"Perfect."
He secured the garland and reached for the next section. Riley handed it up, but the ladder shifted slightly, throwing him off balance.
Grant grabbed for the railing, his foot slipping on the rung.
"Grant!"
Riley was there in a second, hands on the ladder, steadying it. "You okay?"
His heart was hammering, adrenaline spiking. "Yeah. I'm good."
"Maybe take a break?"
"I'm fine."
"Your hands are shaking."
Grant looked down at his hands. She was right. "Just cold."
"Liar."
He climbed down, and Riley immediately grabbed his hands, rubbing them between hers. "You're freezing. How long have you been out here?"
"Since seven."
"Grant, it's eleven. You're going to get frostbite."
"I'm fine."
"Stop saying you're fine when you're clearly not fine."
Her hands were small and warm around his, and Grant forgot why he was arguing.
"Here." Riley pulled off her gloves and handed them to him. "Wear these."
"I can't take your gloves."
"You can and you will. My hands are fine."
"Riley—"
"Grant. Put on the gloves."
He did, and they were ridiculous on him—bright red with little snowflakes embroidered on them—but they were warm and they smelled like her and he didn't care how stupid he looked.
Riley smiled. "Better?"
"Yeah. Thanks."
"Good. Now let's finish this before Mrs. Henderson has an aneurysm."
They got back to work, and Grant tried very hard not to think about how easy this was. How natural. How right it felt to work side by side with Riley, trading jokes and stolen glances like no time had passed. He started thinking about her lips, what it would be like to kiss them now.
By the time they finished the gazebo, other volunteers had started arriving. Mark and Ryan showed up with donuts. Emily and Chris brought hot chocolate. Jenna appeared with her infamous clipboard, directing traffic like a general.
"Grant! Riley!" Jenna waved them over. "I need you two on wreaths. The hooks for Main Street are already up, we just need to hang them."
"On it," Grant said.
