"She's a realist with holiday spirit." Thomas picked up a pine cone, turned it over in his hands, then set it down in a slightly different spot. "You seem distracted."
Grant's hands stilled on the box. "I'm fine."
"You've been checking your phone every five minutes."
"No, I haven't."
"Grant."
He sighed and set down the box. His dad had that look—the one that said he already knew something was up and was just waiting for Grant to admit it.
"Riley's coming by later," Grant said carefully. "We need to talk about something."
Thomas's eyebrows rose. "Riley Monroe?"
"Yeah."
"Huh." His dad's expression shifted into something dangerously close to a smile. "You two finally figuring things out?"
"It's not like that."
"What's it like, then?"
Grant hesitated. He couldn't tell his dad the truth—that he and Riley were about to fake date through the holidays just to get everyone off their backs. That the whole thing was a lie. That Grant was already regretting it because spending two weeks pretending to be with Riley was going to wreck him.
"We're just talking," he said.
Thomas studied him for a long moment, then clapped him on the shoulder. "Your mom always said you two would find your way back to each other."
Grant's chest tightened. "Dad?—"
"I know, I know. You're just talking." Thomas's smile widened. "But for what it's worth, I think she was right."
He walked away before Grant could respond, disappearing into the growing crowd with a wave.
Grant stood there, staring after him, guilt settling heavy in his stomach.
This is a terrible idea.
But he'd already said he’d do it. And Grant Lawson didn't back out of commitments.
Even the ones that were going to destroy him.
By midday, the festival was packed. Families with strollers, couples holding hands, teenagers pretending they were too cool to care but secretly loving every second. Grant smiled at familiar faces, waved at Mrs. Dawson when she passed with her ridiculous hat collection, and sold three wreaths to people who looked like they'd never hung one in their lives.
He was rearranging the display when he heard Hannah's voice.
"Grant Lawson!"
He turned. Hannah Brooks was barreling toward him, bundled in a puffy coat and dragging her husband Mark behind her like a reluctant sled dog.
Grant's stomach dropped. Hannah. Who'd been grilling Riley about her mystery date last night. Who had no idea that mystery date was him.
Play it cool. You already know. Act normal.
"Hey, Hannah."
She stopped in front of the booth, grinning like she'd just won the lottery. "Busy day?"
