Grant: Obviously.
Riley: And we tell NO ONE it's fake.
Grant: Agreed.
Riley: We can hash out details tomorrow?
Grant: I'll be at the farm. Come by whenever.
She dropped the phone beside her and stared at the ceiling, wondering how her life had gone from zero to catastrophic in under ten minutes.
Downstairs, her mother called her name.
Riley didn't move.
What have I done?
TWO
Grant
The Winter Festival was in full swing by the time Grant finished tying down the last corner of the tent.
He straightened, brushing sawdust from his jeans, and surveyed the chaos of Main Street. Booths lined both sides of the road, strung with lights that would blink on once the sun set. Vendors hauled boxes of handmade ornaments and jarred preserves. The smell of kettle corn mixed with woodsmoke from the fire pits scattered along the route. Kids shrieked as they chased each other through the snow, and someone's speaker system blasted Mariah Carey loud enough to violate at least three noise ordinances.
Grant loved it. Every year, the same controlled disaster. Every year, he showed up early to help set up, stayed late to break down, and somehow ended up volunteering for six things he hadn't planned on.
Reliable. Dependable. Mister Everyone's Plus-One.
Except this year, he was going to beRiley'splus-one. Fake plus-one. For the entire holiday season.
He still couldn't believe he'd offered. Couldn't believe she'd accepted. Couldn't believe he was about to spend the next twoweeks pretending to date the one person he'd never fully gotten over.
What the hell were you thinking, Lawson?
He shoved the thought aside and focused on the booth. The Lawson Family Christmas Tree Farm sign hung crooked above the table. He adjusted it, then stepped back to check the alignment. Close enough. His dad would fix it later anyway—Thomas Lawson had never met a project he could leave alone.
"Looking good, son."
Grant turned. His dad stood a few feet away, hands shoved in the pockets of his work jacket, beard dusted with snow. Thomas had technically retired two years ago, but "retired" for him meant showing up at the farm every morning and offering unsolicited advice until Grant wanted to scream.
"Thanks," Grant said. "You didn't have to come down. I've got it covered."
"I know you do." Thomas stepped closer, eyeing the booth like he was inspecting a military base. "Just wanted to make sure you didn't forget the wreaths."
"They're in the truck."
"And the extra lights?"
"Also in the truck."
"Good. Good." Thomas nodded, rocking back on his heels. "Supposed to be a big crowd this year. Mrs. Henderson said half the county's coming."
Grant grabbed a box of pine cones from the truck bed and set it on the table. "Mrs. Henderson says that every year."
"And every year she's right."
"She's optimistic."
