Thomas was quiet for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Your mom always said you two would find your way back to each other."
Grant's chest tightened. "It's not like that."
"If you say so." Thomas clapped him on the shoulder. "But for what it's worth—from my view of the situation, she never stopped looking at you the same way."
Grant didn't know what to say to that. Didn't know how to explain that Riley hadn’t been looking at him any particular way in years, that this was all pretend, that in two weeks they'd go back to their separate lives and pretend this never happened.
So he just nodded and went back to staring at the fence post.
Thomas left him alone after that, disappearing into the barn with a knowing smile that made Grant want to throw the hammer into the woods.
By mid-morning, Grant had fixed three things that didn't need fixing, reorganized the toolshed, and nearly sprained his wrist resetting a fence post because he wasn't paying attention.
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
Riley: On my way. Be there in 10.
Grant stared at the message, his pulse kicking up for no good reason.
Grant: See you soon.
He pocketed his phone and headed toward the house, brushing sawdust off his jeans and trying to look like a person who had his life together.
Inside, he made coffee. Strong coffee. The kind that could wake the dead or at least get him through a conversation about fake dating his ex-girlfriend without completely losing his mind.
He was pouring his second cup when he heard tires on gravel.
Grant moved to the window and watched Riley's car pull into the driveway. She sat there for a moment, hands on the wheel, staring at the farmhouse like she was steeling herself for battle.
He knew the feeling.
She climbed out, bundled in a thick coat, scarf wrapped around her neck, hair pulled back in a way that made her look younger. Like the girl he'd known in high school, before the city and the career and the decade of distance.
Grant opened the front door before she could knock.
"Hey," she said, breath fogging between them.
"Hey. Come in. It's freezing."
Riley stepped inside, stomping snow off her boots. She unwrapped her scarf, and Grant caught the scent of something floral—her shampoo, probably. The same one she'd used in high school.
Don't think about that.
"Coffee?" he offered.
"God, yes."
He led her to the kitchen, poured her a mug, and watched as she wrapped her hands around it like it was a lifeline.
"Your dad around?" she asked.
"He's out helping a few people right now. We've got the place to ourselves for a bit."
"Good. Because we need to talk logistics."
"Right. Logistics."
They stood there for a moment, neither quite sure how to start. The kitchen felt too small suddenly, too warm, too full of memories. How many mornings had they spent here when they were seventeen? Riley sitting at this same table, doing homework while Grant made breakfast. His mom fussing over them both, insisting Riley eat more.
