"That's not an answer."
"It wasn't real." The words came out harsh. Angry. "The whole thing. Riley and me. We were fake dating. Just pretending for the reunion so people would leave her alone about being single." Grant finally looked at his dad. "I'm sorry I lied to you. I should have told you the truth from the start."
Thomas took a slow sip of his coffee. "You're sure about that?"
"About lying? Yeah, I'm pretty sure?—"
"About it not being real."
Grant opened his mouth. Closed it. "What?"
"I'm asking if you're sure it wasn't real." Thomas's eyes were kind. Too kind. "Because, son, people don't chop wood like they're trying to kill it over fake relationships. People don't look at each other the way you two did on Christmas in fake relationships. And people definitely don't look as miserable as you do right now over something that didn't matter."
Grant's jaw tightened. "It mattered to me. That's the problem. It was supposed to be fake, but I let it get real. I let myself forget we were pretending. And then she—" He stopped,the anger draining out of him all at once. "She bailed. Just like I knew she would. And I was stupid enough to be surprised by it."
"Did she say why?"
"Work. It's always work."
"Did you let her explain?"
Grant looked away. "I didn't need to hear excuses."
"That's not what I asked." Thomas's voice was gentle but firm. "Did you let her explain?"
The silence stretched between them.
"No," Grant said finally. "I told her I didn't want to hear about her job. That I needed space."
Thomas nodded slowly. "And how's that working out for you?"
"Not great."
"I can see that." Thomas set down his coffee mug on the fence post. "You want my advice?"
"Not really."
"Too bad. Here it is anyway." Thomas crossed his arms. "You're hurt. You're angry. You have every right to be both those things. But you're also punishing yourself more than you're punishing her by staying out here working yourself into the ground."
"I'm not?—"
"You are. And it's not helping." Thomas picked up his mug again. "So here's what you're going to do. You're going to stop trying to work yourself to death. You're going to go take a shower. And then you're going to go hang out with your friends tonight. Have a few beers. Blow off some steam. Get out of your own head for a few hours."
"Dad—"
"And then tomorrow, when you've got some perspective and you're not vibrating with anger, you're going to talk to Riley. Actually talk to her. Let her explain."
Grant shook his head. "She doesn't owe me an explanation."
"Maybe not. But you owe it to yourself to hear what she has to say." Thomas's expression softened. "Son, I've seen the way you look at that girl. And I've seen the way she looks at you. Maybe it started as pretend, but it didn't stay that way. Not for either of you."
"You don't know that."
"I know what I see. And what I see is two people who are miserable without each other." Thomas squeezed Grant's shoulder. "Give it a day. Get your head straight. Then talk to her. Actually talk to her. Let her say what she was trying to tell you."
Thomas headed back toward the house, leaving Grant standing in the woodpile, axe in hand, mind reeling.
He hadn't let Riley speak. Hadn't let her finish a single sentence.
