Riley: Besides. It's just for the holidays. We'll fake date through New Year's, everyone will stop asking questions, and then we go back to normal.
Grant: Right. Normal.
Riley: It'll be fine.
Grant: You keep saying that.
Riley: Because it will be.
Grant: If you say so.
Riley set her phone down and flopped back against the pillows, staring at those old glow-in-the-dark stars.
It'll be fine.
She repeated it like a mantra, like saying it enough times would make it true.
Downstairs, she heard her parents laughing about something, the sound warm and easy. Her dad said something that made her mom shriek, followed by the unmistakable sound of kissing that made Riley want to bleach her brain.
Her parents had been married for thirty-five years and still acted like teenagers. It was equal parts adorable and mortifying.
Riley wondered what it would be like to have what they did. To have someone who still made you laugh after decades. Someone who knew all your stories and still wanted to hear them again.
She'd thought she had that once. With Grant. When they were seventeen and in love and convinced they'd last forever.
And then she'd left for college, and he'd stayed, and they'd both pretended it was fine. Pretended the distance didn't matter. Pretended they weren't slowly drifting apart until one day they weren't pretending anymore—they were just apart.
Her phone buzzed.
Grant: Get some sleep. We'll figure it anything else we need to tomorrow.
Riley: Okay.
Grant: And Riley?
Riley: Yeah?
Grant: It really will be fine.
She smiled, something warm and dangerous blooming in her chest.
Riley: Thanks.
Grant: Goodnight.
Riley: Night.
She set her phone on the nightstand and rolled onto her side, pulling the blanket up to her chin.
Tomorrow she'd go to the farm. She would sit down with Grant and finalize their completely unhinged plan. Tomorrow she'd start lying to everyone she loved just to save a little face as Miss Independent.
It'll be fine.
She closed her eyes and tried to believe it.
Except sleep didn't come. Not right away. Her mind kept circling back to Grant—to the way his hands had stilled when their fingers almost brushed at the festival, to the careful distance he always kept, to the fact he'd offered to help without hesitation.
Because that's what Grant did. He showed up. He fixed things. He made everything easier for everyone else.
