Chapter Eight Griffin #2
Real.
Immediate.
Worth it.
She ended the clip and pointed at him. “That was good.”
He looked away. “It was factual.”
“It was good.”
“Fine.”
“Accept praise like a grown man.”
“I am.”
“You look constipated.”
“Maren.”
“Better.”
He should not have enjoyed this.
He did.
That was becoming a pattern.
They walked toward the beach together, not quite side by side, not quite separate. The morning had warmed, drawing more people onto the lawn. A few fans waved when they saw Maren filming. One teenager shouted, “Team Joy!” and Griffin pretended not to hear it.
Maren absolutely heard it.
Her smile turned wicked.
“Team Joy,” she said.
“No.”
“Could be worse.”
“It is already worse.”
“They could call you Daddy Discipline.”
Griffin stopped walking.
Maren took two more steps, realized, and turned back.
His expression must have been something, because she started laughing so hard she had to press a hand over her mouth.
“Do not,” he said.
“I didn’t even post it.”
“You thought it loudly.”
She wheezed. “I am so sorry.”
“You are not.”
“I am not.”
“That phrase dies here.”
“Oh, absolutely.”
“Maren.”
“I promise I will personally murder it.”
He started walking again.
She fell into step beside him, still laughing softly. The sound did something strange to his chest. Not the sharp hit from last night. Softer. Warmer.
Dangerous in a completely different direction.
They reached the main path, where Denise waited with a tablet in one hand and the expression of a woman who had already handled three problems before eight-thirty.
“I saw Paige’s comment,” Denise said without greeting.
Maren’s smile froze.
Griffin’s anger returned instantly.
Denise looked from Maren to Griffin, then back to Maren. “I hid the thread.”
Maren blinked. “You did?”
“This is the Lake Briar account, not your family’s group text with better lighting.”
Griffin almost smiled.
Maren did not.
She stared at Denise like the words had hit somewhere deep.
Denise’s face softened by one careful degree. “Your work is excellent. I hired you because I am not stupid.”
Maren’s throat moved.
“Okay,” she said.
It came out small.
Denise pretended not to notice. Griffin respected her more than ever.
“Also,” Denise continued, businesslike again, “the coffee post gained two thousand views in twenty minutes, which is ridiculous and useful. Continue being ridiculous and useful.”
Maren blinked again.
Then laughed.
“Yes, boss.”
Denise turned to Griffin. “You. Say yes where possible. Say no before lawsuits. Try facial expressions.”
“I have facial expressions.”
“Not enough for modern media.”
Maren made a tiny noise.
Griffin shot her a look.
Denise checked the tablet. “First segment?”
Maren straightened.
Back into professional mode, but steadier now.
“Hidden systems tour,” she said. “We show all the things Griffin checks before the fun starts, but we make it visual and quick. The point is responsibility as part of the story, not the thing stopping it.”
Denise nodded. “Good.”
The approval was immediate.
Clean.
No surprise.
No qualifier.
Maren’s shoulders dropped half an inch.
Griffin noticed.
Denise walked away, already calling for someone named Eddie who had apparently misplaced extension cords and perhaps his common sense.
Maren watched her go.
“She hid the thread,” Maren said.
“Yes.”
“She did not even ask.”
“No.”
Maren looked at him.
Her eyes were bright, but not with tears. Maren did not seem like a crier, at least not where people could see. They were bright with something more complicated. Relief, maybe. Or the strange ache of being defended before you had to prove you deserved it.
Griffin understood that feeling too.
He wished he did not.
Maren took a breath. “Okay. Work.”
“Work.”
She lifted the camera. “Segment one. Show me what you check.”
He looked toward the beach.
There were dozens of things.
The dock rope knots. The paddleboard rack.
The first-aid station. The water coolers.
The shaded rest area. The cords near the speaker table.
The emergency contact sheet Denise kept in the snack shack.
The sand near the cones where someone could turn an ankle if the divots were too deep.
The life jackets that needed to be visible instead of shoved behind the rental counter.
Most people saw those things only when they went wrong.
Maren wanted to make them visible before that.
He looked at her.
She tilted her head. “What?”
“You are sure this is not boring?”
“Hayes,” she said, softer than usual, “you are very many things. Boring is not one of them.”
The words hit hard enough to quiet every thought in his head.
He stared at her.
She realized what she had said.
Color rose in her cheeks.
Then she did the worst possible thing.
She did not take it back.
Instead, she lifted the phone between them.
“Ready?”
No.
“Yes.”
She started recording.
Griffin took her through the dock first.
He showed the camera the section where the old wood warped in the sun and explained why everyone needed to stay on the marked side during paddle relays.
Maren filmed his hand tracing the painted line, then cut to Tyler solemnly saluting it.
She asked Griffin what happened if someone ignored the line.
“They answer to Denise,” he said.
Maren swung the camera toward Denise in the distance.
Denise looked up like she had sensed her name.
Tyler whispered, “Power.”
Maren laughed behind the phone.
Next, Griffin checked the life jackets.
Maren made him explain why the straps mattered. He kept it short. She made it shorter. Then she put one on Tyler backward for a transition shot and Griffin corrected it before he could stop himself.
Maren captured that too.
“Beautiful,” she said.
“I was fixing it.”
“I know. That was the point.”
At the speaker table, Griffin rerouted two cords away from the walking path.
Maren dropped to a crouch to film the before and after.
Her hair fell over one shoulder.
Griffin looked away.
Then looked back because apparently he had learned nothing.
She glanced up at him from the crouch, eyes amused. “Are you supervising my angle?”
“No.”
“You are.”
“The cord is still visible in frame.”
She looked at the screen, then shifted.
“There?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you, Director Safety.”
“That title needs work.”
“Spiritual Director Safety.”
“No.”
She grinned.
The segment built fast.
Better than Griffin expected.
Maren turned ordinary things into movement.
A hand tightening a knot. A whistle set on a table and pushed away from Tyler.
Ava sliding a tray of water cups onto the counter.
Cooper silently placing a cone over a hole in the sand like a memorial.
Beckett holding two signs, one reading FUN and the other reading SURVIVES BECAUSE OF GRIFFIN, while Griffin tried to confiscate both.
People started watching.
Then asking questions.
Then pointing out things Griffin had missed because the crowd had turned safety into a scavenger hunt.
A little kid tugged on his mother’s hand and pointed at the water cooler station. “That one needs more cups.”
Maren caught Griffin noticing, nodding, and fixing it.
She caught him thanking the kid too.
“Great eye,” Griffin said.
The kid beamed.
Maren filmed the whole exchange.
Griffin pretended he did not care.
He cared.
Maren knew.
When she ended the segment, she looked genuinely excited.
“Hayes,” she said. “This is good.”
“How good?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Are you asking for praise?”
“No.”
“You are.”
“I am asking for a performance assessment.”
“Sure.”
“For planning purposes.”
“Of course.”
He looked at her.
She looked back, smile tugging at her mouth.
Then, because Griffin was either getting braver or losing all survival instincts, he said, “Excellent?”
Maren’s smile faltered into something softer.
“There you go craving praise again,” she said.
But her voice had changed.
Low.
Warm.
He liked it too much.
Before he could answer, Tyler skidded up beside them wearing a life jacket, swim goggles, and a look of divine purpose.
“Great news,” Tyler said. “The public has submitted suggestions for Part Two.”
Griffin looked at Maren. “You allowed public suggestions?”
Maren winced. “I allowed controlled public participation.”
“That sentence is guilty.”
Tyler held up his phone. “Top suggestion. Griffin turns one of his serious safety checks into a team game.”
“That was already in the plan,” Maren said.
“Yes, but the people have selected the safety check.”
Griffin’s stomach sank. “Which one?”
Tyler’s grin grew.
“Emergency carry drills.”
“No,” Griffin said.
Maren’s eyes widened.
Tyler bounced on his heels. “Yes.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Technically safe,” Tyler said.
“Not with you involved.”
“I am not the one being carried.”
Griffin went still.
Slowly, he turned to Maren.
She had gone very quiet.
Tyler pointed at the phone screen.
“The public wants Maren to teach Griffin how to make an emergency carry look romantic.”
For one second, nobody spoke.
Then Cooper, from somewhere behind them, said, “I am no longer emotionally muted.”
Maren stared at Griffin.
Griffin stared back.
The lake glittered.
Tyler grinned.
And Griffin realized the day had finally found its first truly bad idea.