The conversation drifted again, and this time Grant tried harder to stay present. To laugh at Ryan's terrible jokes. To give Mark grief about his elaborate proposal plans. To listen to Chris talk about light and composition like it was poetry.
His friends were good people. They'd called him out when he needed it and backed him up when he asked. They'd told him the truth even when it was hard to hear.
And they were right.
He needed to talk to Riley. Needed to apologize. Needed to actually listen to what she had to say.
But tonight, he just needed to be here. With his friends. Letting the fire warm him and the beer dull the sharp edges of his hurt.
Tomorrow would come soon enough.
Tomorrow he'd find Riley and fix this.
Or at least try.
But tonight, he let himself just breathe and sip on his beer.
TWENTY-SIX
Riley
Riley sat cross-legged on her childhood bed, laptop balanced on her knees, surrounded by half-empty mugs of hot cocoa and a mountain of crumpled tissues.
The website for the Pine Valley Small Business Bureau stared back at her. She'd been on this page for twenty minutes, cursor hovering over the "Register Your Business" button, unable to click.
Monroe Marketing & Consulting.
It sounded official. Professional. Real.
It also sounded terrifying.
Riley ran her hands through her hair—unwashed, pulled into a messy bun—and forced herself to read through the requirements again. Business license. Tax ID. Insurance. A website. A business plan.
She had most of it drafted already. Had spent all of last night and most of today pouring her energy into something productive instead of sitting around crying over Grant.
Well. She'd done both.
Her hands shook slightly as she typed notes into a new document. The excitement was there—buzzing under her skin,making her heart race with the possibility of it all. Her own business. Helping local shops and farms tell their stories. Working with people she'd known her whole life. Building something that mattered.
But underneath the excitement sat a heavy stone of sadness that wouldn't budge.
Grant.
Riley's throat tightened. She took another sip of cocoa—lukewarm now, the marshmallows long dissolved—and tried to focus on the spreadsheet in front of her.
Potential Clients - Pine Valley.
Mrs. Henderson's jam business. The hardware store. The bakery. The?—
She couldn't type it. Couldn't even think it without her chest aching.
The Christmas tree farm.
Riley closed her eyes and pressed her palms against them until she saw stars.
One day. It had only been one day since the fight in the barn, and it felt like a lifetime. One day of Grant not texting. Not calling. Not showing up at her parents' house to yell at her or demand answers or anything.
She'd given him the space he asked for. But God, it was killing her.
