hannigan's, which had been transformed into headquarters for the annual Ugly Sweater Fundraiser. Every year, Pine Valley rallied around a local cause, and this year's beneficiary was the animal shelter. The bar had been cleared of its usual tables to make room for a cookie exchange station, a bake sale table groaning under the weight of homemade treats, and a donation jar already stuffed with bills.
The whole town had turned out, it seemed. Hannah was manning the cookie table with her kids, who were sampling more cookies than they were selling. Mark and Ryan were arguing about whose sweater was uglier—Mark's featured cats wearing Santa hats, while Ryan's had a 3D Christmas tree that kept shedding glitter everywhere. Emily and Jenna were laughing at something near the bake sale, both wearing matching elf sweaters.
And in the corner, Riley's parents were talking with Thomas Lawson, all three of them looking far too pleased with themselves.
"Your mom keeps looking over here," Grant murmured.
"I noticed."
"She's smiling."
"I noticed that too."
"Should I be worried?"
Riley glanced at her mother, who caught her eye and gave her a not-at-all-subtle thumbs up. "Probably."
Grant laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest where Riley was pressed against his side. They'd been like this all evening—touching constantly, unable to stay more than a few inches apart. His hand on her lower back. Her fingers lacedthrough his. His arm around her shoulders while they browsed the bake sale.
It felt natural. Easy. Like they'd been doing this forever.
Which, in a way, they had.
Riley had been thinking about that a lot since last night. About how every time she'd come home over the past ten years—for holidays, for weddings, for her grandmother's funeral—she and Grant had always found each other. Always ended up in the same corner of whatever event they were at, talking and laughing like no time had passed.
He knew her. Really knew her. Knew that she got anxious in crowds and would make jokes to deflect. Knew that she hated small talk but loved deep conversations at two in the morning. Knew that she took her coffee with too much cream and her humor dark enough to horrify most people.
And she knew him. Knew that he was quieter than most people realized, that he noticed everything, that he carried his grief for his mother like a stone in his pocket—always there, always heavy, but manageable. Knew that he was loyal to a fault and protective of the people he loved.
She trusted him. Not just with her body—though last night had been?—
Riley's thoughts scattered as Grant's thumb traced a slow circle on her hip, sending heat spiraling through her.
Okay. Focus. She was supposed to be mingling, being social, supporting the animal shelter.
Not thinking about what Grant had done to her last night with his hands and mouth and?—
"Riley Monroe, is that you?"
Riley turned to find Mrs. Walsh, her third-grade teacher, beaming at her from behind a plate of snickerdoodles.
"Mrs. Walsh! Hi!" Riley stepped forward for a hug, Grant's hand sliding from her hip to her lower back, staying close.
"Look at you, all grown up! And Grant Lawson—I haven't seen you in ages. How's your father doing?"
"He's good, Mrs. Walsh. Thank you for asking. He’s around here somewhere."
"I remember when your mother used to bring you to the Christmas fundraisers. You were always so well-behaved." She smiled at Riley. "Unlike this one, who couldn't sit still for five minutes."
"Hey," Riley protested.
"And are you two together now?" Mrs. Walsh gestured between them meaningfully.
"Together," Grant confirmed, his hand warm on Riley's back. "Yes ma'am."
"Well, it's about time! I always said you two would end up together. Even back when you were in my class, Riley, you used to talk about Grant constantly."
Riley felt her face heat. "I did not."
