Grant's chest tightened with the realization. They'd crossed so many lines he'd lost count. And every time they did, Riley would pull back, insist it didn't mean anything, call it whatever rationalization helped her sleep at night.
But she'd stayed. She'd fallen asleep in his arms, and she'd stayed.
That had to mean something.
Riley stirred, her eyes fluttering open. For a second, she looked confused, then awareness hit and her face went through about five emotions in rapid succession—surprise, pleasure, panic.
"Morning," Grant said quietly.
"Morning." Riley sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest. "What time is it?"
"Almost eight."
"Shit. I should—" She looked around for her clothes, spotted them scattered across the floor, her face going pink. "I need to go home before?—"
"Before what?"
"Before your dad—" She stopped, listening.
From downstairs came the unmistakable sounds of someone moving around the kitchen. Cabinet doors opening. The coffee maker starting.
"Too late," Grant said.
Riley's eyes went wide. "Oh my god."
"It's fine."
"It's not fine! Your dad is downstairs and I'm—" She gestured at herself, at the bed, at the general situation.
"An adult who stayed over with another adult." Grant sat up, reaching for his jeans. "He's not going to care, Riley."
"Easy for you to say. It's your house."
"Technically his house."
"Not helping."
Grant pulled on his jeans and a t-shirt, then found Riley's clothes, handing them to her. "Get dressed. I'll walk you down."
"You don't have to?—"
"I'm walking you down." Grant's tone left no room for argument. "You're not sneaking out of my house like you're ashamed of being here."
Riley's expression softened. "I'm not ashamed."
"Good. Then let's go get you some coffee."
Five minutes later, they made their way downstairs. Riley had finger-combed her hair and straightened her clothes, but there was no hiding the fact that she was doing the walk of shame in last night's outfit.
Thomas stood at the counter pouring coffee, still in his flannel pajama pants and a Pine Valley Fire Department sweatshirt. He looked up when they entered, his expression going from neutral to amused in about two seconds.
"Morning," Thomas said calmly.
"Morning, Dad."
"Mr. Lawson," Riley managed, her face flaming. "I was just?—"
"Having breakfast?" Thomas pulled down a third mug. "Coffee?"
