Riley's phone buzzed with a text.
Grant: Still thinking about that storage room.
Riley: Me too.
Grant: Tomorrow can't come fast enough.
Riley: Agreed. Though we should probably try to behave at dinner.
Grant: I make no promises.
Riley: Grant. LOL
Grant: Fine. I'll behave. Mostly.
Grant: Get some sleep. I'll see you tomorrow.
Riley: Can't wait. Goodnight.
Grant: Goodnight, Riley. Sweet dreams.
Riley set her phone on the nightstand and pulled the covers up, still smiling.
She was in so much trouble.
The best kind of trouble.
EIGHTEEN
Grant
Grant had been to the Monroe house plenty of times over the years when they were younger but tonight felt different.
Maybe it was the way Carol answered the door with flour on her apron and pulled him into a hug before he'd even crossed the threshold. Maybe it was the chaos he could hear from inside—children laughing, someone arguing about where to put the extra chairs, Christmas music playing just a little too loud.
Or maybe it was the way Riley appeared behind her mother, wearing a dark green sweater that made her eyes look impossibly bright, and smiled at him like he was exactly what she'd been waiting for.
"Grant! Thomas! Come in, come in. You're right on time." Carol ushered them inside, already talking a mile a minute about dinner and dessert and something about Tyler bringing his new girlfriend.
Grant's dad clapped him on the shoulder. "Brace yourself, son."
But Grant was already smiling.
The Monroe house at Christmas was an assault on the senses in the best possible way. The scent of roasting turkey and freshbread and something cinnamon-sweet from the oven. Christmas music competing with the sound of children's laughter and adult conversation. Every surface covered in decorations—garlands draped over doorways, candles on every table, a massive tree in the corner of the living room that looked like it might topple under the weight of ornaments.
It was beautiful chaos, and Grant loved it immediately.
The dining room table had been extended with two extra leaves and was set for twelve with Carol's good china. The living room was overrun with Riley's nephews building something elaborate out of wooden blocks while arguing about structural integrity in voices suggesting they'd been listening to too many adults talk about construction.
Her sister Lily was in the kitchen with Carol, both of them moving in synchronized chaos that only came from years of cooking together. Tyler was in the living room with his girlfriend Sophie, who kept smoothing down her skirt and smiling too brightly, clearly overwhelmed by the Monroe family chaos.
And in the middle of it all was Riley, directing traffic like a general commanding troops.
"Plates go on the left, Mom, not the right—Dad, can you please tell the boys that tackling is an outside activity—Tyler, your girlfriend looks terrified, get her some wine—Grant!"
Riley crossed the chaos to reach him, and Grant had to resist the urge to pull her into his arms right there in front of everyone. Instead, he settled for catching her hand and squeezing gently.
“I’m so happy you’re here,” she whispered.
