Chapter 12 Griffin
GRIFFIN
The scent of cumin and chili powder fills the cabin as I season the ground beef for tacos.
It’s a simple dinner, but after the day we’ve had installing the flooring, I’m not trying to impress anyone.
Besides, Monika seems to appreciate my cooking more than she should, given that half the time I’m winging it.
I can hear the shower running down the hall, and my mind drifts to this morning when a few of the guys from the diner showed up to help lay the hardwood.
Mason Pierce had offered to send one of his crews, but I declined.
The space felt too personal to bring in people who didn’t already know about Monika staying here.
They arrived ready to work and understood the value of keeping their mouths shut and showing up when it mattered.
Even Noah made an appearance, which surprised me.
The grumpy bastard rarely leaves his kitchen during business hours, but claimed he wasn’t going to let me screw it up by rushing the installation.
Coming from Noah, that’s practically a declaration of friendship.
What really struck me was watching each of them interact with Monika.
She showed up at the house with coffee and pastries she’d somehow managed to procure without me knowing, her hair already pulled back in that messy bun I’ve come to love, wearing jeans that had more paint stains than an old drop cloth and a faded T-shirt.
As usual, she didn’t like a celebrity gracing them with her presence.
She jumped right in, asking questions, learning names, laughing at their terrible jokes.
When Noah made some crack about her being too pretty to know which end of a hammer to use, she’d grabbed a nail gun and proceeded to demonstrate her skills with enough competence that he’d actually cracked a smile.
“You’re alright, Graham,” he’d told her. In Noah speak, that was as good as a marriage proposal.
He even invited her to the Christmas breakfast at The Salty Dog. The annual event was a big deal in Wild Rose Point, a tradition where anyone without family or a place to go could show up for a hot meal and community. Being invited meant you were considered one of us.
Monika had looked genuinely touched, her eyes getting that shine they get when she’s trying not to cry. “I’d love that,” she said, and I could tell she meant it.
That’s when it hit me, standing in the renovated living room of her grandmother’s house, watching her joke with a bunch of rough-around-the-edges veterans who’d accepted her into their fold.
She fits in my world. More than that, she fits with me in a way that feels both terrifying and absolutely right.
I’m in love with her.
The realization should come with more fanfare, or at least make me panic. But instead, it settles over me like that flannel shirt she keeps stealing—a perfect fit even though, at face value, it should be all wrong.
Unfortunately, the timing is shit. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. Her furniture gets delivered in the morning, and she’s supposed to head back to LA the day after Christmas. Back to her real life, with movie sets and agents and a world that has nothing to do with me.
I need to tell her how I feel and make a case for this becoming more than a temporary arrangement. The thought makes my palms sweat more than any combat zone ever did, but I can’t let her leave without shooting my shot.
The shower cuts off, and I force myself to focus on the tacos instead of the image of Monika naked and wet just down the hall. I’m stirring the meat when I hear her footsteps, and when I turn around, every coherent thought evaporates from my brain.
She’s wearing black leggings and that red flannel she’s adopted as her own.
As always, it looks better than any designer outfit on the red carpet.
She’s rolled the sleeves up past her elbows, and the hem hits her mid-thigh.
Her damp hair falls loose around her shoulders, and she smells like my soap and her shampoo.
The shirt is completely ruined for me. I’ll never be able to wear it again without thinking of her. I imagine a pathetic future me burying my nose in it just to catch a trace of her scent.
“Smells good,” she says, moving toward me with her sweet smile.
I reach out and pull her against me, one hand sliding into her hair. “Dinner can wait a few minutes.”
She laughs against my mouth as I kiss her, her hands fisting in the front of my shirt. I’m deepening the kiss and considering whether we can make it to the bedroom before I lose what’s left of my self-control, when someone knocks on the door.
“Ignore it,” I murmur against her lips. The words I really want to say crowd my throat. I love her, and I want her to be a part of my world. I want to be a part of hers if she’ll let me.
She pulls back slightly, eyes dancing with amusement. “I have a few more things coming for the house.”
I groan but release her. “Fine. But this isn’t over.”
Nothing about us is over, not if I have anything to say about it. Tomorrow. I’ll tell her everything tomorrow.
She heads for the door while I turn off the burner. I’m already thinking about how fast I can get rid of whoever this is when I hear her gasp.
The strangely panicked sound makes my blood run cold.
I spin around just as camera flashes start going off through the open doorway. Almost immediately, there’s a stream of rapid-fire questions.
“How do you feel about Daniel Peters’ arrest?”
“Were you aware of the embezzlement?”
“Is it true you’ve been hiding out here?”
“Who’s the guy? New boyfriend?”
Monika stands frozen in the doorway, her face pale in the harsh glare of the bright lights. She looks small and vulnerable, and rage floods through me so fast I’m moving before I consciously decide to.
Years of training kick in—assess the threat, neutralize it, protect the asset. Only this isn’t a mission, and Monika isn’t an asset. She’s mine, and that makes every protective instinct I have go into overdrive.
“Get the hell off my property!” I shoulder past, putting myself between her and the three men with cameras. My body shifts into a combat stance without conscious thought. “Now!”
One of them—a weaselly guy in a leather jacket—pushes forward, shoving his camera in my face. “Just a few questions—”
I grab the camera and shove it hard enough that the guy stumbles. “I said leave!”
“Griffin, no!” Monika’s voice is so sharp and distant, I barely register the protest.
I slam the door so hard the windows rattle, flipping the deadbolt and the chain like those assholes are going to try to bust in here.
My heart pounds and adrenaline spikes through me as I turn to her, but she’s already moving to grab her phone from the counter. Her fingers tremble as she turns it on, and I watch the color drain further from her cheeks as notification after notification floods the screen.
“Monika—”
“Oh my God,” she whispers, scrolling frantically. “Oh my God, oh my God.”
I move closer, trying to see over her shoulder. “What is it?”
“Daniel was arrested. Federal charges. Embezzlement, fraud, wire fraud.” Her voice is hollow. “My assistant has been trying to reach me all day. The girl who asked for a selfie tagged me on social media at The Water Witch. That’s how they found me.”
The pieces click together. Monika told me about her outing into town yesterday. She’d been so happy, almost proud that she’d been just another holiday shopper, not worried about being recognized. And then this…
“It’s okay,” I say, reaching for her. “We’ll figure this out—”
She jerks away from my touch like it might burn her. I see the war happening behind her eyes—the part of her that wants to lean into me battling the part that’s already shutting down. “It’s not at all okay. This—” She gestures wildly between the door and me. “This isn’t real.”
The words hit like a punch to the gut. “The hell it isn’t. The past two weeks have been more real than—”
“No,” she whispers. My gut churns as I watch her expression change. Her walls go up again like I’d never broken through them at all. “The cameras, questions, and the constant scrutiny—those are my reality.”
“Monika, we can deal with—”
“I might live in la la land professionally, but the past two weeks? That’s what’s been make-believe.
” Her voice cracks on the last word. “I wanted this to be real, Griffin. So much it hurts. But wanting doesn’t make it true.
” “I should have known better. I do know better. I just let myself forget for a while.”
The woman who laughed with Noah Kendrick and wore my shirts and fell asleep in my arms is disappearing, replaced by the carefully curated celebrity I met that first night.
And there’s not a damn thing I can do to stop it.
I spent twenty years completing missions that seemed hopeless. But I can’t neutralize paparazzi or secure a perimeter around her entire life.
“So what now?” I massage a hand over the back of my neck like I can get rid of my frustration that way. “We pretend this didn’t happen?”
She flinches, and I hate that I put that look on her face. “We face reality.”
“Your reality or the one other people forced on you?” I’m not sure she even hears me over the sound of her phone ringing again.
She looks at the screen, then at me, and I see the exact moment she makes her decision. The moment she chooses the easier pain of leaving over the harder work of staying.
“I need to take this,” she says, already moving toward the hall. “Can I use your bedroom?”
“Of course. But Monika—”
She pauses and glances over her shoulder. For a heartbeat, I see everything I feel reflected back at me. Then it’s gone. “I’m sorry, Griffin. I really am. But we both know from the beginning this was temporary.”
Then she’s gone, and I’m left standing in my kitchen with half-made tacos and the sinking realization that I lost her before I even had a chance to fight for us.