Riley's cheeks flamed. "Dad."
"What? I'm just saying. Grant, you're looking sharp."
"Thanks, Mr. Monroe."
"How many times do I have to tell you? Call me David."
"I'll try."
Riley's mom appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. "Oh, Grant! It's so good to see you."
"You too, Mrs. Monroe."
"Carol. Please." She pulled him into a hug that lasted slightly too long, and Riley watched Grant's face go carefully neutral. "You two have fun tonight."
"We will," Riley said quickly, grabbing Grant's arm and pulling him toward the door before her mother could say something mortifying.
They made it outside, and Riley exhaled hard. "I'm so sorry."
"For what?"
"My parents. They're?—"
"They're great," Grant said, smiling. "Your mom always gave the best hugs."
Riley's chest tightened. She'd forgotten that. Forgotten how much time Grant used to spend at her house, how her mom used to make extra food just in case he showed up, how her dad used to joke that Grant was like having another son.
"Come on," Grant said, gesturing to his truck. "We've got a party to get to."
Riley climbed into the passenger seat, the interior still warm from the heater. It smelled like pine and coffee and something distinctly Grant.
He slid into the driver's seat and pulled out of the driveway, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.
"You nervous?" he asked finally.
"Definitely."
"Me too."
"Really?"
"Really."
Riley glanced at him. He looked calm, steady, completely in control. "You don't look nervous."
"I'm good at faking it."
"So am I."
"Then we'll be fine."
Riley wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe they could pull this off without anyone figuring out they were lying.
But as they pulled up to Hannah and Mark’s house—lights blazing, cars lining the street, music drifting from the windows—Riley's stomach twisted into a knot so tight she thought she might be sick.
Grant parked and turned to her. "Ready?"
"No."
