"That wasn't there this morning," she said.
"Your mom?"
"Definitely my mom."
Grant smiled, stepping closer. "Well. Can't ignore mistletoe. That's bad luck."
"Is it?"
"Extremely bad luck." His hands found her waist, pulling her close. "Basically guarantees a terrible Christmas."
"We wouldn't want that."
"No," Grant agreed, and then he was kissing her.
It was different from the storage room—slower, sweeter, but no less intense. Riley melted into him, her arms winding around his neck, and Grant held her like she was precious.
When they finally pulled apart, both breathing hard, Riley rested her forehead against his.
"We really need to finish what we started," she whispered.
"We do. We’ll figure it out. And I’ll see you tomorrow night."
"That's like eighteen hours from now."
Grant laughed softly. "Think you can wait that long?"
"Barely." Riley kissed him again, quick and hard. "But yes."
"I should go."
"You should."
Neither of them moved.
Finally, Grant stepped back, his hands sliding from her waist reluctantly. "Goodnight, Riley."
"Goodnight, Grant."
"See you tomorrow. Six o'clock. I'll be the one staring at you all night."
"I can't wait."
Riley let herself into the house, and from the window watched him walk back to his truck and waved at him before he drove away.
She headed upstairs to her childhood bedroom, her lips still tingling from Grant's kiss, her body still wound tight from what they'd started in that storage room.
Eighteen hours.
She could wait eighteen hours.
Probably.
Riley flopped onto her bed, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling, and let herself smile.
Tomorrow was Christmas Eve. Grant and Thomas were coming to dinner. Her whole family would be there, chaos and noise and her mother's knowing looks.
And after dinner, once everyone went home, she and Grant would finally finish what they'd started.
