Chapter Fourteen Griffin #3
Denise called the final round, the fire burned lower, families gathered blankets, alumni drifted toward the parking area, and Ridgeview players began cleaning up with varying degrees of usefulness.
Griffin stacked chairs.
Maren collected prompt cards.
They worked near each other without discussing it.
Every now and then, their hands brushed over a bench or a stack of papers, and the whole clearing seemed to remember the kiss.
Or maybe that was just Griffin.
At the prompt table, he found the card from earlier.
If Griffin and Maren are not together, why do they keep looking at each other like that?
It had been placed facedown beside the approved pile.
He picked it up.
Maren appeared beside him.
“Keeping souvenirs?” she asked.
“Evidence.”
“Of what?”
He looked at the card.
Then at her.
“That I answered one question honestly.”
Her smile softened.
“Only one?”
“No.”
“No?”
He shook his head. “I have been honest with you more today than I planned.”
Her eyes held his.
“That sounds like a complaint.”
“It is not.”
“What is it?”
He slipped the card into his pocket.
“A warning.”
Maren’s breath caught lightly.
Before she could answer, her phone buzzed.
She glanced down.
This time, her face did not close.
It changed in a way Griffin could not immediately read.
“What?” he asked.
She turned the screen toward him.
A message from Paige.
PAIGE: I am going to head out. I think maybe I was harder on you than I meant to be. Your work tonight was impressive. I still worry, but I am trying to see it differently. We can talk later if you want.
Maren stared at the text after he read it.
No triumph.
No relief exactly.
Just quiet.
Griffin waited.
Finally, she locked the phone.
“Well,” she said. “That is new.”
“Do you believe her?”
Maren thought about it.
“I believe the trying part.”
“That is something.”
“Yes.”
Her eyes lifted to his. “Thank you for what you said.”
“To Paige?”
“Yes.”
“I meant it.”
“I know.” Her voice softened. “That is why I am thanking you.”
He nodded.
She looked toward the lake path, then back at him. “Walk me to the dock?”
The question was simple.
It did not feel simple.
“Yes,” Griffin said.
They left the clearing together.
Not touching this time, but close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed as they followed the path through the trees. The bonfire faded behind them. The lake opened ahead, dark and quiet beneath the moon. The dock lights glowed soft along the water.
When they reached the old rental dock, Maren walked to the end and stopped.
Griffin stayed beside her.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Then Maren said, “I did not post the carry clip.”
“I know.”
“I might not.”
“Okay.”
“You are not going to ask why?”
“No.”
She turned her head. “Why not?”
“Because you will tell me if you want me to know.”
Her expression softened.
Then she looked back at the water.
“I liked it,” she said quietly.
The words moved over him slowly.
“The clip?” he asked.
“The moment.”
His chest tightened.
Maren kept her eyes on the lake. “I hated what people could turn it into. I hated what Paige would say. I hated that it might make everyone forget the work around it. But I liked it.”
Griffin did not move.
The night seemed to hold its breath.
She looked at him then.
No smile.
No armor.
“I liked being carried by you. I liked the way you asked if I was sure. I liked the way you stopped at exactly three feet because I said three feet, even though everyone wanted more.”
His hand curled at his side.
Barely.
She noticed.
Her voice went softer. “And I liked kissing you.”
There were moments a man should handle carefully.
This was all of them at once.
Griffin turned toward her fully.
“I liked kissing you too.”
Her mouth curved, shaky and real. “Good.”
“Very much.”
Her smile deepened, then wobbled. “Dangerous clarification.”
“I am not done.”
She went still.
His heart beat hard once.
Then again.
He had no idea how to do this. Not neatly. Not safely. Not with the kind of certainty that would let him promise he would never get it wrong.
So he gave her the clean part.
“I do not know what this is yet,” he said. “But I know it is not content to me.”
Maren’s eyes shone.
“I know.”
“I do not want to be another person deciding what your story means.”
“You aren’t.”
“I might mess that up.”
“You probably will.”
His mouth twitched.
Her smile answered.
“But,” she said, “you listen when I tell you.”
He exhaled.
“Yes.”
“That matters.”
The space between them changed again.
Not urgent like the kiss by the trees.
Not public like Truth Toss.
Quiet.
Chosen.
Maren looked down at his hand.
Then she reached for it.
Their fingers fit together with alarming ease.
Griffin looked at their joined hands.
Then at her.
She stepped closer.
This time, no crowd. No camera. No prompt. No stolen angle through the trees.
Only the lake.
Only the dock.
Only Maren choosing the space between them instead of performing around it.
“Tell me to pass,” he said softly.
Her breath caught.
A small smile touched her mouth.
“No.”
He kissed her again.
Slowly this time.
Carefully at first, because the night had been hard and trust was not something a man grabbed just because it had been offered.
Maren rose into it.
Her hand tightened in his.
The kiss deepened by degrees. Nothing rushed. Nothing taken. Just a steady unfolding that made Griffin feel like every no he had ever said had led him to the first yes that actually scared him.
Her free hand slid to his chest.
His hand found her waist, light enough to ask, firm enough to answer when she leaned closer.
She tasted like lemonade and smoke and the kind of trouble he no longer wanted to outrun.
When they separated, Maren stayed close.
Her forehead nearly touched his chin.
“Okay,” she whispered.
He brushed his thumb over her knuckles. “Okay?”
“Yes.” She looked up at him. “This is officially a terrible idea.”
His mouth curved.
“Terrible.”
“Bad, even.”
“The worst.”
She smiled.
He smiled back.
This time, he did not hide it.
Then her phone buzzed from her pocket.
Both of them froze.
Maren groaned softly. “I hate technology.”
“Agreed.”
She checked the screen.
Then laughed once.
“What?”
She turned the phone toward him.
A message from Tyler.
TYLER: I am emotionally proud of both of you and also Nate says I am not allowed to say that out loud.
A second message came through.
TYLER: Also Denise wants the prompt cards and says if you are kissing on the dock, hydrate.
Maren covered her face with one hand.
Griffin stared at the screen.
Then at the trees.
Then back at Maren.
“Denise knows everything,” he said.
“She runs Lake Briar.”
“Bigger challenge.”
Maren laughed, and the sound moved over the water, soft and real.
Griffin looked at her and thought, with a terror he had no intention of admitting yet, that if this was a bad idea, he wanted to be very bad at learning from it.
Then, from the path behind them, Tyler’s voice carried through the trees.
“I AM NOT LOOKING, BUT IF YOU ARE HOLDING HANDS, COOPER OWES ME FIVE DOLLARS.”
Maren dropped her forehead against Griffin’s chest and laughed harder.
Griffin closed his eyes.
Tomorrow, there would be more comments. More questions. More team chaos. More ways for this to go wrong.
Tonight, for once, he did not move to stop the bad idea.
He held Maren’s hand and let it happen.