Then she backed out and headed toward the farm.
The drive took fifteen minutes. Fifteen more minutes of rehearsing what she'd say. Fifteen minutes of her heart pounding and her mind spinning through every possible outcome.
By the time she turned onto the long gravel drive leading to the farmhouse, it was nearly seven-thirty. Full dark had fallen. The porch light was on, and Grant's truck sat in the driveway.
He was home.
Riley parked beside his truck and sat there for a moment. The house windows were mostly dark—just a faint glow from what looked like the living room. But there, across the yard, light spilled from the barn.
Her heart sank and lifted at the same time.
He was out there. Working off his anger and hurt the only way he knew how.
Riley took a deep breath, grabbed her bag, and climbed out of the car. The cold hit her immediately, biting through her coat.
She walked across the yard toward the barn, her boots crunching in the snow. Through the partially open door, she could hear the sound of tools. Movement. Grant's silhouette against the workbench light.
Riley stopped at the entrance, her hand on the weathered wood, and worked to steady her breathing one more time.
This was it.
She pushed the door open wider and stepped inside.
TWENTY-THREE
Grant
Grant had arrived at the community center at four-thirty, half an hour before the pageant started.
He told himself it was because he wanted to help set up. Because the volunteer coordinator had asked for extra hands arranging chairs and testing the sound system.
But really, it was because he wanted to be there when Riley arrived. Wanted to see her walk through the door, flushed and apologetic, proving that she'd kept her promise.
The community center was already buzzing with activity. Parents wrangling excited kids into costumes. Teachers doing last-minute rehearsals. The smell of popcorn and hot chocolate thick in the air.
Grant found two seats near the middle—good view of the stage, aisle access in case Riley needed to slip in quietly. He set his coat on the seat beside him and pulled out his phone.
No new messages.
The last text from Riley had come at noon.
Riley: Meeting ran long. Going to try to catch the 2pm train. Should still make it in time.
Grant had responded immediately.
Grant: No problem. I'll save you a seat.
That was five hours ago.
Grant checked his watch. 4:47 p.m. The train from the city took about two hours. Even if she'd caught the two o'clock, she'd be cutting it close.
He sent another text.
Grant: On your way? Pageant starts at 5.
The message showed as delivered. Then read.
No response.
