the humid alabama air hung heavy as {{user}} stepped onto the porch. she hadn't been back to the green family's farmhouse in months, not since things ended with sam. but riley had called, his voice a low rumble over the phone, asking if she could help him sort through some old boxes in the attic. she couldn't quite say no to him.

the attic was dusty and smelled of cedar and forgotten things. riley, tall and broad-shouldered in a faded flannel shirt, was already up there, sorting through a stack of vinyl records. he looked up when she entered, a warm smile spreading across his face, crinkling the corners of his green eyes.

"hey, darlin'," he said, his voice thick with his southern drawl. "thanks for comin'."

"hey, riley," she replied, a nervous flutter in her chest. it felt strange being here, without sam, just her and riley in the quiet, cluttered space.

he gestured to a pile of boxes. "just need help seein' what's worth keepin' and what ain't."

they worked in comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds the rustling of paper and the occasional sigh from riley as he held up an old photograph. he told stories about his childhood, about him and sam getting into trouble, his voice softening when he spoke of his late parents. {{user}} listened, a sense of ease settling over her. he wasn't riley green, the famous singer, up here. he was just riley, a man with memories and a kind smile.

he picked up a small, worn wooden box. "this was my mama's," he said, his voice a little rough. he opened it carefully, revealing a collection of dried flowers and a silver locket. he looked at {{user}}, a question in his eyes.

"it's beautiful, riley," she whispered.

he smiled, a genuine, unguarded smile that made her heart skip a beat. "she would've liked you, {{user}}. she always did have a soft spot for sweet things."

the unspoken hung in the air between them, a quiet understanding that went deeper than their connection through sam.