She Visits Her Grandma’s Old House, Not Realizing the CEO Next Door Will Eventually Fall for Her
Returning to the Roots
Riley Prescott slammed the car door shut. Her boots crunched against the gravel driveway as she stared up at her late grandmother’s old cottage with a mix of nostalgia and dread.
The house looked exactly the same. White shutters were flaking and a crooked porch swing swayed in the breeze, but everything felt different.
Her grandma had passed last winter, and now Riley was back for one reason: to pack the place up and finally let it go. She hadn’t expected to feel this much or for the air to feel this heavy.
Dragging her suitcase up the steps, she muttered:
“Three weeks, just 3 weeks and I’m out.”
She didn’t see the sleek black Range Rover pulling into the driveway next door.
The moment she unlocked the door and stepped inside, the scent of vanilla and old wood hit her like a memory. There was the same flowered wallpaper and the same creaky floorboards.
Her chest tightened. She’d spent every summer here as a kid, but she hadn’t been back in years, not since college. Life had gotten in the way.
Riley dropped her bag and wandered through the living room, brushing her fingers across the framed photos on the mantle. Her eyes landed on one in particular: her and grandma on the porch drinking lemonade.
She smiled faintly. Then came the knock. She turned, confused. No one should know she was here.
When she opened the door, a man stood on the porch holding a package. He was tall with broad shoulders, wearing expensive dark jeans and a gray t-shirt that clung a little too perfectly.
His hair was dark and slightly tousled, and his expression was unreadable.
“I think this was dropped at the wrong address,” he said, holding out a box.
His voice was low and smooth but not impersonal. Riley blinked.
“Oh, uh, thanks.”
He handed it to her.
“You’re staying here just for a few weeks?”
She wrapped her arms around the package, feeling slightly awkward.
“This was my grandma’s house.”
He gave a slow nod.
“I remember her. Nice lady. Used to make cinnamon bread, right?”
Her eyebrows lifted.
“Wait, you knew her?”
“I grew up here,” he said casually, then glanced at his watch. “Anyway, welcome back.”
Before she could ask anything else, he turned and walked back across the lawn to the modern glass and steel mansion next door.
It was a place that looked like it belonged in a luxury magazine, not a sleepy small-town street. Riley watched him go, stunned.
She didn’t remember anyone like that living next door before. Certainly, she did not remember someone who looked like he belonged on the cover of a tech entrepreneur article.
She closed the door, still confused.
The next morning, Riley hauled a box of old books to the front porch and nearly dropped it when she saw him again. He was jogging shirtless, tan and muscular, which felt completely unfair.
He paused when he saw her.
“You need help with that?”
“Nope,” she lied, even though her arms were burning.
He crossed the yard anyway and took the box from her like it weighed nothing.
“You sure? Seems like you’ve got your hands full.”
Riley gave him a weary look.
“You’re very neighborly.”
He grinned, and something about it made her stomach flutter.
“Just being polite. You have a name, Mr. Polite?”
“Jackson Adler,” he said, setting the box down. “You?”
“Riley Prescott.”
His expression shifted.
“Prescott? Riley Prescott? You’re the girl who used to climb the old oak tree and throw apples at kids walking by.”
Her jaw dropped.
“That was one time!”
“I was one of those kids.”
“Oh my god,” she covered her face in horror. “I was 10.”
He laughed, and it was warm and real and completely unexpected. She didn’t say it out loud, but Jackson Adler had definitely not looked like that when he was twelve.
Later that afternoon, Riley was in the backyard sorting through old photo albums when she heard a voice behind her.
“Your grandma used to let me mow this yard for five bucks.”
She turned. Jackson was leaning against the fence, holding a drink in one hand.
“She said I was the only kid who didn’t run over her roses.”
Riley smiled.
“She liked you.”
He nodded.
“She was the first person who ever told me I was smart.”
That surprised her.
“You? You seem like the guy who had it all figured out.”
He met her eyes, serious now.
“Not even close.”
There was something about the way he said it, something quiet underneath the confidence. She looked at him differently then, not just as the hot guy next door, but someone who’d been shaped by this place, too.
That night, she walked to the edge of the yard and looked at the house next door. It was all glass and sleek lines. She could see lights still on upstairs.
She wondered what he did for a living and why he hadn’t left like everyone else.
The next morning, a knock sounded at her door again. When she opened it, he was holding a tray.
“Coffee,” he said, “and Aquasa. Looked like you could use it.”
She blinked.
“Why?”
He shrugged.
“Because I remember what it’s like coming back to a place full of memories.”
Riley took it, speechless.
“Thanks.”
As she took a sip, he asked:
“You have any plans today?”
“Just sorting through more boxes.”
“Take a break. Come with me.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Where?”
He smiled again, that same smile that made her heart skip.
“You’ll see.”
Ten minutes later, she was in his car, which turned out to be a sleek black Aston Martin.
“Okay,” she said, staring at the dashboard. “What exactly do you do for a living?”
He glanced at her sideways.
“I’m a CEO.”
“Of what? The world?”
He laughed.
“A tech firm. We handle cloud infrastructure. Boring stuff.”
She stared at him.
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
They stopped at a nearby lake, quiet and peaceful. He spread out a blanket and pulled out a picnic basket.
“You planned this?” she asked, surprised.
“Not really. I just like this spot.”
They talked for hours about everything. They discussed her job as a freelance designer, his journey building his company from nothing, and his failed engagement.
They spoke of her fear of letting people too close. When the sun started to set, he looked at her like she wasn’t just the girl next door anymore.
“Do you ever think,” he said slowly, “that sometimes we come back to the places we need at the exact time we need them?”
She looked at him, heart pounding.
“Yeah. I think about that a lot.”
He reached up and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.
“I’m glad you came back, Riley.”
In that golden light, with the lake reflecting the sky, she felt something shift. She had no idea what was really happening yet, but Jackson Adler, the CEO next door, was already falling.
