Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
BECKETT
I burst through the community center doors, my boots squeaking against the polished floor as I skid to a stop, ten minutes late and breathing hard from my sprint across the parking lot.
This whole day has felt like one upheaval after another, starting with the fuckery in Griffin’s driveway and followed by Ames’s sous-chef, Jenna, texting to say there was something wrong with Ames. If it hadn’t been important, I never would’ve left Griffin’s side.
Griffin was strong and brave, no doubt about it. But after the emotional turmoil last night, I wanted to be there in case he needed me.
Hell, who was I kidding? After the emotional turmoil of last night, I needed him.
I’d planned to talk to him this morning, to lay it all out there—that I was falling for him and I wanted to be with him, whatever that looked like.
My dad had pointed out New York wasn’t all that far away, and that was true.
Long distance would suck, but I’d do it if it meant keeping Griffin in my life.
And if things worked out… hell, maybe they needed a forestry professional in New York.
They had parks and stuff there, right? I could run Axford Lumber from a distance, or…
fuck, I didn’t know, but I was willing to consider all the possibilities.
The most important thing was that Griffin could have what he needed—his job in the city, which had been restored to him with a raise on top—and I could have what I needed too. Namely, Griffin.
Assuming Griffin wanted me too.
“Where’ve you been, bro?” Holden’s voice cuts through my racing thoughts. He’s leaning against the wall near the closed auditorium doors. “Griffin was looking for you.”
“Did he seem upset?” I demand.
Holden shrugs. “Kinda? More like nervous. Kept muttering about last-minute changes. But his moms seem sweet. They wanted to know all about Derek Sullivan. Speaking of which, you’ll be happy to know—”
Nervous? Really? Griffin’s been working hard on this presentation, and I know he’s already demoed it with a bunch of people. Besides which, Griffin’s good at public speaking. He had to have given a million presentations back at his job.
I interrupt Holden to demand, “Where’s Griffin now?”
While I might care later, right now, I could give two shits about what happened to Derek Sullivan.
Holden gives me an amused look. “Down in the front row, along with all the other people who’ll be speaking and performing tonight. You know, where you’re supposed to be?”
I wave this off, already moving toward the aisle. At this point, I don’t care about winning Big Dill. Griffin can have it if it’ll make him happy.
And I already got everything I wanted to get and then some—a deal for the easement and a city boy I’m absolutely crazy about.
I try to slip down the aisle unnoticed, but that’s basically impossible in this town. The moment I step past the back rows, heads turn in my direction like I’m a neon sign, and I’m showered with friendly, approving glances that are… well, kind of unusual for me but make my chest warm anyway.
On stage, Sandy Navarro is finishing her baton act with a flourish, the sequins on her outfit catching the stage lights, and the crowd erupts in applause and whistles. But I’m still making my way toward the front row when I hear Griffin’s name called.
He stands up, and even from here, I can see his deep breath and the way he squares his shoulders like he’s readying for battle. He’s wearing jeans and a sweater with a collared shirt underneath, and his hair’s perfectly styled. I recognize these signs as his armor.
He’s so brave and so fucking gorgeous, I can’t look away, even though I know every damn person in town is watching me watch him.
Fuck it. Let them see.
I manage to make it to the front just as Griffin reaches the stage, and I slide my ass into his now-empty chair next to Ry Marek. Griffin clears his throat at the microphone, and the sound echoes through the packed auditorium.
His face is pale under the stage lights, and I think Holden’s right—Griffin definitely looks nervous. I lean forward in my seat, trying to send him calming vibes through sheer force of will.
“Hello, Winsome!” Griffin’s voice rings out, and the crowd responds with enthusiastic claps and whistles. He pauses, gripping the microphone stand. “I’m Griffin Mercer. And I know most of you came here today to hear the tourism marketing presentation I’ve been working on, but, ah… change of plans.”
He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and I frown.
What change of plans?
“Tonight, I have a different kind of presentation. More like a, um, story, really?” He huffs out a nervous laugh, and I dig my fingers into my thighs like I’m forcing myself to stay in place.
“Now, I wouldn’t call myself a storyteller—though, I guess they say marketing is kind of like storytelling.
But most of you probably know I’ve been living in this whimsical treehouse, and…
it feels like I’m kind of in a fairy tale, so I thought it was appropriate. I hope you’ll indulge me.”
The crowd murmurs a bit, clearly as surprised as I am. He’d worked his ass off on his project. What made him change his mind?
Then Griffin begins, and from his first words, I’m completely locked in.
“Once upon a time, there was a bridge builder who lived in a kingdom where everyone judged you by how grand and shiny your bridges were. Our builder spent years building a spectacular golden bridge. A bridge he thought was so shiny, so magnificent, it would stand for all eternity.”
His voice grows stronger, more confident as he settles in, and he stands a little straighter.
“But bad luck hit our bridge builder. An evil spell was cast that made everyone see only rust and decay where his beautiful bridge had once stood. The bridge builder watched helplessly as his life’s work crumbled. He didn’t know how to fix it. He didn’t know why.”
Griffin’s mouth twists into a wry smile—the one he gets when he’s being self-deprecating. My hands clench in my lap.
“Heartbroken, the bridge builder fled to an enchanted forest, where a mysterious wizard who loved mushrooms had left him a magical treehouse. The builder figured he’d live there quietly for a time, speaking only to pine trees, and wait for the evil spell to fade.”
A few people in the audience chuckle at the mushroom reference—clearly thinking of Jim. I barely hear them.
“But it wasn’t that easy. The builder quickly started to believe that the enchanted forest was trying to hex him because it sent him a variety of challenges, large and small.”
More laughter ripples through the crowd. Someone behind me whispers, “Is he talking about Vermont?”
“But perhaps the biggest challenge was the giant grumpy troll who guarded the forest… and who immediately started a property dispute with our bridge builder.”
Griffin lifts his head, and his gaze locks directly onto mine like he knew I was there all along. My heart’s beating so fast I’m sure everyone can hear it.
“It turned out, the troll had been trying to build his own bridge for years—nothing fancy, no shiny gold for this troll, but one made with sturdy logs and honest craftsmanship. The troll had been building alone, though, and he couldn’t understand why his bridges kept collapsing.
Why he only ever managed to build half a bridge.
Why it wasn’t working out the way he hoped. ”
I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry.
“At first, the bridge builder and the troll fought constantly. The troll thought the builder was going to dismantle his whole forest and take all his bridge-building supplies away. The builder thought the troll was being difficult—and let’s be honest, he kind of was.”
Griffin’s eyes are still on me, sparkling with mischief now, like he’s speaking only to me. “‘I will get that troll if it’s the last thing I do,’ the bridge builder insisted.” Griffin shakes his fist at the sky.
I’m grinning like a fool.
He’s got me, alright. For as long as he wants me.
“But as they kept clashing, the builder started to notice things about the troll. Like, that he was really smart. And funny. And skilled. And dedicated. And not at all intimidating—”
I huff out a laugh.
“—and that actually, the troll was kind of gorgeous, when you looked past his troll-y facade.”
Laughter erupts around me, warm and delighted. Someone near the back whoops. I can feel my face heating, but I can’t look away from Griffin.
“And the bridge builder started to notice things about himself too. Like, that when he was with the troll, he felt happier, safer, and more free to be himself than he’d ever felt in his glorious kingdom.
And that he’d started seeing life as an adventure again.
He’d remembered bridges were most beautiful when they were sturdy and had purpose and weren’t just a means to an end. ”
Griffin’s hazel eyes glow with emotion, and I sit there utterly transfixed.
“It turned out the enchanted forest wasn’t actually out to get him, because the whole forest began teaching the builder too. Things he’d never learned while he was toiling in the kingdom.”
I watch him gesture toward different sections of the audience as he continues.
“The friendly shopkeeper taught him that even something weird and awful like pickles could connect people. The innkeeper taught him that true hospitality meant making everyone feel like a part of the community, even if you had to use reverse psychology to do it—”
Somewhere in the crowd, I hear my mom make a soft “Awww” sound.
“The village chef taught him that kindness and friendship sometimes come in the form of a sandwich. And the rest of the villagers taught him that sometimes enchanted forests are better than glorious kingdoms.”
My chest tightened, and my eyes filled. Was he saying what I thought he was saying?