Riley bit her lip, heat pooling low in her stomach.
Riley: How did I look at you?
Grant: Like you wanted me to do it again.
Riley: I did. I do.
A pause.
Grant: Come by tomorrow morning? I know the farm's going to be crazy, but I need to see you.
Riley: What time?
Grant: Whenever you wake up. I'll be here.
Riley: Okay.
Grant: Riley?
Riley: Yeah?
Grant: The parking lot kiss wasn't for show.
Riley stared at the message, her pulse racing.
Riley: I know.
Grant: Just wanted to make sure we're on the same page.
Riley: We are. Goodnight, Grant.
Grant: Night.
Riley set her phone down and closed her eyes but sleep still wouldn't come.
By the timeRiley pulled into the farm the next morning, the place was already chaos.
Cars lined the driveway. Families wandered through the rows of trees. Thomas was at the register helping customers, and Grant was in the lot with a chainsaw, cutting down a massive Fraser fir for a couple with three kids.
Riley parked and climbed out, clutching his flannel—the one he'd given her weeks ago that she kept forgetting to return. Or maybe not forgetting. Maybe keeping.
Grant looked up, saw her, and his whole face transformed. He said something to the couple, set down the chainsaw, and jogged over.
"Hey," he said, slightly breathless.
"Hey. Busy morning?"
"Insane. It's four days till Christmas—everyone's panicking." His eyes dropped to the flannel in her arms. "You bringing that back?"
"I thought I should."
"Keep it."
"Grant—"
"I'm serious. It looks better on you anyway."
Riley's face heated. "That's not?—"
