"That makes sense."
"Does it?"
"No. But we're doing it anyway."
Riley laughed—short and breathless. "This is insane."
"Completely."
"But we're committed now."
"Completely committed to the insanity."
Riley stood, and Grant followed. They faced each other in the middle of the kitchen, neither moving.
"Okay," Riley said. "Hand holding first?"
"Sure."
She held out her hand. Grant took it, their fingers sliding together like they'd done this a thousand times before. Her hand was cold, small, familiar in a way that made his chest ache.
"This okay?" he asked.
"Yeah. It's fine."
They stood there, holding hands, neither quite sure what to do next.
"We look ridiculous," Riley said.
"Completely."
"But it feels…natural?"
Grant's thumb brushed over her knuckles without thinking. "Yeah. It does."
Riley's breath caught, just slightly, and Grant realized he was standing too close. Close enough to see the freckles across her nose that only showed up in winter. Close enough to smell whatever shampoo she used—something floral and clean.
"Arm around the waist?" she said, voice quieter now.
"If you want."
"For practice."
"Right. Practice."
Riley stepped even closer, and Grant slid his arm around her waist, his hand settling at the small of her back. She fit against him perfectly, like no time had passed at all.
"This okay?" he asked again.
"Yeah."
Her hands rested on his chest, light and tentative. Grant's pulse hammered under her palms, and he wondered if she could feel it.
"We should take a picture," Riley said. "For proof. In case Hannah asks."
"Good idea."
Neither of them moved.
